Gerald Darkstar stepped back, gasping, gripped by panic, because despite all his experience and the cruelty he had so often inflicted upon others, he was still only a man, very skilled, yes, but a man nonetheless.
And like any man, he feared what he did not understand, especially the creature standing before him, who still retained the appearance of a beautiful woman.
Daenerys, for her part, touched her side again where Darkstar's sword had torn her dress.
It had not harmed her at all, but for an instant she had been outmatched by an ordinary man. Even after months of training and combat against seasoned warriors, she had allowed a common man to catch her by surprise.
The Embrace and its supernatural abilities had made her confident, arrogant… Like her brother.
And she could feel nothing but shame for it.
However, she was not one to remain trapped in self-pity and quickly understood the cause of her "defeat" and acted accordingly. She would not underestimate her opponent again, nor would she continue with games and tests; she would end it immediately.
Daenerys lunged at him with a movement so fast that it took Darkstar completely by surprise. She seized him by the throat and slammed him against a nearby wall.
The impact tore a muffled grunt from him and made him spit blood, while the sword slipped from his hands and struck the ground.
The bastard of House Dayne tried to free himself with all his strength, but the pressure on his neck was like an iron vise. Daenerys turned her hip and, with a swift movement of her sword, separated Gerald's head from his neck. It fell to the ground with a look still full of fear and surprise.
The silence that followed lasted only an instant and was broken by a distant roar, deep and threatening, that froze the blood of everyone present. It was a sound so primitive that it awakened immediate fear, and the few soldiers who still remained alive looked at one another before fleeing in haste.
Arianne Martell remained motionless, stunned; she could not understand how that slight and seemingly fragile woman possessed a power that existed only in stories and legends, nor how it was possible that she did not have a single scratch.
What confused her most was that her own body would not respond; fear had paralyzed her and she could not move a single muscle.
She tried to bite her lip and force her legs to react, but she was frozen in place. Even so, she kept Myrcella behind her, protecting her instinctively; she could not risk her claim to the throne or everything would have been in vain.
Then, to her relief, she heard the metallic sound of boots approaching rapidly.
Doran Martell appeared fully armored, flanked by a retinue of sixty guards he had gathered anticipating a possible attack, but nothing had prepared him for what he found.
The scene was grotesque; dismembered bodies lay across the stone and pools of blood soaked every corner of the garden.
He advanced slowly, cautiously, and could not help frowning as he recognized some faces among the dead. Veterans of his guard and men he suspected had joined Arianne's faction.
His gaze settled on Daenerys, who stood upright in the middle of the massacre, her dress torn and splattered with blood, her arms completely covered in red and her violet eyes shining with an unnatural light.
As he drew closer, he distinguished the cracked wall where Darkstar lay dead, the bodies of at least fifteen men, and his daughter, with her back against a fountain, shielding Myrcella with her own body.
Daenerys slowly turned her head toward him, her gaze fixed and without a trace of fear, and the contrast between her bearing and the chaos surrounding her sent a chill down his spine.
Arianne, still pale and rigid, barely managed to speak.
—Y-you must kill her —she stammered—Or she will kill us all.
Doran frowned, concerned, but chose to ignore his daughter's warning and addressed the last Targaryen directly.
—What has happened, Daenerys? —he asked in a stern tone, trying to take control of the situation—Do you dare kill my men in my own castle?
He did not get to hear an answer.
A deep and savage roar thundered over the hanging gardens, so powerful that it made the water in the fountains tremble and shook the bones of everyone present. The sunlight vanished at once, replaced by an immense shadow that covered every corner of the fortress.
The trembling of the ground announced the arrival of Balerion, a colossal creature, with black scales thick as plates of steel and bone spurs protruding from its joints.
The dragon observed those present before raising its head and releasing an ancient, deep roar, a warning that froze the blood of all who heard it.
Doran understood then why Daenerys had been so confident.
He had heard rumors about dragons; his spies confirmed them and many witnesses claimed to have seen them from afar, but until that moment they had not worried him. Young dragons could be dangerous, yes, but not impossible to kill.
But what stood before him was not a hatchling, but a fully grown adult, black as the night, with yellow eyes that burned like Valyrian fire.
It was enormous, large enough that its rider could claim the Seven Kingdoms without opposition.
And Daenerys had four.
She turned toward the creature and, without taking her eyes off Doran, gently placed her hand on Balerion's snout. The monster closed its eyes and lowered its head into her touch, like a domesticated feline.
—Do you accuse me, Prince of Dorne? —she asked, using his title with a tone of contempt—When you were fully aware of your daughter's plan against me.
—I ordered no such thing —he replied in a firm voice—I knew nothing of this nonsense.
Daenerys's laugh was brief, hollow, and devoid of joy.
—How curious —she said with a hint of mockery—That the high and mighty ruler of Dorne, famed for his cunning and diplomacy, somehow overlooks the mobilization of thirty soldiers inside his own fortress.
Doran drew a slow breath. He had not overlooked that movement; he was simply accustomed to Arianne's painfully obvious schemes and trusted he could contain their consequences.
This time, however, the scale of the problem exceeded him: attempting to take the last Targaryen hostage was something whose repercussions he could not control.
—It is only the actions of a foolish girl —the prince replied—Treat them as such.
Daenerys shook her head with a scornful smile.
—The punishment for treason —she continued in a steady voice—Is death.
Some of Doran's guards stepped forward, but a growl from Balerion stopped them in their tracks.
—If you kill her —said Doran gravely—Dorne will never follow you. You will earn my enmity and that of all my people.
—Then Dorne will burn —she answered, without the slightest doubt in her voice.
Doran tried to find a way out of the problem before him, but attacking was impossible. The dragon would kill them before they could advance a single meter, yet he was not willing to allow Daenerys to kill his daughter.
