Laenor squeezed his eyes shut and put his face into his hands.
"I survived one assassination attempt, and now you want me to go to Dorne, alone?"
"Not alone, I'll be going with you, of course," Elaena calmly replied.
Leanor looked up at the ceiling and ran his hands down his face.
"Ah, yes. If the Dornish don't succeed in killing me, your father can instead!"
Elaena smiled, a mirthful expression replacing the usual enigmatic one in Laenor's eyes.
"It is not often I hear you jest; you have a gift for good comedic timing. You should use it more– it might help convince people that you're not always on the razor's edge of mass slaughter." Elaena suggested.
"It was no quip!" Laenor squawked, shuddering at the mere mention of mass slaughter. "Your father would be wroth beyond reason if I took you into danger."
Elaena frowned. "I disagree, and it would complicate things too much to hide my presence this time. While my father hasn't given permission, he hasn't forbidden it either. He has given his blessing for you to act on behalf of the Seven Kingdoms, and he's fine with you taking another dragonrider. As the Essosi saying goes, 'better to ask for forgiveness than permission.' Besides," Elaena continued in a reasonable tone, "if we are successful, it will benefit all of Westeros."
Can it be that she doesn't realize how grave a trespass this will be?
"Why can I not simply ask my mother? Why does it have to be you?" Laenor asked.
"Because it has to be me. Someone else might get it wrong," Elaena replied simply. "This sounds arrogant, I know, but I am an exceptional judge of character. I doubt Prince Qoren ordered the assassination, but if he did, I would give it better than even odds that I will be able to tell."
"More sorcery?" Laenor said warily.
Elaena frowned. "Do not speak of it aloud. I mislike people knowing. Be glad that I care much for my sister's happiness and appreciate your continued cooperation. It took much to preserve your life and was not at all simple."
Laenor had confronted Elaena about it earlier. The dragon egg turning to stone was the most obvious clue, but Elaena throwing men into walls hard enough to crack heads and spines was the cherry on top of the witchery pie. Magic was not well-liked by the Andals, and there was much suspicion regarding its practitioners. Laenor had never heard of sorcery being used to physically hurl people before, but he suspected Elaena had employed some form of blood magic to enhance her strength. He didn't know much about what was possible and what was not, and he did not wish to know the details. Even thinking about it made his spine chill.
"My apologies, it won't happen again." He felt some pride at keeping his voice from wavering.
Elaena nodded. "As to your question, no, not really. It is simply a talent I have. Broadly speaking, there are two types of people in the world. The rational ones who can be trusted to act in their best interests, and the irrational ones – more beast than man – dangerous and disturbing. I will be able to discern whether Qoren Martell is the former or the latter. If he is the former, then he most certainly did not send the assassins."
Leanor furrowed his brow. "And if he is among the latter camp?"
"Then we will have confirmation that he has the temperament to send assassins, who would lead his nation to its doom, and may have even done so already. Either way, leaving a man like that to lead a nation at our doorstep would not be wise. In that circumstance, Dorne burns."
Laenor shivered. Elaena was an oddity. There was a coldness to her that he feared, but on rare occasions, he could see true emotion. When she spoke of rational and irrational men, there was heat and hate. However, when she uttered the line "Dorne burns," it was devoid of any emotional significance, as if seeing thousands of people die was merely a ledger tally.
"And if he is rational and you conclude that he did not order the assassination, what then? Am I to convince my father and yours to call off the war? The King has already summoned the banners; we will look ridiculous as a nation," Laenor said, a note of despair in his voice. He did not see how war could be averted.
"That depends on various factors. I have a few alternative solutions up my sleeve, but first I need confirmation on the type of man Qoren is. Now, I trust you are up for a bit of mummery in convincing Dorne you are in fact on the razor's edge, barely restraining your desire to slaughter them all?"
"It will be easy enough." Laenor gave a wan smile, exhausted, "Put on a mask of anger and stare at the Prince of Dorne menacingly. Speak little and imply much. Don't smile. I am not unused to playing a role that comes unnaturally." He let out a strangled puff of laughter at his own words.
"Your cooperation is valued, Laenor. My hope is to save lives and keep our economic progress on track. I promise to do all I can to ensure you are safe during these discussions. I will also intervene with father if he is wroth. I honor my agreements and our work together will see our land prosperous and our family safe." Elaena told him, blue eyes locked on his.
