Taming a Dragon- Part 12 (Patreon)

AN: Still not quite as fast as I would like but getting there.

Hope you enjoy!

Casting-

Cara Martell- Aneeqa Farid

Leaning against his throne, made of pristine marble, Harry stared at the door on the other end of the hall, waiting impatiently for the arrival of his guests. It was late in the day, the kitchen staff were already preparing a meal for the Dornish contingent.

The Martell’s red sun was seen approaching from the west nearly an hour before. If they had reasonable winds, they should be here at any moment.

Unlike the many other proposals and meetings he’d refused since taking control of the Stepstones, he felt that the Martell’s deserved his personal attention.  They could very well prove a new enemy if the situation turns sour. Better to see it happen in person than over some words written on parchment.

Granted, there were others that could prove equally disagreeable given the chance. But I’ve already crushed the Velaryons with a dragon to aid them, and the Tyroshi, Myrish and Lyseni know it. The Martells alone have the stomach and proximity to oppose me if they truly desire it.

And he knew full well, that unlike his other former adversaries and potential allies, the Martell’s had felled a dragon themselves. From the stories, it was likely little more than a lucky bolt that found Meraxes, but persistence tends to be luckier than it deserves. But that history could very easily give them unfounded confidence. The kind of confidence that makes them believe they could kill a wizard where all others have failed.

As he heard the main doors to the keep open, he took his seat.

The hall’s doors opened as a familiar face stepped through first. His name was Jason. A blonde man with brown eyes and a short beard. He was tall and lean, and one of the finest soldiers that fought for Harry. He hailed from the Westerlands but hadn’t seen his home country in more than a decade when he first sailed. He wore a cutlass on his hip as he walked with the quiet confidence of a man who’d seen many battles.

“Your Grace,” He inclined his head, as he moved to the side, “your Dornish guests have arrived.”

Two people came through the door. The first was a man, sturdy in build, and average in height. No more than twenty-five with short dark hair , his face was clean shaven with the faintest of scars along his right jaw. He was deeply tanned, as though he’d spent most of his life out in the sun. His eyes were sand brown and keenly taking in every detail as he approached. Embroidered on his silk shirt was the Martell sun and spear. His clothing was light, perfect for the deserts of Dorne where he ruled.

He expected Qoren Martell, but he didn’t expect the person following just behind his left shoulder. Shorter by a head than the prince, the woman who strutted into the room held a distinct air of confidence. Undeniably beautiful, she had a warm golden glow to her smooth skin. Amber eyes glinted like gemstones. Her wavy black hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders and down her back. She wore a golden dress accented with red that left her arms bare and a tantalizing view of her cleavage. Golden bracelets sat on her wrists, three on each side, adorned with jewels. As she caught his eye, the corner of her lip turned up.

The pair approached him, stopping at the lowest step that led up to his throne. Qoren inclined his head, “King Harry, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” He’d heard the Dornish accent before, amongst a few pirates who joined his cause. It bore striking similarities to the Spaniards of his own world.

“Likewise, Prince Qoren,” Harry offered a smile, “please, eat, drink.” One thing that Renna impressed upon him rather insistently was that guest rights must be recognized. Unwilling to question her expertise on the matter, he’d made sure to have bread and wine ready for his guests.

At his word, Renna entered along with two of the kitchen staff carrying trays that she directed them to offer to their guests. Only once guest rights were observed did Harry continue the conversation, “I think there’s one more introduction in order.”

“I’m Cara, Princess of Dorne, Qoren’s younger sister.” The woman introduced herself without even looking to her brother.

“Welcome, both of you.”  He gestured toward Renna, who’d remained even after the other kitchen workers had left, “Renna will show you to your rooms. Once you’ve settled yourselves, please join me and we’ll dine together.” They hadn’t known exactly how many of the Dornish family intended to visit his city, and so Renna prepared all the rooms just in case. She’s nothing if not prudent.

Qoren inclined his head once more, before turning on his heel and moving to Renna. Cara lingered just a moment longer, appraising him before following after her brother. As Harry watched them depart, he ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself, “Well, it begins.”

Rising from his seat, he made his way through the keep. Making his way to the seldom used dining hall, he opened the doors to find the table settings laid out already. Taking his seat at the head of the table, waiting, with little or nothing to do, seemed to be the theme of his day.

Whether it was eagerness for the forthcoming conversations or just simple hunger, his guests, thankfully, didn’t keep him waiting long. They followed Renna into the room as Harry stood to greet them once more. Qoren moved to take the seat to Harry’s right, while Cara did the same to the one on his left.

As wine, Dornish Red, was poured, he sat once more and commented, “I hope you find your accommodations to your liking.” After experiencing the Red Keep, he knew that the rooms of the keep weren’t quite as opulent as what royalty was accustomed to. But they’re more comfortable than where most commoners find themselves sleeping each night.

