( Nymeria POV )
"You talk too much," Quentyn explained "In your cups or in bed. I'm sorry."
"All of that based on that shred of information in the capital? I never told a soul!" Cletus reacted with energy. "How can you know where it came from?"
"I only told you."
...
The answer once again came down, cleanly, not leaving the boy a single chance. Cletus was stunned, at a loss for words.
"If there's nothing else, we need to go convince Queen Daenerys to not go through with this madness." Quentyn sighed, as if nothing had happened, patting Archibald on the back.
"Before we go," Nymeria smiled, then walked up to the Yronwood boy. "I have something to do."
Not leaving him a chance, her fist came flying into Cletus' nose, sending him hurling to the ground.
"Only one man may ever call me a whore. Say it again and not even your cousin may stop me from removing your tongue."
Not even bothering to let him defend or excuse himself, she sent a single kick into his side as he lay on the dusty ground, blood rushing from his nose and a part of his face.
"Go to the maester, Cletus," Quentyn ordered, "and if you insult Nym again, you'll get to swim back to Yronwood."
Nymeria exited the tent, furious, but tried to calm herself down. They would not need to be divided during these decisive times. In Westeros, they could bicker all they want…just not right now.
She took a breath of fresh air, feeling the evening cool on her skin, then followed the trio to Queen Daenerys' camp, which they were beginning to know well.
Ser Barristan stopped them at the Queen's tent, only allowing her and Quentyn in.
"Your grace," Quentyn knelt in front of the Valyrian beauty, Nym closely following.
"Prince Quentyn, to what do I owe this visit?" Queen Daenerys motioned for them to rise, her small translator looking at them with an odd eye.
"I wished for you to reconsider the condition you put on your marriage with Prince Aegon," Quentyn cut in, straight to the point.
"Oh?" the Queen fiddled with one of her jewels, "and why is that?"
"With all due respect, Your Grace, a Targaryen taming or forming a bond with a dragon can take months, if not years. Months and years that we do not have," Quentyn dug in, straight to the point.
"Some Targaryens also may never form a bond," Nymeria felt compelled to add.
The Queen rose from her chair and stepped down to their level, looking at them as if to see if they were hiding something.
"The defence of your kin is quite justified," she finally said, "but I have made my decision."
"Your Grace," Quentyn protested again, "Prince Aegon is a kind soul, but he is also a man that wishes to be devoted to you. Rushing him like this may have bad consequences."
The Queen giggled.
"Fire does not harm a dragon." She hummed. "Prince Aegon will be fine."
"Princess Rhaenyra was harmed by that same fire, was she not a dragon?"
Quentyn's retort stopped the Queen in her tracks. Suddenly, she felt less confident.
"You may be right," she admitted, "however, I have been used all my life by men who were not worthy of me. Not worthy of the dragon. My brother, idiot that he was, thought himself to be a dragon, you see. In truth, he was nothing more than a sheep thinking he had wings. No, Prince Quentyn, I am not in a mood to accept another sheep as my husband. Prince Aegon can prove himself as a dragon, or he can run and be a sheep."
"There aren't many dragons around, Your Grace," Quentyn pointed out.
"No," the Queen giggled, "but there are many men that can submit to me entirely. Aegon will not. He wishes to share power? Let him. But let him prove himself a dragon first, for I will not be duped again."
"And if he doesn't tame one?" Quentyn asked, clearly desperate.
"Well, no harm done. I am a patient woman, I will wait for him to do so." Queen Daenerys shrugged. "And in the meantime, I shall still seek the throne you wish to place me on."
Quentyn's expression remained plain, but Nymeria could see that he was struggling.
"Your Grace, couldn't we at least agree on a betrothal?" she asked with confidence. "You wouldn't be committed to it, and should Prince Aegon not prove 'dragon' enough for your liking, you may still break it."
The Queen stayed mute at the proposition, humming for a moment, before nodding.
A slight smile formed on Nymeria's lips, only to come crashing down at her response.
"I shall dwell on it."
Before Nymeria could protest in turn, Ser Barristan entered the tent, causing the two Dothraki guards in the tent to stiffen, almost at attention.
"Your Grace, Prince Aegon has been seen trying to approach Rhaegal."
"Shit," Quentyn murmured, close enough for her to hear.
"Well, then, we shall see how this goes!" the Queen jovially laughed, "it's a good choice too, Rhaegal is the softest of them all, I don't think he could really harm a fly unless he was hungry."
This seemed to greatly annoy Quentyn, or at least it made him stammer something even she couldn't understand.
Nevertheless, they both followed the Queen out to a secluded area, outside of the camp, in a clearing where the woods touched the sea.
Rhaegal was there, the majestic dragon resting on the beach, his green scales reflecting the sea, making him shine brighter.
In front of him, Aegon was moving slowly, surely breathing in heavily with each step, his arm outstretched.
A small crowd had gathered at a safe distance, all huddled around Queen Daenerys who watched the show with great attention, a finger on her cheek and her gaze fixated on the dragon.
Suddenly, Rhaegal woke up, stretching his legs, which made Aegon retreat at least six or seven steps, looking at the dragon who stared down at him.
Quentyn took a deep breath. Sensing his distress, she offered a hand which he immediately took.
Rhaegal had now lowered his head at Aegon's level, studying him closely.
As he did so, no one moved a muscle, or talked. The only thing she could hear other than the waves were Quentyn's mysterious words, which he whispered to himself,
"Salve, Regina, mater misericordiae…"
Aegon outstretched his arm, towards Rhaegal's nose. The dragon flinched, his head going back, not letting Aegon even feel the warmth of his breath.
"misericordes oculos ad nos converte…"
The dragon slowly opened his mouth, his teeth now revealed. Aegon has stopped, his arm still outstretched, but now trembling. Nymeria could see, even from where she was standing, that he had closed his eyes.
"nobis post hoc exsilium ostende…"
The dragon has closed in, his mouth still open. It was over. Nymeria could feel it. They had gambled and they had lost. She could now feel the dragon's heat burning from afar, ready to end their hopes in a jet of flame. Quentyn had closed his eyes, still mumbling.
"O clemens, O pia…"
Then, as she feared she would see a dragon hurling death at someone for the first time, Rhaegal closed his mouth and the distance separating him and Aegon. He placed his nostrils in front of the Prince, letting his hand touch the scales of the beast.
A gasp escaped the audience, where Daenerys' expression was now unreadable, a mix between surprise and anxiety.
"Salve, regina, mater misericordiae…"
Quentyn opened his eyes again, then watched, baffled, as Rhaegal laid down next to Aegon, extending his wing and urging him to climb on.
Aegon walked at a slow pace, not wanting to rush the pace. Then, as Nymeria saw him cling on to the spines on the dragon's back, Rhaegal spread his wings and took off, casting a large shadow over the small crowd, and disappearing on the horizon.
Quentyn almost fell to his knees, and Nym could see some tears of joy form around his eyes.
He kissed her palm and whispered into it:
"Gracias Maria."
Knowing that he would need some time to recover, she instead grinned and looked to Queen Daenerys, who looked at the sky with a mixture of sadness and wonder:
"So, Your Grace, when shall we schedule the wedding?"
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