Laenor slowly nodded. "As Joffrey reminds me, you have done naught but help my family. I thank you for saving Joffrey that night, as well as my own life. I will not pretend to be comfortable with the falsehood that has grown beyond reason, but I do thank you. I will play my part."
***
Given Dorne's reply to Laenor's offer, Daemon knew he would have to move fast. Within three days, Laenor and Rhaenys would be meeting with Prince Qoren. Officially, he would be patrolling the border and stopping by Nightsong, Harvest Hall, and Blackhaven to ensure Dorne was not preparing to raid across the border and potentially hamper the arrival of foodstuffs.
That was a ruse, though he would visit all the lords of those holdings. He only truly needed to speak to Aemond and ensure the war began. Given Laenor's prodigious abilities, Daemon assured himself that it was unlikely he would die. And should he fall, Seasmoke and Meleys would exact a dreadful toll for his death, possibly leaving Seasmoke available for a future child or for Visenya, whose egg had yet to hatch.
Flying down, he had a brief meeting with Ser Baldric. He was still angry at the man and considered asking for that second duel, but they were at war, and killing one of the Marcher Lords right before the battle with Dorne would be foolish. Instead, he was... well, not cordial, but not overly rude. The man seemed competent and had already gathered a sizable force, training the levies while organizing the supplies into wagons.
He moved on to his main purpose in visiting and spoke with his nephew alone.
"Have you been ranging into Dorne? What have you learned?" Daemon asked.
"I have, and there isn't much. There's no force preparing to invade. I've spotted small groups of mounted patrols and smallfolk heading south." His voice took on an annoyed tone. "It seems my presence here will avail nothing of note."
Perfect.
"Oh? Do you wish to change that? Do something meaningful instead of guarding a castle that will face no enemies?"
"Yes." Aemond said instantly. "I can be of great use on Vermithor. He's larger than any dragon save your wife's."
Daemon smirked. "So, you think you are ready for real battle, boy? Ready to kill? Ready to see charred corpses in your wake?"
"Of course, I am a Targaryen, blood of Old Valyria. The Conqueror's blood flows in my veins. If your concern is age, it need not be. I am more advanced, intelligent, and skilled than my peers." Aemond answered confidently.
Daemon felt a stir at that. Had he misjudged his nephew? There was fire in this boy, more so than in Rhaenyra's children, at least so far. He idly wondered where this flame had come from. Was it simply his superior Valyrian blood shining true? It could also be Otto Hightower's doing; the man was rancid with ambition and ruthlessness. Had he filled the boy's head with a lust for battle so he could one day be used against Rhaenyra?
It doesn't change anything right now, but I will keep an eye on you.
"The original difficulty remains, Aemond. Viserys has not given his permission for you to act offensively… however if you are willing to keep things secret, there is something of value you could do."
Aemond's eyes flashed in anticipation. "Speak it, then. I am no fink."
"West of the Prince's Pass lies the Torentine River. There are small villages and even a town or two along the banks before the fortress at Blackmont. Eradicate them, and we will make your cousin's assault from the Reach more successful."
Aemond frowned. "That is hardly a great deed or even particularly useful. Let me burn them out at Blackmont instead."
Daemon was tempted, but it was not out of any affection for the boy or fear of censure from his kingly brother that stayed his hand. It was the thought that Vermithor did not deserve to die charging straight into scorpions, ridden by a boy who had yet to enter manhood. Any competent dragonrider would not fall prey to Dornish defenses, but did he trust that Aemond was competent? He had no one to truly teach him, save for his brother, who was likely just as useless.
If I go through with seeing him dead, it will be better done in a way that ensures the Bronze Fury is preserved for certain.
"Now you play the overeager boy, perhaps this was a mistake…"
Aemond growled in clear irritation. "Don't play conversational games with me, uncle. I have not refused your task, and in truth, gladly cleanse the Dornish filth from the Torrentine's northern reaches."
Daemon was rarely challenged or spoken to in this way. He was tempted to cuff the boy but he also admired his forthrightness.
"If you do well with the villages and towns, we will see what else can be done. The reason you are burning those villages is that you spied on Dornish raiders traveling south from the Stormlands. Upon pursuit, they scattered and retreated to those villages, and you put them to the torch."
