A Feast for Dragons

son. She told me much and more, but all in riddles
. “I
cannot rely on plague to save me from my enemies. Set Pretty Meris free. At
once.”
    “As you command. Though … Your Grace, if I may be
so bold, there is another road …”
    “The Dornish road?” Dany sighed. The three Dornishmen had
been at the feast, as befit Prince Quentyn’s rank, though Reznak had taken care
to seat them as far as possible from her husband. Hizdahr did not seem to be of
a jealous nature, but no man would be pleased by the presence of a rival suitor
near his new bride. “The boy seems pleasant and well spoken, but …”
    “House Martell is ancient and noble, and has been a leal
friend to House Targaryen for more than a century, Your Grace. I had the honor
of serving with Prince Quentyn’s great-uncle in your father’s seven. Prince
Lewyn was as valiant a brother-in-arms as any man could wish for. Quentyn
Martell is of the same blood, if it please Your Grace.”
    “It would please me if he had turned up with these fifty thousand
swords he speaks of. Instead he brings two knights and a parchment. Will a
parchment shield my people from the Yunkai’i? If he had come with a
fleet …”
    “Sunspear has never been a sea power, Your Grace.”
    “No.” Dany knew enough of Westerosi history to know that.
Nymeria had landed ten thousand ships upon Dorne’s sandy shores, but when she
wed her Dornish prince she had burned them all and turned her back upon the sea
forever. “Dorne is too far away. To please this prince, I would need to abandon
all my people. You should send him home.”
    “Dornishmen are notoriously stubborn, Your Grace. Prince
Quentyn’s forebears fought your own for the better part of two hundred years.
He will not go without you.”
    Then he will die here
, Daenerys thought,
unless
there is more to him than I can see
. “Is he still within?”
    “Drinking with his knights.”
    “Bring him to me. It is time he met my children.”
    A flicker of doubt passed across the long, solemn face of
Barristan Selmy. “As you command.”
    Her king was laughing with Yurkhaz zo Yunzak and the other
Yunkish lords. Dany did not think that he would miss her, but just in case she
instructed her handmaids to tell him that she was answering a call of nature,
should he inquire after her.
    Ser Barristan was waiting by the steps with the Dornish
prince. Martell’s square face was flushed and ruddy.
Too much wine
,
the queen concluded, though he was doing his best to conceal that. Apart from
the line of copper suns that ornamented his belt, the Dornishman was plainly
dressed.
They call him Frog
, Dany recalled. She could see why.
He was not a handsome man.
    She smiled. “My prince. It is a long way down. Are you
certain that you wish to do this?”
    “If it would please Your Grace.”
    “Then come.”
    A pair of Unsullied went down the steps before them, bearing
torches; behind came two Brazen Beasts, one masked as a fish, the other as a
hawk. Even here in her own pyramid, on this happy night of peace and
celebration, Ser Barristan insisted on keeping guards about her everywhere she
went. The small company made the long descent in silence, stopping thrice to
refresh themselves along the way. “The dragon has three heads,” Dany said when
they were on the final flight. “My marriage need not be the end of all your
hopes. I know why you are here.”
    “For you,” said Quentyn, all awkward gallantry.
    “No,” said Dany. “For fire and blood.”
    One of the elephants trumpeted at them from his stall. An
answering roar from below made her flush with sudden heat. Prince Quentyn
looked up in alarm. “The dragons know when she is near,” Ser Barristan told
him.
    Every child knows its mother
, Dany thought.
When
the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves …
“They call to me. Come.” She took Prince Quentyn by the hand and led him to the
pit where two of her dragons were confined. “Remain outside,” Dany told Ser
Barristan, as the Unsullied were opening the huge iron doors. “Prince Quentyn
will protect me.” She drew the Dornish prince inside with her, to stand above
the pit.
    The dragons craned their necks around, gazing at them with
burning eyes. Viserion had shattered one chain and melted the others. He clung
to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat, his claws dug deep into the
burnt and crumbling bricks. Rhaegal, still chained, was gnawing on the carcass
of a bull. The bones on the