[154] Blood and Reconciliation
Chapter 154: Blood and Reconciliation
—
The morning sun painted Norvos in shades of gold and grey, but I barely noticed. My attention was fixed on the transformation at the negotiating table.
Where yesterday Mellario of Norvos had been a stone wall, today she flowed like water. Her fingers traced the rim of her goblet as she spoke, her voice carrying notes of honey that hadn’t been there before. When our eyes met across the polished wood, her lips curved in a smile that promised secrets.
She's practically purring, I thought, fighting my own smirk. Amazing what a good fuck can do for international relations.
I was forever grateful to the [Dragondick] Skill.
"The terms are most generous, Your Grace," Mellario said, leaning forward just enough to display the curve of her breasts through her gown. Today she wore deep purple silk that clung to every curve. "Norvos would be honored to serve as a vassal state to the Dragon King's empire."
The Magisters shifted uncomfortably. Yesterday, their lady had been their fiercest advocate, going against simple alliance. Today, she advocated for becoming a vassal.
"Our autonomy in local matters?" one bearded priest ventured.
"Preserved," I confirmed, my voice carrying the weight of command. "I have no interest in micromanaging your bells or your beards. Continue your traditions. All I require is loyalty, taxes, and troops when called."
"And in return?"
"Protection." I let the word hang in the air. "My dragons guard my vassals. My fleet secures their trade. My armies ensure their borders."
Oberyn watched the exchange with barely concealed amusement. The Red Viper knew exactly what had transpired—the slight stiffness in Mellario's movements, the way she unconsciously touched her throat where bruises had been kissed away. His eyes met mine, and his smile said well played without words.
Even though that’s his brother’s wife? I was stunned. To be fair, Dorne was always weird with its love stuff.
Arianne sat quieter than usual, her bronze fingers drumming against the table. She'd dressed conservatively today—for her, anyway. The burnt orange silk still hugged her curves, but the neckline was higher, the slits more modest. Her dark eyes kept darting between her mother and me, reading the new dynamic with growing understanding.
She knows, I sighed in my head. If Oberyn noticed, of course she knows too.
"The garrison numbers?" Another Magister, trying to salvage something from the negotiations.
"Five hundred men," Mellario answered before I could. "Enough to maintain order, not enough to threaten our sovereignty. The Dragon King has been quite reasonable in his demands."
The way she said 'reasonable' made heat pool in my gut.
"Additionally," she continued, "we'll establish a permanent embassy in Myr. Cultural exchange, trade facilitation, diplomatic channels. Norvos has been isolated too long."
The Magisters exchanged glances. This was more than surrender. This was integration.
"All in favor?" The eldest Magister's voice creaked like old leather.
Like an unpaid actor, Rhaegal’s roar came from the skies above. That seemed to crush any rebellious thoughts in this room. One by one, the copper bells chimed as bearded heads nodded. When the vote was unanimous, Mellario rose with fluid grace.
"Then it is decided. Norvos bends the knee to the Dragon King." She moved around the table, her swaying steps drawing the eye. "Shall we seal it with the traditional—"
"A signature will suffice," I interrupted, not trusting myself if she got any closer. Her laugh was low and knowing.
The documents were signed, witnessed, sealed. My empire grew by another city, another territory added to the map. It still didn’t feel ‘real’ nor was it totally so, not as long as Braavos and the Faceless Men stood, but it was something. As the Magisters filed out, muttering about the changes to come, I caught Arianne's arm.
“You’ve been far too quiet, my princess.” I said, and her eyes flicked to her mother, who looked away. At least that woman had some shame.
“We need to talk," Ari looked back at me and said.
"I know. But give me a bit,” I said.
The council chamber emptied until only my inner circle remained. Oberyn poured wine with the casual efficiency of a man who'd spent decades making poison look like hospitality. Mellario had shed her formal manner like a cloak, now lounging in her chair with feline satisfaction.
"So," Oberyn began, settling back with his cup, "while you've been conquering cities and apparently conquering my former good-sister—" Mellario's laugh was entirely unrepentant, "—I've been listening. Norvos sees much, being so close to Braavos."
I leaned forward. "What have you heard?"
"Tywin Lannister no longer hides." Oberyn's casual tone belied the weight of his words. "He walks openly in Braavos, meeting with keyholders, Sealords, anyone with influence. The gold of Casterly Rock that he fled with now flows like water, buying friends."
"Let him buy." Ari snorted. "Gold melts before dragonfire."
"Does it?" Oberyn's smile was sharp. "He's not buying sellswords, my dearest niece. He's buying something far more dangerous. Legitimacy. The Sealord of Braavos has been seen dining with him. The Iron Bank extends new lines of credit."
The old lion's playing the long game, I thought. Building a coalition of the worried and the wealthy.
"There's more," Oberyn continued. "Littlefinger haunts the Moon Pool, whispering in ears, spinning stories. They say he's convinced half the Braavosi that you're another Maegor come again."
Maegor I Targaryen, the Tyrant. Quite the comparison.
"Maegor had only one dragon," I said dryly. "I have three."
"And Maegor died on his own throne." Mellario replied, her eyes glittering. "But here's the interesting part. The Old Lion is not just building defenses. They're recruiting. Specifically, they're recruiting from the House of Black and White."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"I heard as much. How many?" I kept my voice level, hoping Oberyn knew anything new that Ros’ report didn’t depict.
"Unknown. But gold has been seen changing hands at the temple. Large amounts." Oberyn swirled his wine. "Whatever they're planning, it involves the Faceless Men."
Arianne stood abruptly. "You guys can continue talking politics, I need air."