Aemond arched an eyebrow. "That doesn't make sense. The mountains are not so easily traversable. There's a valley east of Horn Hill; it would make far more sense if the Dornish raiders were fleeing southeast from the Reach."
Daemon didn't have a map handy but now that he recalled, from what he saw back in King's Landing, the boy sounded correct. Either way, it didn't matter. He waved the comment aside with his hand.
"That works just as well. You'll leave tomorrow night; you will not speak of this with Lord Baldric. You may face punishment from your father as well, but I will intercede and say that I would have done the same thing in your place."
Task completed, he did an impromptu inspection of the training yard and then spoke with Selmy one last time.
"All appears to be in good order, Baldric. You will soon join Lord Caron and march down the Prince's Pass, most likely two weeks from now. Young Aemond is performing vital duties, but I sense impatience in him. Do try to curb that; we don't need a dragon going wild in Dorne, as it could cause Prince Qoren to act contrary to what our battle plans anticipate."
"Understood, Prince Daemon. The young prince is eager, it is true, but I can keep him distracted in the yard. He's already a fine swordsman; once he grows into his height and reach, he will be formidable."
Daemon then headed back to his dragon. He stroked the long scaly neck.
"Soon, Caraxes, soon you will fight and feast on flesh again. I know you long for it, and you will have it."
Caraxes made his typical cross between a crooning and hissing sound as he accepted Daemon atop the saddle.
Now to see how it all unfolds.
***
Qoren Martell waited nervously alongside Artyr Dayne in the large tent. He had briefly considered sending the man away; Artyr knew all their defensive stratagems and could lead the defense of Dorne. Yet, he found he could not. He valued the counsel of his loyal knight and believed that if a path to peace could be found, Artyr would be the one to discover it.
As instructed, they were some distance away from Sunspear and had constructed a pavilion with multiple open-air furnishings as well as enclosed tents. On Dayne's advice, they had chosen not to occupy the more opulently furnished one. If the Dark Storm chose to use this meeting as a convenient way to kill the Prince of Dorne, they would not make it quite so easy.
A guard rushed in. "A dragon has been sighted; we think it is Seasmoke. It is slowly circling lower."
"Only one dragon?" Artyr asked for clarification.
"Only one, we've not seen any others, even with the Myrish far-eye."
Qoren waited, doing his best to keep his nerves in check as the dragon descended. He wondered whether he had made the right decision to dress as he had, rather than in more martial garb. Laenor Velaryon was, above all else, a fighter, so meeting him in armor seemed fitting. Yet, Artyr had advised that he should present himself as the diplomat instead... so as not to invoke any unflattering or unfortunate preconceptions in so formidable a mind as that of the Dark Storm's.
His flowing robes of deep sunset orange were made from a luxurious silk blend. Gold thread was woven into the fabric, displaying golden sunbursts along the hems and cuffs of his garb. Qoren's robe was cinched at the waist with a sash of crimson. Rings adorned his fingers, and he wore his crown of red-gold. He looked every inch the ruler of Dorne.
The guard entered again. "Ser Laenor has landed, and with him is another of Targaryen descent. We believe her to be Elaena, the second daughter of King Viserys."
Qoren's eyes widened a bit and he looked over to Artyr. "What do we know of Elaena Targaryen?"
"She is one of Viserys' more favored children. While some men view children born from the deaths of their mothers with distaste and loathing, the King of the Seven Kingdoms seems to have taken the opposite view, seeing her as the last gift of his beloved Queen."
Artyr gave a thoughtful look.
"This is good for us; it nearly guarantees that Ser Laenor is here to speak, not to kill. Princess Elaena has a mixed reputation. She is well-regarded by the smallfolk for giving skilled fighters a chance to rise to knighthood through tourneys. They call those knights the 'Knights of Victory,'" Artyr continued his explanation.
"You said mixed?"
"Yes, she is viewed as someone who is a bit eccentric as well. The first woman to have studied in the Citadel, she is not often seen at social events in King's Landing. The thought is that she is somewhat of recluse who only emerges for important court events or tournaments. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, she seems to have few enemies among the nobility and her hand was eagerly sought after. She is described as beautiful and reserved and is now set to be wed to Ser Kevan Lefford, a knight of no renown in the Westerlands." Artyr finished his explanation.
