"If you can measure the amount of arsenic in a fish, I would suggest finding a different pond."
"Your Grace!" came a shout from a messenger as he burst into the room of the manse I had appropriated. Out here, beneath the sun in the deserts of Dorne, you spent as little of the day outside as you could. Even the Cannibal needed time to cool off. So for one of the guards to actually send someone was a sign of something significant. "Shape on the horizon! In the sky!"
"Those are clouds," I muttered from the cot where I had been laying, The manse had been lavishly decorated when I had taken this town. This utterly abandoned and empty town in the heart of Uller territory. The capital of Uller territory, at that. Hellholt. What a stupid name for a city. But annoyingly appropriate. "I dare say those would be a welcome addition to this place."
Needless to say, I did not trust the furniture to be laced with some horrid poison that would cause my skin to slough off. So I made do with a cot. At least a cot was a lot less of a loss after it had been fouled with sweat.
"No, your Grace, t'was bronze!" the messenger insisted, and I sat up immediately. Either the man who sent this man was suffering from heatstroke so severe that he was hallucinating, or there really had been something bronze in the sky. If it was the latter, then that meant only one thing. "A great beast in the sky!"
Probably not heatstroke, then.
And definitely Father paying me a visit.
"Best go meet him, then," I declared, casting about for my essentials. Leaving the relative safety of the manse without at least a modicum of protection was hardly prudent, no matter how abandoned the town might have seemed. Meaning the mail that went beneath my armor and my sword. "Where was the shape last seen?"
"To the northeast, Your Grace," the man breathed, and I noticed just how utterly drenched in sweat the man was. He must have run here at full tilt. With all the weapons and armor piled on him, it was a miracle he had not yet collapsed. "Matthos saw it."
I did not waste further words once I was reasonably armed and armored.
"You did well," I told the man. "Get some rest before you return to your duty."
"And ale?" he asked hopefully, and I suppressed an annoyed sigh.
"You can ask the guards at the rear doors to share," I told him, striding through the doors. "But I will not order them to do so."
Mail chimed around me as I made to leave the manse. The guards on duty in the anteroom, still alert from having admitted the messenger, followed wordlessly. Another pair, this time standing on the inside of the only entrance, followed suit.
By the time I left the manse, I had six guards following me. From the manse, I began the not all too long walk to what I had assumed was the market square. Given how it was wide open and close to the river, I assumed it was a fitting assumption to make.
Tragically, even if it was only a short walk, it was still a walk beneath the desert sun. What few horses I had managed to transport from the Dayne lands had better uses than carrying me around town. No, they were busy bringing supplies to Hellholt, because the whirlpools that ran all along the southern coast were especially vicious at the estuary.
Because even the water in Dorne proper hated me.
Speaking of evil water, I could have realized my arrival at the market square even blinded thanks to the sulfurous stink of the river invading my nose, I was once again reminded of why this town was so very aptly named. The sound of powerful waves crashing against the shores earned my attention as a colossal black dragon's head rose above the river. Yes, even for dragons, this heat was too much.
"Enjoying yourself?"
The Cannibal snorted, sending a spray of stinking water splashing all over the market square. Immediately, it began to sizzle and steam, the stone hot enough to boil the water. If this was the kind of place that produced Dornishmen, a place that required willfully going against every spark of wisdom provided by the Crone, I could almost understand why Morion had decided to doom his kingdom.
Without warning, the beast's head whipped up into the sky in search of something. Craning my neck, I followed his gaze and saw what had drawn his attention: In the middle distance, not too far from where I was standing at the edge of town, I could see the familiar form of Vermithor approaching me. Well, more the familiar color of the Bronze Fury, but the point stood.
The guard had most certainly not been hallucinating.
With a loud splash, the Cannibal disappeared into the depths of the river. No doubt he was heading as far downstream as he could get. Lucky beast. At least he could spend all day submerged in those brackish waters. Something more than one of my men was busy emulating.
"Keep your eyes open," I told the men who had formed my bodyguard. They responded sluggishly, unevenly, but formed a loose half circle around me, nonetheless.
Mere minutes later, with a grace entirely unbefitting for such a massive beast, my father's dragon landed on the sandy ground. There was a lot more sand than with one of the Cannibal's landings, certainly, but it was unmistakably more graceful. As soon as the great beast came to a stop, Vermithor's head dipped low, allowing Father to undo his chains and land on the ground within only a few moments.
It had been nearly three months since I had last seen him. Frankly, he still looked the same, though his face looked a touch more drawn than before. Narrower, harsher, embittered. Combined with the black armor and red surcoat, every inch of him suggested that this was not a man to be trifled with.
More worryingly, it suggested that he was far from happy with how things were going.
"Father," I greeted him with the appropriate level of respect before wrapping him in a tight embrace. A month in the Dayne lands and two more in the lands of Uller with no company save for Ironborn had a way of making family just a bit more important. "Welcome to Hellholt."
"It is good to see you well, son," Father said, and for just a moment the previously harsh features melted into the image of paternal joy that had dominated his face for as long as I could remember. "And so far into Dorne, too. I was not expecting to see our banners above that damned castle."
Far above our heads stood the castle of Hellholt. Sandy yellow walls that rose high above the town that shared its name, looking even paler in contrast to the Targaryen banner I had commended by flown from the keep. Sandy yellow walls that were far more vibrant a yellow in a section not far from a tower that only stood half as tall as its brethren.
Yes, a damned castle indeed.
A damned castle that I had no desire to enter. Not out of fear of enemies or traps or poisoned everything, but out of fear for what I could find. This was where Queen Rhaenys Targaryen died, that much was beyond debate.
But if I stepped through those gates, I might learn the precise details of how.
And I was not one for measured responses.
"The lands along the Torrentine fell quickly," I said by way of explanation, my gaze sweeping around the abandoned river market. At least, I assumed that was what it had been. An open area so close the river could be little else. "I can tell you in detail once we are indoors."
"There is no need. Lords Redwyne and Hightower were able to piece it together from the prisoners you sent." Father looked around at the assembled Ironborn, all of whom had promptly sank to their knees before their king once he had landed. What I would not have given to have them show such deference to me, even after all the feasting. And the drownings. "I expected you to drown the mountains in fire and blood."
"My way was better," I said noncommittally. Better than feeding the nightmares with more horror to sprinkle into my dreams. "Faster too, I would think. I would ask about the rest of the campaign, but it can wait."
"Expecting trouble?" Father asked, his hand not so subtly coming to a rest atop the ruby pommel of his sword.
"No, just this unbearable heat," I said, turning to march back to the manse. "That and an overabundance of caution. We found this town abandoned, but who knows how many hidden passages there are."
"Prudent," Father said, and we continued our brief walk without further words. For a little while at least. Once safely within the less blazing hot confined of the manse, though, that silence abruptly ended. "I suppose there is a reason why you are loitering in Hellholt with only a fraction of the army I gave you?"
"They are back at Torrentsmouth," I said, trying to assuage his concerns. "Ensuring my supply lines remain clear. The water here is undrinkable, the food either nonexistent or poisonous, and the heat alone is driving half my men to the sickbed. But I have already captured three landed knights and one lesser lord. I can win this, given time."
"As good a stopping point as any, then," Father grunted. "We're heading home."
What?
"What?"
What?
"Our other assaults are encountering similar problems," Father explained. Wait… did that mean I was technically the most successful commander of this war? "We must reevaluate our overall strategy. Besides…" At this, the harshness of his face melted away once more. "There is a wedding to attend to."
A wed… Oh my goodness, that's right.
Saera's wedding to Braxton Beesbury.
And here I was without a decent present for the bride and groom.
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