Game of Thrones: Reign of the Dragonking

[106] Westerosi Politics

Chapter 106: Westerosi Politics

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The Water Gardens hummed with the quiet melody of distant fountains and the gentle rustle of orange trees swaying in the breeze. Within Prince Doran Martell's private solar, that peace transformed into an oppressive silence. 

Doran sat in his wheeled chair beside the open window, the parchment trembling slightly in his gout-ridden hands. The letter's seal—broken now—bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, though not from the king that ruled the Seven Kingdoms right now.

Sunlight streamed across the polished marble floor, creating a sharp line between light and shadow that bisected the room. On one side sat Doran, bathed in golden light, and on the other paced his brother. His younger brother was coiled with tension.

Oberyn Martell's boots clicked rhythmically against the floor as he moved, the sound breaking the silence like a heartbeat. His dark eyes never left his elder brother's face,

I tapped the sealed letter. "This will likely be a formal demand for his daughter's return, accompanied by promises and platitudes."

Then I broke the seal with my thumb, confirming my suspicions as I scanned its contents. "As expected. Doran claims ignorance of any plot against the crown and demands his daughter's safe return." I set the letter aside. "We'll let him stew a bit longer."

Let him feel what it's like to lose someone precious, I thought. Let him wonder if she'll return with her head or without it.

Ros unfurled a scroll of her own, her green eyes scanning its contents with practiced efficiency. "They lie, Your Grace. My little birds confirm it. Dorne has been amassing provisions and weapons at a rate that suggests preparation for significant conflict. They were preparing for war—likely alongside this 'Aegon.'"

“Pitiful. I expected a wiser choice from Doran,” I nodded. “Keep an eye on that. If they stop that preparation, let me know. Ah, and send a letter to the Second Sons. They can't stay on the outskirts of Dorne for so long, it's not a place people can live in. Call them here.”

“Understood,” Ros nodded. By now, she had proven herself invaluable, expanding the network of spies left behind by Varys and turning many of them to her—and by extension, my—service. She also had Petyr Baelish’s spies, of course. The whores were her original eyes and ears. Ros was a great helper of mine whom I appreciated.

The realm thought her merely a former whore elevated beyond her station. They underestimated her at their peril.

"What do you plan to do to Dorne, Your Grace?" Brienne asked from behind me, speaking for the first time. Her voice carried that peculiar mix of deference and directness that made her such an effective Commander.

I turned slightly in my chair, meeting her steadfast gaze. "...I’ll just hope that they will reconsider," I said with a cold smile. "Prince Doran may be crippled, but he's no fool. He understands what's at stake. No matter the case, Arianne is his heir. So, I hope for her sake that he reconsiders. If not, then… Well, you heard what Viserion did to Yunkai and Astapor.”

“....” The entire chamber fell quiet. 

I turned to Ros, changing the subject to the more annoying culprit. "What news of Varys and this 'Aegon'?"

She pursed her lips, clearly displeased with her own lack of concrete information. "It's difficult for me to reach Essos with my birds, Your Grace, I'm sorry," she admitted. 

"How bothersome," I said, feeling anger curl through my chest. 

Rhegal should be here with me, or at least with my sister. Instead, it served some pretender. 

I sighed after a moment. "Oh well. Dorne and Aegon's situation is merely one concern among many," I continued, my mind shifting to the broader game. "We face threats from beyond the Wall, across the Narrow Sea, and within our own borders."

“I have something to say on that,” Robb Stark straightened, producing a letter bearing the Night's Watch seal. 

“Interesting,” I accepted it.

The parchment was weathered, suggesting a long journey. "From my brother Jon," he explained, his expression growing grim. "He reports wildlings fleeing south in unprecedented numbers, claiming the dead walk beyond the Wall."

I raised an eyebrow, watching Stark's face. I'd warned him about strengthening the wall, and he didn't understand why before. Hopefully Jon’s words would give him the reason to.

"Jon himself claims to have encountered and destroyed one such creature," Robb continued, his voice steady despite the fantastical nature of the claim. "A dead man who continued moving and attacking after death. Jon saved the Night’s Watch’s Lord Commander from that creature.”

I feigned my skepticism. "A bold claim from a bastard at the edge of the world.”

His jaw tightened at my tone, Northern pride flashing in his eyes. "Jon Snow is many things, Your Grace, but a liar is not one of them," he countered sharply. "He killed this... wight... with fire. Burned it to ash while it still moved."

The dragon blood in my veins seemed to warm at the very word ‘fire’. Just having Viserion would give me an incredible edge against the Wights, although the true white walkers themselves were invulnerable to dragon flames. 

"Fire and dragonglass," I murmured after a moment, recalling the details from the TV show. Even in the history books of Red Keep’s library, they spoke of the Long Night, of ice demons driven back by flame and obsidian weapons. Childish tales, most would say, yet I knew the truth.

"What was that, Your Grace?" Robb asked since I'd spoken too low. 

"The issue with these ‘White Walkers’ will be addressed," I assured him, raising a hand to stop his protest. "I'm sending a shipment of dragonglass from Dragonstone to the Wall, along with men to reinforce the Night's Watch. Dragonglass is a special kind of material that can kill wraiths, and perhaps the White Walkers too.”

The surprise on Stark's face was almost comical. He clearly hadn't expected such swift action on what many would consider a fanciful tale.

"The North thanks you," he said, inclining his head respectfully.

"Don't thank me, Robb," I said, leaning forward. "If these creatures are true, as your brother says they are, it'll be a danger to us all. Let's take this seriously, yes? And do reinforce the Wall before your brother's ravens start reporting armies of corpses marching on the Wall."

If the situation truly worsens, I'll fly north myself. I thought, imagining Viserion's flames sweeping across legions of walking corpses.

Ros cleared her throat delicately. "There is one more matter, Your Grace," she said, producing another scroll. "From the Iron Fleet. It seems Queen Yara Greyjoy is returning to Westeros and intends to visit King's Landing. Her letter states she wishes to present the first tribute from the raids of Essos personally and to discuss matters of mutual concern."

I felt a smile tug at my lips. Yara's visit wasn't unexpected, though her timing was interesting. "That's good news. Arrange suitable accommodations," I instructed. "I'm curious what our Iron Queen considers 'mutual concern'."

And even more curious to have her in my bed again, I thought, missing her embrace somewhat. She was a fun one in bed. Yara Greyjoy had proven herself both in battle and in more private arenas. Her submission had been particularly sweet.

Robb shifted in his seat, standing up. "In that case, with your permission," he began, "I must return to the North soon. If these reports from Jon are true, Winterfell must be prepared."

It has been a long time since they've been here. They would have returned earlier if I hadn't gone to Meereen.

I nodded slowly. "Of course. The North can't remain indefinitely without its King." I studied him briefly. "Will your mother remain here with your sister?”

Robb had a sad look on his face. "Yes. We want to bury our father's remains in the crypts of Winterfell. Lady Sansa seems content with her position, otherwise I'm sure she'd have loved to come for a short visit.”

Content enough, I thought, recalling Sansa's expression when she saw Arianne. Despite her displeasure, she was learning her place, adapting to her role as my bride with increasing grace.

"Then our business is concluded for today," I declared, rising from my chair. Ros followed suit immediately. "Prepare messages to Dragonstone regarding the dragonglass. And draft a response to Prince Doran—nothing committal, just enough to keep him uncertain."

As we filed out, our footsteps carrying us through the hallways, thoughts raced ahead to my next moves. 

Aegon, Daenerys, the White Walkers, Tywin Lannister, the Vale.... so many pieces in motion, so many threats and opportunities intertwined.

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