Qoren was confused. "Why, then, is she here?"
"Any guess I make would be like throwing a spear in the dark; there is no way to know if I have struck my mark."
Qoren nodded and ordered the guards to bring the two to his tent. They arrived shortly after, and Qoren took note of their attire. Both wore riding leathers but were otherwise unarmored. Ser Laenor had an arming sword sheathed at his side, along with a belt knife. His expression was guarded, and his eyes first flickered to Ser Artyr. Princess Elaena, however, was a stark contrast, her expression sunny and heedless of the nervous tension carried by Qoren's guards. Her blue eyes, as vibrant as any Targaryen's violet ones, seemed to almost glow in the tent's shade.
"Be welcome, Ser Laenor, future King-Consort of the Seven Kingdoms. I am most pleased to hear of your return to health. Be welcome; I offer bread and salt, as well as wine to slake your thirst," Qoren said in a pleasant tone, a confident smile upon his face despite his inner turmoil. "And you must be Princess Elaena. Congratulations on your pending nuptials to Ser Kevan of ancient and noble House Lefford."
Laenor simply grunted, and then Elaena spoke up. "Thank you, Prince Qoren. We are pleased to be here and hope we can resolve some pressing issues. As for bread and salt, we appreciate your hospitality in the spirit it is offered, but we must decline. I am sure you understand why."
Qoren gave her a nod and a smile despite the implied insult.
In truth, I cannot fault them for their caution after what occurred.
"I do. Please allow me to introduce one of my closest advisors, Ser Artyr Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He is familiar with the ways of the Seven Kingdoms and is here to ensure I do not accidentally offend." He finished with a wry chuckle, hoping to bring a more casual air to the stifling tension in the tent.
The tent was relatively cool despite the heat outside. Designed to allow air to flow freely, it protected the occupants from the harsh sun. It would likely still be warmer than what the two before him were accustomed to, but with only a moderate increase in heat, it hopefully would not cause any tempers to flare. Given his own experience with the Dornish heat, the temperature felt nearly perfect for Qoren.
"The fabled Sword of the Morning. I have read that your sword is made of material from a falling star and is the only one equal to Valyrian steel blades. With your permission, I would love to examine it later," Elaena replied, giving Ser Artyr a glance.
"I have no objections, princess." Artyr replied respectfully.
There were seats prepared with cushions for Qoren's guests, but they refused them and stayed standing.
Qoren clapped his hands. "To business then. As I wrote to your king, I had no part in the attempted assassination of your person, Ser. I hope to uncover if anyone in Dorne may have been responsible, but my men in Planky Town have not yet met with success. Lord Dalt is well known to me and would never act in such a manner as to strike at you."
Laenor looked at him and narrowed his gaze, but did not speak.
Qoren felt a slow trickle of sweat crawl down his spine. Qoren eyed that his guards were fidgeting nervously. Swallowing heavily he continued speaking.
"I understand that your King has called his banners. I wish to avoid a costly war with the Seven Kingdoms. What can we do to resolve this misunderstanding?"
Laenor continued to stare at him.
Elaena cleared her throat. "My father has summoned his banners. You must admit that a Dornish vessel preparing to allow Dornish assassins to flee paints a disturbing picture against future peaceful relations with Dorne."
Qoren took a deep breath, trying to ease the tension in his body. He and Artyr had spoken of this; they could not appear too servile or fearful of Viserys.
"My people often work as sellswords in Essos. Anyone can hire Dornish born soldiers to do their bidding with the right coin." Qoren addressed Elaena and then looked back to Laenor. "I ask again, for the sake of not just my people, but your own. We have long prepared for the specter of dragons again over the skies of Dorne. If you value the lives of your men, you will not waste their lifeblood on our sands."
Laenor's hand darted to the hilt of his blade. One of Qoren's guards let out a straining groan as they tightened their grips on their own weapons. Artyr took a step forward, moving his body between Qoren and Laenor. Elaena grabbed her good-brother's arm.
"You promised." She hissed in a near whisper.
The Dark Storm released the sword he had yet to draw, though his arm still trembled faintly with suppressed rage, and Qoren's guards relaxed somewhat. The stifling air, pregnant with violence, did not seem to dissipate despite Laenor moving back to a less hostile stance.