His thoughts were interrupted when Myrcella moved.
At first he believed she would try to flee the scene, but what she did left him stunned: with a quick movement, she drew a dagger and pressed it against Arianne's throat, immobilizing her.
Both Doran and the guards were shocked.
In Dorne, Myrcella had always been seen as a defenseless girl, little more than a hostage, a political tool to be used later.
The most incredulous, however, was Arianne, who could barely understand what was happening.
—Myrcella —she cried, her voice an octave higher—What are you doing?
—I'm sorry, princess —she replied, with a venom never before heard in her voice—But Queen Daenerys offered to take me out of Dorne, an offer I have no intention of refusing.
—How could you betray me like this? —Arianne whispered, stunned.
—The day I arrived as a hostage you told me that, in Dorne, I could trust only you —Myrcella replied with an icy smile—But I never said it went both ways.
Doran felt his chest tighten. He loved his daughter above all things, and now he saw the edge of the dagger at her throat.
—Take my life instead —he shouted, trying at all costs to prevent his daughter's death.
—Do you think I'm a fool? —Daenerys asked with an ironic smile—If I kill you, the entire region will destabilize and all of Dorne will unite against my family. Your daughter, on the other hand, is the one who offended me and she is not influential enough to matter.
—Daenerys, be reasonable… —Doran pleaded, panic seeping into his voice.
She stared at him as she approached, and anger ignited in her violet eyes.
—I have been more than reasonable all this time —she said, grinding her teeth—Despite your hypocrisy and your disrespect, I asked you to join my family with courtesy.
She stepped forward without taking her eyes off Doran.
—But you have exhausted my patience —she continued, her voice low and steady—I want you to know, Doran Martell, that even now, with what is about to happen, it will still be me… being reasonable.
Daenerys lowered her gaze for a moment, picked up the sword lying at her feet, and turned toward Arianne.
Doran, desperate, was not willing to allow his daughter to die.
—Please —he said, his voice breaking—I beg you, she is my daughter.
Daenerys tilted her head slightly without turning to look at him.
—Very well… then beg —she said slowly—I like it when men beg.
Doran hesitated, ashamed, while his men exchanged glances. Begging was not only humiliating for a lord; it would erode his authority before his subjects and encourage their disloyalty.
And Daenerys knew it. "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken." That was the motto of House Martell. Though it was debatable, since Dorne had bent more than once over the centuries, it was the only house that had forced Aegon the Conqueror to negotiate after years of fruitless war.
Dorne was not a true threat, but it was a persistent nuisance; if they opposed you, they would cost you troops and enormous sums of gold, even if they could never win.
The gesture undermined the prince and at the same time offered him a way out that avoided Arianne's death, because in truth she did not want to kill her.
Despite her words, Daenerys knew that killing a Martell would only turn all of Dorne against her family. But by stripping its prince of dignity, she ensured that Doran would remain too busy rebuilding his prestige to conspire against her family.
With a slight movement of her gaze, Daenerys forced him to kneel.
Doran understood that as well, but between his prestige and losing his daughter, he chose to bow his head.
—I beg you —he murmured, barely audible, but enough.
Daenerys placed her foot on his head and slowly increased the pressure until Doran's forehead struck the stone and blood began to slide between the tiles.
—I want you to remember this —she said in a cold, steady voice—In all the years to come, in your most private moments, you will remember that you are all alive because the Drakul have allowed it.
She removed her foot and Doran remained bowed, not daring to lift his head.
—Remember it well —she added—The Drakul do not give second chances.
Daenerys then turned toward Arianne, who remained immobilized with Myrcella's dagger pressed against her throat.
Doran raised his head when he saw her advancing toward his daughter.
—You promised to leave her alive —he shouted, his voice dry.
—That is true —Daenerys replied—But I will make sure she remembers it.
With every step, her fingers lengthened and her nails slowly transformed into sharp black claws.
Doran looked away when Daenerys raised her hand.
A moment later, the screams of agony from the Princess of Dorne spread across the hanging gardens.
---
First of all, thank you once again for being here for another week. I truly appreciate that you continue reading the story.
Things at work seem to be improving a little. This week, for example, I have four days off in a row. Although it's not really as much of a benefit as it sounds, because it basically means I'll have to work many more hours during the weekend. Still, I'll try to make the most of these days, because Easter is approaching and in my job that usually means a lot more activity and quite a bit of chaos.
I also wanted to share something interesting I discovered recently. It turns out I can use ChatGPT to narrate the ideas I have in my head and ask it to organize them into a readable and coherent text. Basically, I can dictate scenes and then, when I'm at home, shape them properly with better prose. This allows me to write even when I'm away from home or during small breaks at work, which saves me a lot of time when planning a chapter.
In fact, thanks to that, last week I managed to write two chapters in about half the time it would normally take me to write just one. It was something I discovered almost by accident, but it's helping me move forward much faster. Hopefully, this will allow me to keep the updates a bit more consistent in the future.
As for today's chapter, the Dorne storyline is a bit tricky to handle. In the books it has much more depth and several interesting subplots, but I usually rely more on the show to keep some consistency with the tone of the story. So here I had to mix elements from both versions and try to take the best parts of each.
Because, let's be honest, the Dorne storyline in the show is pretty bad. I won't go too deep into it, but the fact that Oberyn's bastard lover ends up killing the Prince of Dorne and that apparently all the noble houses immediately accept her leadership without any resistance completely breaks any political logic. That detail alone already damages the entire plot.
So I tried to rebuild that part of the story in a way that makes more sense within the world. I hope I managed to do a better job.
And honestly, I had a lot of fun writing this scene. Building it was actually pretty enjoyable.
I hope you enjoy the chapter.