A Feast for Dragons

from the other?
Somehow he did not think so. So he said only,
“The dragons will do what the dragons will do. If they do come, it may be that
just the shadow of their wings will be enough to dishearten the slavers and
send them fleeing.” Then he thanked them and dismissed them all.
    Grey Worm lingered after the others had left. “These ones
will be ready when the beacon fire is lit. But the Hand must surely know that
when we attack, the Yunkai’i will kill the hostages.”
    “I will do all I can to prevent that, my friend. I have
a … notion. But pray excuse me. It is past time the Dornishmen heard
that their prince is dead.”
    Grey Worm inclined his head. “This one obeys.”
    Ser Barristan took two of his new-made knights with him down
into the dungeons. Grief and guilt had been known to drive good men into
madness, and Archibald Yronwood and Gerris Drinkwater had both played roles in
their friend’s demise. But when they reached the cell, he told Tum and the Red
Lamb to wait outside whilst he went in to tell the Dornish that the prince’s
agony was over.
    Ser Archibald, the big bald one, had nothing to say. He sat
on the edge of his pallet, staring down at his bandaged hands in their linen
wrappings. Ser Gerris punched a wall. “I told him it was folly. I begged him to
go home. Your bitch of a queen had no use for him, any man could see that. He
crossed the world to offer her his love and fealty, and she laughed in his
face.”
    “She never laughed,” said Selmy. “If you knew her, you would
know that.”
    “She spurned him. He offered her his heart, and she threw it
back at him and went off to fuck her sellsword.”
    “You had best guard that tongue, ser.” Ser Barristan did not
like this Gerris Drinkwater, nor would he allow him to vilify Daenerys. “Prince
Quentyn’s death was his own doing, and yours.”
    “
Ours?
How are we at fault, ser? Quentyn was
our friend, yes. A bit of a fool, you might say, but all dreamers are fools.
But first and last he was our prince. We owed him our obedience.”
    Barristan Selmy could not dispute the truth of that. He had
spent the best part of his own life obeying the commands of drunkards and
madmen. “He came too late.”
    “He offered her his heart,” Ser Gerris said again.
    “She needed swords, not hearts.”
    “He would have given her the spears of Dorne as well.”
    “Would that he had.” No one had wanted Daenerys to look with
favor on the Dornish prince more than Barristan Selmy. “He came too late,
though, and this folly … buying sellswords, loosing two dragons on
the city … that was madness and worse than madness. That was
treason.”
    “What he did he did for love of Queen Daenerys,” Gerris
Drinkwater insisted. “To prove himself worthy of her hand.”
    The old knight had heard enough. “What Prince Quentyn did he
did for Dorne. Do you take me for some doting grandfather? I have spent my life
around kings and queens and princes. Sunspear means to take up arms against the
Iron Throne. No, do not trouble to deny it. Doran Martell is not a man to call
his spears without hope of victory. Duty brought Prince Quentyn here. Duty,
honor, thirst for glory … never love. Quentyn was here for dragons,
not Daenerys.”
    “You did not know him, ser. He—”
    “He’s dead, Drink.” Yronwood rose to his feet. “Words won’t
fetch him back. Cletus and Will are dead too. So shut your bloody mouth before
I stick my fist in it.” The big knight turned to Selmy. “What do you mean to do
with us?”
    “Skahaz Shavepate wants you hanged. You slew four of his
men. Four of the
queen
’s men. Two were freedmen who had
followed Her Grace since Astapor.”
    Yronwood did not seem surprised. “The beast men, aye. I only
killed the one, the basilisk head. The sellswords did the others. Don’t matter,
though, I know that.”
    “We were protecting Quentyn,” said Drinkwater. “We—”
    “Be
quiet
, Drink. He knows.” To Ser
Barristan the big knight said, “No need to come and talk if you meant to hang
us. So it’s not that, is it?”
    “No.”
This one may not be as slow-witted as he seems
.
“I have more use for you alive than dead. Serve me, and afterward I will
arrange a ship to take you back to Dorne and give you Prince Quentyn’s bones to
return to his lord father.”
    Ser Archibald grimaced. “Why is it always ships? Someone
needs to take Quent home, though. What do you ask of us, ser?”
    “Your swords.”
    “You have