"Prince Qoren, while we agree that blood spilt is wasteful, threats against us so soon after loyal Velaryon guards and servants fell in battle is perhaps not wise. House Velaryon still mourns their loss and the thought that further danger would prevent Ser Laenor from exacting vengeance is absurd." Elaena remarked.
Qoren felt a suffocating heat at this delicate dance. He wiped his forehead and put on a conciliatory tone.
"I beg your pardon, then, for my aim was not to threaten anyone but merely to explain the stakes if these negotiations fail. Someone attempted to assassinate you, Ser Laenor, and it was either done by my hand or by someone who wishes to see my house fall. If the latter is true, then you will be providing a great service to those who slaughtered your people."
Laenor's expression remained stoic but he glanced at Elaena before returning his steady, and terrifying gaze to Qoren.
"Well reasoned, Prince Qoren. That is the dilemma before us. If you are not responsible for this, which we have yet to fully determine, then it may well be a matter of internal politicking within Dorne. Who among your vassals stands to gain the most should your line be… wholly extinguished, down to the last remnant?"
Qoren dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. Such a sweet voice juxtaposed with such a threat was maddening. He collected himself and then replied without a tremor in his voice.
"I have no evidence of any of my vassals conspiring to murder you, Ser Laenor. However, hypothetically speaking, House Yronwood and House Jordayne would be the ones most likely to gain should my line be supplanted."
Elaena spoke again, leaving Laenor to glower at him silently. The weight of Laenor's gaze felt like a physical manifestation, pressing down on him. Qoren wished to brush the sweat from his face again, but he was aware that doing so repeatedly could be perceived as a sign of weakness, so he refrained.
"If Ser Laenor wished to speak to these lords and determine for himself their guilt or innocence, would you be opposed?" Elaena asked.
Qoren glanced at Artyr, who stepped in.
"We can summon these lords to Sunspear and then have them speak to you." Artyr said steadily.
"Which could take time, we have dragons who can make such a journey in less than a day. If you are serious in your intent to stop a conflict, we would not wish for any delay," Elaena replied.
"Such a thing is difficult to agree to, Princess Elaena," Artyr replied smoothly. "We are not part of the Seven Kingdoms. To allow dragons to fly to various strongholds and interrogate our lords would be without precedent."
"Then we will start one now," Laenor said, his first words since entering the tent. They came out in a low, almost guttural tone.
The air itself seemed to spark with the fury and loathing in just those six words.
Qoren held up a hand, quickly but not too quickly. "Peace, please, we have not denied you outright." The fell gaze of Ser Laenor returned to him like a physical blow. His next inhalation of air filled his lungs like a thick blanket, abrasive against his throat. He almost gasped but forced himself to be composed.
"Prince Qoren, we are at an unprecedented stage in Westeros. Given the evidence pointing toward your house, any other King would not even bother with this attempted negotiation. My father is more peaceful than most Targaryen Kings, but do not think that his wrath, once roused, can be easily sated. I know not what our discussions with your vassal lords will reveal, but time is of the essence," Elaena said in a soft yet urgent voice.
Qoren glanced at Artyr, who tilted his head slightly to the right.
"Allow us some time to confer on your request. You must understand that Dornish lords are rightfully proud, and approaching them on dragonback with harsh voices and visages will only put their backs up and hinder any useful investigation." Qoren tried to keep his voice clear and confident, though he succeeded only partially.
"Not good enough." Laenor growled. "Decide. Now."
Qoren shuddered under the sheer dread suddenly stiffening his spine and wondered if his death was only moments away. He would normally never bet against Ser Artyr's prowess in battle, but the Dark Storm's ferocity and inhuman strength was now known by all to a truly legendary extent. He had four other guards in the tent, yet somehow, he doubted they could do much in such a battle.
"Laenor!" Elaena snapped. "You swore you would let me try my way first." Qoren felt a moment of respite as Laenor's gaze turned to Elaena's, a strange look coming over his face.
She met his gaze and lifted her chin. They were frozen for several moments until Laenor turned away.
Elaena sighed. "Prince Qoren, I fear my good-brother and your own guards are making these discussions far too fraught. May we speak alone and have the others step outside of the tent?"
