( Daenerys POV )
The clouds had covered most of the sky, but the heat continued to beat down on the camp outside of Volantis.
Daenerys sulked, alone, in her tent, doing her best to wipe the sweat from her forehead. The siege has been long, and for the moment, showed no signs of dying down.
She was frustrated.
The first attempt, a slave revolt, had failed, and the Volantenes had entrenched themselves behind their massive walls. She wanted to stop innocent blood from being needlessly spilled, but now, she was getting annoyed.
Especially that her final goal was so close at hand.
The Iron Throne was there, reaching out to her, with no one but a few traitors in her path that would easily bend to her will once she showed them the might of the dragons.
No, truly, everything was falling into place.
The Martells, loyal as they were, just like her brother Viserys had told her all these years ago, had come to seek her out and bend the knee.
They brought an army, a fleet, and more resources than she could ever hope for. Without them, she wouldn't have much. As Ser Barristan had emphasized: in order to win over Westeros she would need allies that were already there. The Blackfyres had not understood that, but she did.
And Dorne had proved its loyalty during the Rebellion, not like those traitorous Northmen her nephew supposedly commanded. Once a traitor…
But Daenerys knew how to be merciful. Her nephew would see reason and would surrender without a fight. Between dragons, they could understand each other, and he would see the error of wanting to keep an independent North.
The only obstacles were the Lannisters and Tyrells, but bled out by years of war, how could they stand against the forces of Dorne, the Golden Company and three dragons?
Speaking of the Golden Company, Daenerys made a slight face.
She did not forget the humiliation they had given Viserys when they called him the 'Beggar King' at that feast.
For now, she could entertain their presence, but the moment they will not be needed, she will make sure that Ser Strickland remembers that memory. No, she would make sure Strickland earned his name, whatever her…husband said about it.
Daenerys frowned at that.
She had hoped to keep Aegon away for as long as possible. Her previous husbands were forced on her, and she would not be forced upon by one again.
An impossible task had to be found, and what better task than to claim a dragon? Surely, if Aegon Targaryen was who he claimed to be, it would be easy?
She had hoped that even if Aegon did happen to tame a dragon, it would've taken him a few moons, even months! Not a few days!
Well, she was stuck there. Going back on her word would do her no good, especially with Aegon being backed by both Dorne and the Golden Company, which she needed for the moment.
A sigh escaped her.
She had had the vain hope that this time she would get to choose her husband. That hope was now lost.
But at least she would not chain herself to him. After all, did the Dornish not take paramours? Did the Prince of Dorne himself not have one at his side?
Speaking of which, Daenerys bit her lip at that. How could such a beautiful woman stay at the side of someone so…bland? Even with the scar on his eye, the Prince remained nothing exceptional, unlike some of his subjects…
A problem for another time. For now, the Prince had asked for an audience, and keeping him waiting under this heat was not kind.
Finally, she signalled Ser Barristan, faithfully standing watch, to let the princeling in.
The Prince was alone, and respectfully handed over his weapons to Ser Barristan with a calm nod.
He then approached and went down on one knee, his brown eyes meeting hers.
"Your Grace."
"Rise, Prince Quentyn," Daenerys said with a half-smile, "I believe we have to talk. Come with me."
She motioned him towards a table, and asked Ser Barristan to send in a servant.
Her Lord Commander bowed and left. No doubt he would be there in an instant, like a shadow following her every move.
The servants brought glasses and beverages, a relief in this heat.
"Wine, Prince Quentyn?" she asked.
"No, thank you, Your Grace," came the answer, "I prefer water."
"Oh?" Daenerys looked at him, surprised, "I thought you Dornishmen liked your wine."
"We do, your grace, but I avoid drinking, especially when talking about serious matters."
Daenerys acted surprised but nodded, dismissing the servants with a wave of her hand.
"I believe you have come to discuss the heart of your terms, is that so?"
The Prince did not make any effort to hide this matter. He just nodded.
"Good, but let us start with my issues, shall we?"
"Very well, Your Grace."
"I heard one of your quartermasters say that your ships cannot carry my entire army across the Narrow Sea, is that true?"