“A soft bed and pillow are more than most have, so there’s nothing to complain about. It may lack in certain finery, but that is no bad thing.” Cara replied, “Though something struck me as odd.” At his quirked eyebrow she noted, “It seemed almost as though it were bigger than it ought to be.”

“I noticed the same.” Qoren interjected.

“Only marginally, but yes.” He saw no point in lying, “If the need arose, say more guests, they could be expanded further.”

“Fascinating.” Cara chuckled, “The walk from the docks already offered at least half a dozen oddities, I should’ve expected another.”

The kitchen staff entered carrying the first course of their meal, a creamy fish chowder that smelled delicious long before it ever reached the table.

Taking up his spoon, he asked, “Oddities?”

“The walls are the most obvious, I’m sure you realize.” Qoren said, “The art of fusing stone to stone was lost with the Doom, and they alone held the secret.”

“And yet every stone here appears as though it were hewn from a great mountain, never seeing a cut.” Cara noted after primly eating some of the soup, “But it wasn’t the stones that drew my attention.”

“No? What was then.” He asked, curious.

“The smell, or lack of it.” Leaning against the table, she smiled, “Cities, new ones in particular, whether well-designed or not, tend to have a stench to them.  Such things can happen wherever a great many people gather, and cisterns and sewers can only be built so quickly.”

“They were my first priority when I began building.” He admitted.

“Why?” Qoren asked.

“Because disease has claimed the lives of more men, women, and children than steel or dragon fire could ever hope.” Even witches and wizards were susceptible to the likes of the flu. We were just far more effective at treating such things. Something he hoped would remain true given enough research in his new world.

“Very true, Harry, and very prudent.” He sounded pleased with that fact.

“A fantastic decision, if you ask me.” Cara complimented, “Even Sunspear has its moments in the worst heat of summer, but I hear that the stench of King’s Landing can be smelled no matter what road you approach from before you even reach the city walls.”

“Is it true, Harry?” Qoren asked. It was subtle, but Harry caught the slight scrunching of his eyes and a tick in his jaw.

Does he detest the Targaryens and the city they built so fervently that the mere mention of it frustrates him or is it my visit that gives him pause?  He wasn’t the least bit surprised that they knew of his visit to the capital though. Whether spies or the rumors of common people, it was all anyone was talking about.

Harry shook his head, a little smirk reaching his lips, “I only approached the city from the Kingswood and the harbor, so I couldn’t say if it reeked from every direction. Up at the Red Keep, the air was clear, but as you neared the Dragon Pit and passed Flea Bottom, it soured. It was… putrid.”

“A shame they don’t take better care of the lowest in the city.” It was a dig, and not even particularly subtle.

“My understanding is that when Aegon landed there, just over a century ago, there was nothing there. But now it’s the largest city in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.” Harry shrugged, “Growth outpaced their ability to adapt. Shortcuts were taken that never should’ve been and no one since has had the necessary drive and determination to fix the problem.

As they spoke, they managed to finish their soup, or at least what they wanted to of it. Their dishes were cleared, before Renna and her staff returned with the second course; pan seared scallops served over parsnip puree.

“But you have the necessary ability to fix such problems.” Cara pointed out.

“I could, given the opportunity, yes.” With magic, the worst of it could be dealt with in a day or less. The entire reason that his new home suffered none of the pitfalls of most cities was because magic could remove the problem.

“And therein lies a more important question, King Harry,” Any levity in the conversation died in an instant, “do you intend to?”

The entire direction of their conversation had been steered to that moment, he realized. They were working together, trying to unsettle him, trying to make him uncomfortable. But I have no reason to lie. Taking a bite of his scallop, Harry hummed in appreciation before addressing the question, “Not at the moment, no. With time though, things might change.”

“With you, it seems fortunes can change as quickly as the tides.” Qoren observed, his fork remaining untouched by his hand, “People have been fighting over control of the Stepstones since before Valyria conquered half of the known world, and yet, you’re building where all others have failed.”

“Perhaps I’m just lucky.” Harry grinned, small and dangerous.

“Luck doesn’t contend with dragons, but magic has, and from the stories yours did a better job of it than any that came before.” Cara argued.

“And that worries you.” He tired of the tortuous game, walking around the real reason for their visit.

“Your abilities are intriguing rather than worrying.” She took a sip of her wine.

Harry leaned back in his chair, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “You might be intrigued by my abilities, but there’s no point in lying. You’re worried about them as well.”

“It would be more accurate to say that we worry about where you’ll use them rather than their nature.” Qoren corrected, “With your proximity to our country, we’d be remiss if we didn’t concern ourselves with the company you keep. Your most recent journey concerns us greatly.”