Without thought, he quickly nodded. "Yes, that would be for the best."
Laenor shot his good-sister an incredulous look. He turned to Qoren.
"Harm a hair on her head and no one in Dorne will be left alive."
He then did an about-face and marched out of the tent. Artyr hesitated but then followed with the guards. Immediately, Qoren felt his nerves ease and his breath come easier. He experienced the ventilation of the tent again and he no longer thought he was in a forge.
Gods, I never want to be near that monster again.
From the exchange, Qoren had already gleaned some insights about Laenor. He clearly had no qualms about killing anyone who stood in his way. However, his good-sister seemed to be holding his leash. Qoren was uncertain how that dynamic had come to be, but she was family, both by blood and by marriage, and it appeared he had agreed to let her pursue diplomacy. Perhaps she was even his lover; some of the fouler stories of the Dark Storm included ones where he fucked men, women, children, and beast when his lusts arose. Artyr had advised that those grim rumors were likely spread by those embittered by the drastic losses in the Stepstones, but who could say for certain? How could one sift fact from rumor when so many tales surrounded the man?
"A good suggestion, Princess Elaena. I fear that one may not be the right sort for diplomatic dealings." Qoren said with a smile, hoping it was interpreted as charming.
"He likes to handle things personally. There may be some truth to what you say, but let us get to business. I sense in you a keen grasp of reality, so with your permission, may I be direct and cut to the quick?"
Feeling much more at ease he nodded magnanimously. "Yes, that would be for the best."
"War is coming. The Seven Kingdoms will not be made fools of. The only question is where our dragons and armies should be directed. We could attack Dorne, and we would likely be successful. The failures of the Conqueror have been studied, and a more effective course has already been charted. However, you could make our occupation painful. I have no desire to see my family do to your innocent smallfolk what would be required to pacify you for good."
Qoren was taken aback for more than one reason.
"I'll not argue or quibble, but rest assured," Qoren replied gently, "whoever told you those lies about your ability to quell our resistance is simply wrong."
"I am tempted to say that I am but a young girl who does not understand the ways of war, but that would be a lie. Prince Martell, you do not grasp how we would wage this war. The horrors in the plans being devised would chill you to your bones. I speak of a war against your land, not your people. Every shred of greenery, every tree, every harbor, and every building would be scorched to ruin. This would not be a conflict of months or even years, but a relentless effort to make the land itself uninhabitable." She shuddered. "It is a nightmare crafted by my Uncle Daemon. Your ears have no doubt heard that he commands my father's armies in this endeavor. He yearns not just for victory but for annihilation. That is why I have journeyed all this way, why I so desperately wish to avoid this conflict."
Qoren was aghast at the prospect and realized that it could indeed work. While Dorne was not entirely desert, a significant portion of it was. Along the coasts and near the rivers, food could be cultivated. Their exports of wine and citrus fruits provided grain in return, and fish from the coastal areas often served as a staple for the salty Dornish. The notion of a war aimed at targeting resources – typically desired to be seized rather than destroyed – was deeply disturbing.
"But why?"
"To leave his mark on the world, to avenge the Conquerors' lone defeat. I try not to delve into the depravity of that one's mind. As I say, I wish to prevent this, and we can do so, if we work together."
"How?"
"Why, by revealing the true culprits." Elaena said with a smile.
"You wish me to allow one of my vassals to be annihilated in my stead? That would destroy my rule and make us no better than a client state." Qoren said bitterly.
"Oh no, I said reveal the true culprit. Tyrosh. Your men did such a wonderful job in uncovering the scheme. Through sharp question you learned of the Tyroshi plot to not only gain vengeance against the Seven Kingdoms but also destabilize Dorne, a one-time ally who gave up on the military alliance after Ser Laenor torched your fleet."
Qoren sat back, thinking through just what the Targaryen princess was saying.
"Naturally, you were quite wroth over the entire affair, and in a show of solidarity with your neighbor, you will join in the war effort against Tyrosh. A portion of the loot from the conquered city will be allocated to Dorne for its timely aid and investigative prowess. This will also mark the beginning of closer ties with the Seven Kingdoms, which includes allowing the Dragon Bank to lend to your houses, a few marital arrangements, and even a joint Dornish and Seven Kingdoms force to patrol the official boundary line between our allied nations."
