"Hospitality is sacred, but beware that it is not a shield proof against any danger."
Naturally, one might be a tad concerned upon learning that the Dornish were meeting with the Ironborn. Having your enemy enter negotiations with the one culture in Westeros most likely to rape, pillage, and burn in times of peace was hardly constructive to establishing a lasting peace. Unfortunately for the rest of westerosi society, that is exactly what was happening.
Even worse for westerosi society, I was the closest thing to a bastion of sanity on this island.
Which is why I barged into the central structure of this island, little more than the biggest house still standing, without bothering to do things such as gather a bodyguard in the double digits. Not that it would have been necessary, I realized once I stood in the cramped chamber with them. The Dornish had brought little more than a gaggle of knights, only six men armed and armored in their best equipment.
As they saw who it was that had entered the room, the rear four knights dropped their hands to their swords and moved closer, obscuring the figure seated on a rough wooden stool. The remaining two moved to protect the sides, but not the front. The front where Lord Greyjoy was sitting with a very pleased smile on his face as he looked at me.
For a very tense moment, no one spoke.
"My lord," the priest broke the silence. "His Grace Prince Vaegon of the House Targaryen, conqueror of the lands watered by the Torrentine and Brimstone." At the priest's words, the knights proved that the words only inflamed the tensions: they brought up their shields, revealing an impressively varied array of knightly houses. I saw a leopard, a field of lemons, a well, a woman in a sun, and a goat. And those were just the four facing me.
One of the knights even had the temerity to loosen his sword in its scabbard, revealing a few inches of shining steel. I favored him with an indulgent smile.
"Sheathe your sword, Ser," I said simply, though it took surprisingly less effort to not answer in kind. "As much as I would like to fight a proper knight instead of pirates and assassins, this is a time for peace. Surely your desire to join your prince can wait an hour?"
Was I being condescending? Oh, absolutely. But these were the people who had murdered my brother. And while I was willing to forgive a lot of things when it came to allies and friends, these people were neither.
The knight did not speak a word but did shove his sword back where it belonged. Much better. My pride satisfied, I turned to the man who had, seemingly, arranged all of this.
"Lord Greyjoy, it appears congratulations are in order," I said simply, walking past the knights at a reasonable distance until I came to a halt at the head of the rather shoddily built wooden table. I did not mention the clearly Dornish woman who sat at my left. Or pay her any attention, for that matter.
While rude, it was also a clear sign of hierarchy, a sign that this person was the least important person in the room. If these were peace talks, then controlling the power dynamics was essential. I was feeling spiteful.
"They were mere pirates," Lord Greyjoy said simply. "It was hardly a fight. But coordinating so many simultaneous strikes? Now that took skill." And thus, he wanted to be rewarded. Not the captains who were the ones to take the islands, no, his work of coordinating them was what truly deserved to be rewarded. "Oh, and the Princess of Dorne wishes to negotiate. Some reward for that would be just, too, would it not?"
"I will raise the matter with the Small Council," was all I said. "I will recommend they confirm your holdings. Now, what was this matter as to the Princess of Dorne?"
"She sits in front of you," a more than slightly irritated voice answered me. Turning my head, I finally put a face to the identity of the ruler of Dorne. Bronzed skin, dark hair, and a face that could be considered comely, if one liked the Rhoynish look. Presumably.
"My apologies, Your Grace," I said, still keeping my indulgent smile on my face. Going from blatant disrespect to polite courtesy might have been a rather extreme shift, but it was one designed to unbalance. Besides, it was good practice for staying polite when I really did not want to be. "I was merely speaking with the lord who has done such splendid work on behalf of my father, His Grace King Jaehaerys."
"Your father is an oath breaker and a deceiver." Well, she was a rude one. Briefly, I considered calling for the Cannibal.
"I beg your pardon?" I asked. While by no means an expert negotiator, insulting both the superior and the father of the other party was not what some might call a winning strategy.
"Our agreement only called for him to destroy my idiotic brother's invasion fleet, not launch an invasion of his own."
Ah.
Yes, her attitude made a bit of sense now. Unfortunately, I was not about to humor her.
"My father considered that agreement void when said invasion fleet killed my brother," I explained, as the memory bubbled to the front of my mind. The Cannibal and I, flying as one at long last, that feeling of completion poisoned and replaced by a moment of paralyzed dread as I remembered the sight of my brother's impaled form. It was a good thing the Martells had waited so long to surrender. Letting my anger cool was far more conducive to successful vengeance. "We Targaryens are a sentimental lot, you see. There are few things we love as much as family."
"And justified an invasion of your own?" she asked crossly. "An invasion and occupation?"
"Yes," I answered bluntly, but keeping the tone friendly. "Now, were you only here to level accusations like you did not attempt to have my family killed during a wedding, or did you intend for this meeting to be productive?"
The Dornishwoman paused at that, studying my face for a moment.
"I can do both," she said. But not denying it. Not denying the murder of innocents at a wedding. Not denying the murder of my father's closest friends. "Prince Vaegon Targaryen, the Kingdom of Dorne wishes for peace."
"So do we all," I answered. "But some forms of peace are more acceptable than others."
"The same peace as was forced upon the rest of Westeros…" the Princess said, and I almost laughed at how obviously this would go wrong. Even if they were weak now, they would rebel again as soon as they had the manpower to do so. This would take a large but still manageable problem and make it significantly worse in the future. "… would be acceptable."
Besides, that is not what Father wanted. Though his mind was broken and he was king in name only, that did not make his wishes for the war any less valid.
"That is not for me to decide," I said instead. "Any peace agreement would need to be decided upon by the crown." Even if I had the authority of the Small Council in this venture, it did not give me the authority to negotiate a treaty. There were limits to what I could do.
"Then deliver the terms," she suggested, seemingly unbothered. By then, it was painfully clear that this princess was already plotting a rebellion before she even became a vassal. "The surrender and submission of Dorne. What the conqueror would have wanted."
"But not what the Conciliator wants," I countered. "My father's goal in this war is not Aegon's."
"Then state your terms," she said with no small among of annoyance. "I am certain we can come to an agreement."
"The terms of the crown are simple," I said. "You will relinquish any claim to lands, fealty, or taxation beyond your own personal holdings. Your vassals shall be released from their vows and their independence will be guaranteed by the Iron Throne. The Kingdom of Dorne shall cease to be."
The room fell silent at that. To my right, I could feel Lord Greyjoy's gaze boring into me, but I paid no mind to him. Instead, the Princess of Dorne, the last who would be able to claim that style rightfully, had the majority of my attention. And right then, what I saw was sheer wounded pride.
Because there was no greater affront than the world not conforming to her preconceptions.
"That is absurd," she retorted.
"It is overly simplified, Your Grace," I corrected. "The Small Council will give you the finer details when you officially surrender."
"The people of Dorne would never accept such terms."
"From the Red Mountains to the coasts, almost all the lords and ladies and families of Dorne are in royal custody," I said patiently. At least, the major lords. The lesser lords… well, the breaking would have to be a bit less extreme than Father might have wished. "Your surrender is a matter of convenience, Your Grace. Even without it, Dorne will be shattered into half a dozen parts."
She made to rise, no doubt to protest, but I put a warning hand on the grip of my sword.
At that everyone froze.
"Unlike at my sister's wedding, during which your men tried to murder my family, I have not offered guest right to any of the people here," I pointed out with a smile. "I shall be accepting your surrender now."
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