“You worry about what an alliance between myself and House Targaryen would mean for Dorne.” Finally, they’d reached the heart of the issue. The Martells shared a brief, tense look. Blunt honesty didn’t suit royals who wore every secret like a piece of armor, the slightest flaw, nothing more than vulnerability. But Harry was only newly a royal, and he never could shake the brashness that saw him sorted into Gryffindor.

“Your magic and their dragons, you must understand why such a thing would concern us greatly.” Qoren said, “And that is to say nothing of what might come of a marriage.”

“Do you believe your children will share your gifts?” Cara sounded genuinely curious to know his answer.

“I do, though I can’t say for certain.” There was a chance that he was wrong, but he doubted it.

Qoren hummed, “And if you marry into the Targaryen family, their enemies become yours… and we’ve stood against them for over a century now.”

“There’s been no love lost between us since Meraxes died outside of Hellholt and Rhaenys along with her.” He’d read the story, of the queen that Aegon preferred and her death to the Dornish scorpions. And the rumor she survived the fall, and only the promise that she would be given peace ended the Dragon’s Wroth.

“Do you think they wouldn’t take the opportunity that you present and try to subjugate us?” Cara smirked.

“They might intend to, but marriage alone wouldn’t make me your enemy.” He rebutted, “You did nothing to hinder me during my war, nor were you responsible for the Faceless Man who made an attempt on my life.”

To most, the attempt on his life was nothing more than a rumor. So he was unsurprised to see Qoren struggle to hide his surprise, but it showed in the widening of his eyes, and the slight stutter, “We… we’d heard rumors that an attempt was made on your life by the assassins. They’re not known to fail.”

“I’m an exceptional case.” It wasn’t a boast, just a fact.

“And how do you know we weren’t the ones responsible?” He couldn’t help his curiosity, “The Faceless are meant to take that information to their graves.”  

“I have ways of extracting information from even the most uncooperative.” It was the unknown of just how he could do such things that made the statement even more menacing.

 Cara neck bobbed, “So, who sent them?”

“The Old Blood of Volantis.” Harry didn’t elaborate further, instead leaning forward to pick up his fork and eat, “Please, eat. It’d be a shame for Renna’s hard work to go to waste.”

Again, the Martells shared a look, but did as he bade them. They each ate in silence, their own thoughts their only company, as they finished the second course.

Only once they’d finished and the course was cleared did Cara return to their prior discussion, “Do you truly believe you don’t become our enemy the moment you marry a Targaryen? Because I can assure you that should you marry a Martell, they would view you as an enemy.”

“A family of dragon riders will become my enemy if I marry into your family, princess?” He couldn’t help but chuckle, “That certainly doesn’t incentivize me to consider the proposal your brother clearly intends to make.”

Qoren made to speak, but Harry continued over him, “But no, you’re right. Given what I managed against Caraxes and Seasmoke during the war, a marriage between us would make them my enemy. However, you’re overlooking one rather important point.” He paused as Renna entered the room again, venison loin with potato puree and cherry sauce on each plate.

“And that is?” Qoren prompted once they were served.

“Their choices aren’t mine, any more than your choices are mine.” He sliced into the tender meat on his plate, “You might view me as an enemy should I marry Rhaenyra, even if I see no need, but that doesn’t mean I’m obligated to do the same. Unless you choose to make an enemy of me, there’s no reason there needs to be animosity between us.”

Looking him directly in the eye, Cara weighed the truth of his words, “How… refreshingly idealistic.”  Hard to tell whether she appreciates it or pities it.

“It’s not idealistic, it’s a reality.” Harry let just a small amount of his magic enter his voice, power that they could feel, “There’s no one alive who can compel me to do anything against my will.”

“And what of your children, should you have them?” Qoren asked, “A mother’s milk can be no better than poison if she chooses.”

“They’ll be raised as much by me as by their mother. I’ll not let anyone poison them with hatred that hasn’t been earned.” He’d seen that done before, with Dudley. I was nothing more than a freak to him before he even knew what the word meant.  

“I believe that’s what you intend, Harry.” Qoren conceded, “But intention alone is not enough.”

“Despite my abilities, even I don’t have the ability to divine the future, much less guarantee what it holds.” Nothing good came of prophecy, he knew that much thanks to Tom. “In fact, you’d be better off asking one of the Targaryens. Was it not one of their dreamers that saved them from the Doom.”

Waving his hand dismissively, Qoren leaned closer, “I don’t expect you to tell me the future. Even if you could, I wouldn’t trust it.”

“Then what do you want?” He already knew, but wanted to hear it for himself.

“I want you to refuse Rhaenyra’s hand.”

“Should I make terms with Lysandro Rogare instead, or perhaps the Sealord? I promise they’ve both made their offers.” He tilted his head, feigning contemplation, “If I give them what they want, how long before their ambitions grow?”

