A Feast for Dragons

floor of the pit were deeper than the last time she
had been down here, and the walls and floors were black and grey, more ash than
brick. They would not hold much longer … but behind them was only
earth and stone.
Can dragons tunnel through rock, like the firewyrms of
old Valyria?
She hoped not.
    The Dornish prince had gone as white as milk.
“I … I had heard that there were three.”
    “Drogon is hunting.” He did not need to hear the rest. “The
white one is Viserion, the green is Rhaegal. I named them for my brothers.” Her
voice echoed off the scorched stone walls. It sounded small—a girl’s voice, not
the voice of a queen and conqueror, nor the glad voice of a new-made bride.
    Rhaegal roared in answer, and fire filled the pit, a spear
of red and yellow. Viserion replied, his own flames gold and orange. When he
flapped his wings, a cloud of grey ash filled the air. Broken chains clanked
and clattered about his legs. Quentyn Martell jumped back a foot.
    A crueler woman might have laughed at him, but Dany squeezed
his hand and said, “They frighten me as well. There is no shame in that. My
children have grown wild and angry in the dark.”
    “You … you mean to ride them?”
    “One of them. All I know of dragons is what my brother told
me when I was a girl, and some I read in books, but it is said that even Aegon
the Conqueror never dared mount Vhagar or Meraxes, nor did his sisters ride
Balerion the Black Dread. Dragons live longer than men, some for hundreds of
years, so Balerion had other riders after Aegon died … but no rider
ever flew two dragons.”
    Viserion hissed again. Smoke rose between his teeth, and
deep down in his throat they could see gold fire churning.
    “They are … they are fearsome creatures.”
    “They are
dragons
, Quentyn.” Dany stood on
her toes and kissed him lightly, once on each cheek. “And so am I.”
    The young prince swallowed. “I … I have the blood
of the dragon in me as well, Your Grace. I can trace my lineage back to the
first Daenerys, the Targaryen princess who was sister to King Daeron the Good
and wife to the Prince of Dorne. He built the Water Gardens for her.”
    “The Water Gardens?” She knew little and less of Dorne or
its history, if truth be told.
    “My father’s favorite palace. It would please me to show them
to you one day. They are all of pink marble, with pools and fountains,
overlooking the sea.”
    “They sound lovely.” She drew him away from the pit.
He
does not belong here. He should never have come
. “You ought to return
there. My court is no safe place for you, I fear. You have more enemies than
you know. You made Daario look a fool, and he is not a man to forget such a
slight.”
    “I have my knights. My sworn shields.”
    “Two knights. Daario has five hundred Stormcrows. And you
would do well to beware of my lord husband too. He seems a mild and pleasant
man, I know, but do not be deceived. Hizdahr’s crown derives from mine, and he
commands the allegiance of some of the most fearsome fighters in the world. If
one of them should think to win his favor by disposing of a rival …”
    “I am a prince of Dorne, Your Grace. I will not run from
slaves and sell swords.”
    Then you truly are a fool, Prince Frog
. Dany
gave her wild children one last lingering look. She could hear the dragons
screaming as she led the boy back to the door, and see the play of light
against the bricks, reflections of their fires.
If I look back, I am
lost
. “Ser Barristan will have summoned a pair of sedan chairs to
carry us back up to the banquet, but the climb can still be wearisome.” Behind
them, the great iron doors closed with a resounding
clang
.
“Tell me of this other Daenerys. I know less than I should of the history of my
father’s kingdom. I never had a maester growing up.”
Only a brother
.
    “It would be my pleasure, Your Grace,” said Quentyn.
    It was well past midnight before the last of their guests
took their leave and Dany retired to her own apartments to join her lord and
king. Hizdahr at least was happy, if somewhat drunk. “I keep my promises,” he
told her, as Irri and Jhiqui were robing them for bed. “You wished for peace,
and it is yours.”
    And you wished for blood, and soon enough I must give
it to you
, Dany thought, but what she said was, “I am grateful.”
    The excitement of the day had inflamed her husband’s
passions. No sooner had her handmaids retired for the night than he tore