Prince Quentyn nodded."That is true, your grace."
"You promised to carry all of my forces to Dorne."
Daenerys tried to seek a reaction from her interlocutor, but he gave none. He spoke calmly and softly, "I did and I will, Your Grace. My ships will make several voyages if necessary. But if I may, you may not need to transport your entire army."
"Carry on," Daenerys nodded, intrigued.
"Your erm…army is composed essentially of foreigners."
Ser Barristan had prepared her for this conversation, and she sighed inwardly, taking a sip out of her cup of wine.
"It might be well not to feed into your enemies claims, Your Grace," the prince continued with a bit more confidence, "you will be villainized as the Queen who comes to Westeros with an army of sellswords and foreigners."
"You then suggest that I leave all of my loyal men here? Some of those people have been with me since I left Pentos?"
"No, Your Grace, not at all. I say the men you trust the most, take them with you. The Unsullied, too, even if I doubt their aptitude for Westerosi warfare. Ser Barristan's guard, too…but not the various companies of eastern sellswords, armed slaves and gods forbid…the Dothraki."
Daenerys frowned, but once again, remembered the words of Ser Barristan. It would not do to keep all of her people. But she did not wish to abandon them either. Perhaps she could give them Volantis. After all, once the city is taken, order would need to be restored.
She tapped on the table, not willing to concede.
"I shall dwell on it."
"I thank you, Your Grace," the Prince said with a nod, "the next subject I wished to deal with you is a thorny one."
"Mhm, do tell," Daenerys said, urging the Prince to speak his mind.
"I mentioned territorial compensations for Dorne before, I wished to discuss them with Your Grace."
Daenerys frowned, but let the princeling continue.
"The first one would be the Stepstones. These rocks have been there for three hundred years, housing scum ranging from slavers to pirates." The prince laid a map in front of her. "They have been raiding our traders and our coasts for generations. The threat it represents to our lands should be wiped out, once and for all. Your father even proposed an invasion, in his younger years."
Daenerys looked at the map. Indeed, the Stepstones have been a thorn in the Seven Kingdom's side for too long. Giving them to Dorne would get rid of a problem and also help keep the rest of the Free Cities in check…until she came to liberate them too.
"You can consider this matter agreed upon, Prince Quentyn."
"I'm glad to hear it, Your Grace." The prince allowed himself a slight smile. "The next one is more … technical."
The Prince took out a quill and drew some ink, drawing a line that started from the mouth of the Torentine, slowly making its way upwards along the Red Mountains, following the line of the small hills instead of the peaks, before stopping at the Slayne and dropping down.
"I wish that these lands be integrated into Dorne."
Daenerys looked at the map and hovered her fingers over the names on it: Starpike, Nightsong, Blackhaven, Fawnton…and it seemed Ser Barristan followed it as well as she heard a gasp when she reached the last name: Harvest Hall.
Daenerys recovered slightly. After all, why wouldn't she grant these lands? These lords had been traitors to their cause, even if the issue of House Selmy deserved to be raised.
"That is certainly a lot, Prince Quentyn. What Lady Shireen will have to say?" she wondered aloud with a sly smile.
"Your word is law, Your Grace, she shouldn't be able to say anything."
"But she is the Lady of Storm's End."
"By your mercy. Would you let her keep the title of Lord Paramount of the Stormlands? I'm sure Lord Connington thinks he should be rewarded with it too."
"You would suggest Lord Connington may be more amenable to this?" she asked, curious.
"Not more than Lady Shireen, Your Grace," Quentyn pointed out with a grin. "But if I may, none of them should have a say."
"Pray, tell me."
"The Stormlands, whatever their faults, are loyal to the Baratheons, but they are also loyal to the strongest. Many of them followed Renly, then went over to Stannis, and then finally to the Tyrells, who hold the true heir to Storm's End, in their mind, Floris Baratheon."
Prince Quentyn said with a slightly confident air. "Therefore, Lord Connington wouldn't last in that position. However, the Baratheons…aren't they the most disloyal of all houses?"
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