As Qoren grinded his teeth, Cara proved more levelheaded. Resting her hand on his forearm, she gave him a soft smile, “My brother refuses to speak plainly, but we both know you already understand him. But if you need to hear it said aloud, fine. He wishes you to marry me instead of Rhaenyra… or any of the others who’ve offered themselves.”

“And here we’ve only just met each other.” He joked.

“Plenty of brides are only lucky enough to meet their husbands on their wedding day.” She countered.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, knowing that what he admitted next could cause years of conflict, “You’re beautiful, princess, no man could deny it. And however brief our interactions, it’s clear you don’t lack wit or confidence.”

“But…” Her hand remained on his forearm, a small smile playing on her lips, as though she already knew what he meant to say.

“I’ll accept Viserys’ proposal.” Saying out loud the words that he’d only thought to himself made him feel lighter, “Rhaenyra will be my bride, and we will bind our houses.”

“What a shame.” Leaning back in her chair, she almost looked sad, “You’re far more handsome than any of the other suitors I’d considered, and twice as interesting.”

“Dorne will respond accordingly.” Qoren bit out.

“Is that meant to scare me?” Harry chuckled, “I’ve fought on a sea bathed in dragon fire, looked a Faceless Man in the eye before I ended their life. I’ve looked death in the eye and walked away.” He could still remember the red of Tom’s eyes in the graveyard, the fear and the acceptance that his life was about to end.

“Even fearless men can die.” He snorted derisively, “It makes it all the easier because they’re more willing to risk themselves.”

Harry’s magic became palpable in the room, a physical tension that made the hair on the back of Qoren’s neck stand up in trepidation, “I know fear, Prince Qoren, and I’ve walked toward it.” A tense silence followed that was only broken by the princess’ reason.

“Veiled threats are beneath you, brother.” Cara chided. She met Harry’s eye, searching them, before she asked, “Is there nothing to be done? Is all we can hope to gain from this meeting hollow assurances that you will keep the dragons at bay?”

Taking a sip of wine, Harry answered, “No, I believe there’s more I can give you.”

“You’ve told us your intentions, Harry” Qoren’s frustration gave way as his better sense won out, thanks to his sister, “There’s nothing of worth left to offer.”

“I didn’t lie to you, I believe my children will inherit my magic.” As much as he hated to barter with the lives of his potential children, his only other recourse was magic. He could force them to do what he wanted, but the very idea made his stomach turn. It’s exactly the sort of thing Tom would do in the same situation.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he continued, “So, we’ll make an agreement for the future.”

“You’re willing to give away the hand of a child that hasn’t even been born yet?”

He frowned, “I take no joy in it. But what other offer can I make to you that carries any weight? Would you like me to lower the tax on Dornish ships that pass through the Stepstones?”

“An ultimately meaningless gesture that could be changed on a whim.” Cara snorted a laugh, “No different than a betrothal.”

“No different than any agreement bound in nothing more than parchment and trust.” He tapped his fingers on the table in front of him, “The question is whether you’re willing to trust me. Difficult, I know, seeing as we only just met.”

Pushing what remained of his meal away from him, Qoren rested his elbows against the table, hands joined in front of him, “Even if I trusted you, what happens when Rhaenyra hears of this? Or Viserys? Do you truly believe they’ll agree?”

“I believe they’ll agree with me, with less of a fight than you’re imagining even.” History is rife with peace made through marriage, after all.

“Why?” Cara asked, eyes narrowed.

He knew they might rage, but he believed they would see reason. It’s an opportunity to bring Dorne into the realm without the loss of another soldier.  And given the alternative… of losing him entirely, they’d make the necessary concessions, “They wish to bind me to their house, it will come with this as a condition. If they refuse, then I’ll look elsewhere.”

 “You’re taken with her, after little more than a week, but you’d refuse her?” She didn’t sound convinced.

“I’m confident it won’t come to that.” He replied.

Unsatisfied with the answer, she pressed, “But if it does, could you truly do it?”

“Yes.” He said the one word with utter certainty. Fond as he’d grown of her, he would do what was necessary if Rhaenyra didn’t see the sense in his decision, “I’m not some lovesick fool whose every decision is made at the behest of his heart, or worse, his cock. I’m a king, and I have a king’s concerns. I’ll not jeopardize what I’m building here.”

“Surely angered dragons would do just that?”

“They would,” Harry conceded, “but as I’ve said, I don’t believe it’ll come to that.” He suspected that the only person who would truly disagree to the arrangement was Queen Alicent. The Reach and Dorne warred for thousands of years long before the Targaryens ever arrived in Westeros

Again, the Martells shared a look; a raised eyebrow from brother, a slight nod from sister. Only then did Qoren speak, “Very well, shall we discuss terms?”

They worked through the tedious process over desert before finally retiring for the evening.

AN: Next up will be another installment of TBOSV.

Until next time.