"But no such evidence exists!" Qoren sputtered. She spoke rapidly, envisioning a future precariously built upon a precipice of clouds.
"It does if you say it does. Evidence that Ser Laenor heard with his own two ears. Naturally, in his rage, he slew the despicable Tyroshi villain, but not before hearing and fully believing the confession." Elaena continued, gracefully gesturing with her hand. "The internal diplomacy within the King's court makes this somewhat challenging, but with Ser Laenor convinced – the victim of the assassination attempt – the Velaryon family will support him. His wife will back him. Many nobles will salivate at the prospect of the wealth from one of the Free Cities. And my bloodthirsty uncle will be appeased with the expansion of his rule over the Stepstones to include Tyrosh."
Qoren needed to speak with Artyr about this. This was a tempting offer, and if what the petite princess was saying was true, this would leave his lands untouched. Some of what she was saying was worrying, the expansion of the Dragon Bank for one, but it would easily be worth it if meant his people were not destroyed.
"But then what of the actual culprits? Who did try to have the Dark Storm assassinated? And why do you now believe me?"
Elaena gave a small shrug. "In truth, it is impossible to say who did it. Anyone capable of putting together such an attack would have covered their tracks. For all I know it might have been the Triarchy. As to why I believe you? You were logical in your rhetoric, there is no way you would have chosen to risk your life and your crown in such an attempt. And while some would say that a crafty Dornishman would know that this is how we would we perceive it and thus use it to get away with this murderous attempt, that is simply not how much of the Seven Kingdoms thinks. Were it not for my interference, such a flimsy rhetorical shield would not have saved you."
"Then why Tyrosh?" Qoren asked, still deeply curious as to what motivated the apparently quite cunning young woman before him.
"Because they are pirates and slavers who have preyed upon our mercantile fleets on numerous occasions. I hate the institution of slavery and if I had to direct our might at a target, I would rather it be them than Dorne. It will also be far less disruptive and cost less in blood and treasure than the prolonged murder of the Dornish land and people."
Qoren nodded, and while he was still uncertain how truthful the young woman before him was, it did make a certain amount of sense. The alternatives were simply too horrifying for him to fully process at the moment.
"Let me discuss it with my advisors and I will decide by evening."
Elaena accepted the delay and she and Ser Laenor took their ease in one of the outdoor pavilions. They had brought their own provisions and ate them while Seasmoke lay near their chosen spot.
When Artyr returned, Qoren explained what Elaena had told him.
"Of all the possible outcomes, this is one I did not foresee, my prince. Not knowing more about Princess Elaena, I cannot say how truthful she may be. However, if the Seven Kingdoms wished it, they could wage war on Tyrosh without our aid. I believe her description of the internal politics in King's Landing is accurate. Now the only question is: do we play along and trust, or do we fight a war we are most like to lose?" Artyr said in a resigned tone.
Qoren wished to look at the problem from all angles. They reviewed again their proposed countermeasures considering the new Targaryen strategy. Artyr saw Daemon's plan as a vile thing, but one that had the potential to be successful.
"The problem is we do not know their appetite for pursuing this. Our ultimate victory depends on their growing weary of the war. We must make it more painful for them to continue their actions. If losses and time mean little to them, they may very well succeed in devastating the land for a generation. My prince, though I am loath to support a falsehood, this is our best course of action," Artyr advised.
As they continued to consider, a soldier came bearing ill news. The Seven Kingdoms had begun their attack. It was not an assault on a fortress, or movement of armies, no it was the destruction of unimportant villages along the banks of the Torentine.
"We are in the middle of a parley and they do this?" Qoren felt his anger quicken.
Artyr sighed. "It is a tactical display of power. It is them saying that they know we dare not take vengeance even if Ser Laenor and the King's beloved daughter are vulnerable. It is to remind us we are helpless to protect our smallfolk. It is vile and foul but it makes clear the stark realities of our position."
Qoren recalled the baleful gaze of the Dark Storm. As much as he would love to repay the destruction of innocent Dornish lives, he knew he could not. He also understood that he had to play along to their tune to avoid further devastation.
"They have us. We must agree to their demands. Summon Laenor and Elaena and inform them that we are prepared to play our part in their mummer's farce."