She fled before anyone could respond, her silk skirts whisking against stone. Mellario watched her go, then turned to me with eyes that had gone hard.
"Fix this," she said simply.
It wasn't a request.
****
The garden was a Norvoshi marvel, full of geometric patterns of hardy northern plants, everything in its proper place. I found Arianne by a fountain carved with bells, her shoulders shaking with suppressed emotion.
Gods, even crying she's beautiful, I thought, watching how the sunlight caught in her dark hair, how her curves shifted beneath the silk.
"Ari—"
"Don't." She whirled on me, eyes blazing. "Just... don't. I knew just having me wasn't enough for you, and I knew I have no authority to stop you from getting other lovers. After all, for… all what it's worth, I was just your failed fiance who never became your wife. Our engagement broke, and I’m now just a girl you fancy. I understand that. But… my mother? Really?"
The pain in her voice cut deeper than any blade. I approached slowly, like approaching a wounded dragon.
"It wasn't planned."
"Oh, that makes it so much better." Her laugh was bitter. "The great Dragon King just accidentally seduced my mother. Oops."
"Arianne."
"No!" She backed away as I reached for her. "You have me. You have Margaery, Sansa, Yara, Kinvara, that whore Ros, probably a dozen others I don't know about. Why did you need her too?"
Because I'm greedy, I thought but didn't say. Because power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And because Mallerio was fucking delicious.
Instead, I said, "Your mother was drowning in her own pride. I offered her a lifeline."
"A lifeline?" Arianne's voice cracked. "Is that what you call it?"
"What would you have me do? Let her oppose us? Let Norvos resist and force me to burn it?" I moved closer, noting how she didn't retreat this time. "Your mother is a proud woman who needed to feel valued. I gave her that."
"By fucking her."
"By seeing her." My hand found her cheek, my thumb brushing away a tear. "The way I saw you in Dorne. Trapped, undervalued, desperate to matter."
She trembled at my touch but didn't pull away. "It's different."
"Is it?" My other hand found her waist, drawing her closer. "You were both caged by the same man's neglect. Both burning with the same need to be more than ornaments."
"Stop it." But her protest was weak, her body already responding to my proximity.
"Your mother made a choice," I murmured, my lips brushing her ear. "Just as you did. And just as I've given you everything—Dorne, power, immortality—I've given her purpose again."
"I hate you," she whispered, but her arms were wrapping around my neck.
"No, you don't." I pulled back to meet her eyes. "You hate that I'm right. You hate that you understand exactly why she said yes."
Arianne's sob broke against my mouth as I kissed her. It tasted of salt and surrender, anger and acceptance. When we parted, she was breathing hard.
"Promise me," she said. "Promise me I still matter. That I'm… not just another conquest."
"Arianne." I framed her face with both hands, making her look at me. "You're the Princess of Dorne. You bear my protection, my power. You'll live centuries at my side. Your mother is a pleasant afternoon. You're my eternity."
Pretty words, I thought. But true enough. I reallyyyyyy fancied Arianne, there was no lie in that. She was just fun to be around, fun to keep around.
"Piece of shit. You gave me everything," she admitted, voice small. "Father would have married me off to some lord. You made me a ruler. So I can’t even call you a liar…”
"And I'll make you more." My thumbs traced her cheekbones. "Queen of Dorne, when the time comes. Mother of dragons, perhaps. Whatever you want to be."
She laughed, watery but sweet. "You always know what to say."
"It's a gift."
"Arrogant bastard." But she was smiling now, that gorgeous smile that lit up her whole face. "I still don't like it. My mother..."
"Will be happy," I finished. "For the first time in twenty years. Can you deny her that?"
Arianne sighed, melting against me. "I hate when you're right."
"You love when I'm right." I kissed her forehead. "You just hate admitting it."
She pulled me down for another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier. Her body pressed against mine with familiar need, curves fitting against me perfectly. When she pulled back, her eyes were dark with want.
"You're still in trouble," she warned. "This is going to cost you."
"Bill me."
She hugged me then, fierce and desperate, burying her face in my chest. I held her close, breathing in the scent of jasmine and spice that always clung to her.
Sweet little girl, I laughed to myself.
And that’s when the air whipped. The needle came from nowhere.
One moment I was holding Arianne, the next my hand snapped up, catching the projectile inches from her neck. The metal was warm, recently fired, coated with something that made my fingers tingle even through my immunity.
"Down!" I shoved Arianne behind the fountain, wings erupting from my back in a shower of shadow.
The assassin was already fleeing, a figure in grey darting across the rooftops. But fleeing from a dragon was like outrunning the wind.
I launched myself skyward, fury burning in my veins. The city blurred beneath me as I closed the distance in heartbeats. The assassin looked back, and in that moment, their face began to change—features flowing like water, becoming an old woman, a young man, a child.
Faceless Men.
I slammed into the assassin like a meteor, driving them into the stone roof with enough force to crater it. Bones shattered beneath my hands, but the assassin laughed.
"One of many," they wheezed, face still shifting. "The Many-Faced God has been paid. The dragon's women will feed him well."
Rage, white-hot and pure, flooded through me. My hands found the assassin's skull and squeezed. The laughter cut off as bone gave way, the face finally settling into stillness. A young woman, pretty in a common way, eyes staring at nothing.
I stood slowly, gore dripping from my fingers. This one had been weaker than the first, less skilled. It wasn’t after me. No, it was after Ari.
Which meant...
"Well played, Lion," I growled to the wind. "Well played."
Tywin Lannister had declared war. Not on me for that would be suicide. But on everyone I cared about. Everyone who I loved.
Tywin Lannister had changed the game. And he must pay the price.
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