Chapter 25

Lys

"Lys is a mercantile city, built on a fertile island and was considered a paradise by Valyrian dragonlords. The sunny island is fertile with palm and fruit trees, and the surrounding blue-green waters are filled with fish." Marwyn explained as they walked. The Marauder had just docked in. They had been delayed due to a storm. But thankfully his charms on the ship and Captain Florel's expertise had ensured they reached Lys.

"I can see that. This place is truly divine." Aryan said. Lys reminded him of Caribbean Islands. White sandy beaches, blue waters and palms.

"Lys is protected by high walls and hired sellswords. A city dominated by wealth rather than by birth, Lys is where trade is considered a profession more honorable than arms. Lys is ruled by conclaves of magisters, chosen from amongst the wealthiest and noblest men of the city. Slaves in Lys outnumber free men three to one." Marwyn added.

"The slaves here are treated much better. I have heard that slavery is more cruel in the Slavers Bay." Lord Wyman said in between.

"You mean Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor, right?" Aryan asked.

"Yes. Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor are actually the descendants of the Old Ghiscari Empire. While Lys, Myr and Tyrosh do slave trade they also indulge in trade of goods and materials. Also slaves are treated better. But in the Slaver Cities. They are actually from the descendants of the Old Ghiscari Empire. The situation of slaves there are inhumane. Worse than animals." Marwyn explained to Aryan's query.

Aryan nodded at that. Essos had always fascinated him. It was like comparing Asia to the Western World on Earth. The Western culture was almost same wherever he went. But he was very fascinated by the Asians. Each and every country in Asia had something new to offer him. Similarly each and every place in Essos had its own culture and charm. Aryan looked around at the people. Most of people looked pleasing to the eyes and he voiced that, "The people here are pleasing to the eyes, aren't they?"

Marwyn went to lecture mode, "More than anywhere else in the known world, the blood of Old Valyria still runs strong in the Lyseni, who are regarded as beautiful. Even the smallfolk in Lys have the pale skin, silver-gold hair, and purple, lilac, and pale blue eyes of the dragonlords of old. Many of the nobility in Lys have produced infamous beauties. King Viserys II Targaryen's wife was a Lysene. And Prince Daemon Targaryen's and King Aegon IV Targaryen's paramours were Lysene."

"Now I understand your reason to bring Marwyn. In a foreign land like this his knowledge will be a guide to us." Wyman said. "We may be a respected House in Westeros. But this is not our lands or even Westeros. People do not know us. So we should not expect any courtesy from anyone. Only money is power here. Money can buy you anything."

"So why don't we begin our task Lord Wyman. I hope your contacts are helpful." Aryan said.

"I am sure they would be My Lord." Wyman replied.

Their time at Lys proved to be very profitable. The samples of materials they brought from the North were readily accepted by the merchants and at good prices too. Everything was good, except one thing, their meeting with the First magister. The most important thing for which he had come here. The progress is slow, but Aryan was hopeful. Lord Manderly had made discrete inquiries while they met the merchants about the setting up of the Trading Center in Lys.

Lord Wyman Manderly was quite uncomfortable with the slavery around here. Though Marwyn looked unperturbed as he had seen worse, done worse in the name of knowledge. Aryan on the other hand did not care. He was not on a quest to liberate the slaves or become their saviour or some shit like that. Other than visiting free cities and magical places on Essos he did not care much about the places.

He had visited a few brothels to procure some whores of both male and female kind as he once promised the Madame at the Wintercity brothel. He had tested few of women to ascertain their seller's claims about their proficiency in sex. He had been pleased and bought them planning to liberate them once they reached Westeros. The seller promised him to procure some Summer Islanders in a couple of days.

Currently they were seated in the mansion they had rented at Lys.

"What now, my lord? We are stuck here. While I could say till now our work here had been a great success, the Trading Center looks like it has almost met a dead end?" Wyman asked.

"I had made a few old contacts of mine here. The city is ruled by the conclave of magisters. You don't have time to talk and convince all of them. You just need to meet the First Magister. From there, there are huge chances that it will be smooth sailing," Marwyn told them.

"You are right, Maester. We need to meet the First Magister. We need access to Vaelaro Morellis, the head of House Morellis. If he agrees, then our Trading Center may become a reality," Wyman Manderly agreed.

Before Aryan could formulate a response, they were interrupted by one of the Stark guards. He bowed and said, "Lord Stark, there is a man who claims to be a messenger at the door. He seeks an audience with you, my lord."

They all looked at each other. Wyman asked the guard, "He is from whose behalf?"

"I am not sure, my lord. He said something about prestigious House Morlis or something like that," the guard replied nervously.

"House Morellis?" Marwyn asked again for confirmation.

"Yes, of course, Maester. Pardon me. I could not understand his accent clearly," the guard said.

Aryan could not fault the guard. Even he found it difficult sometimes to converse with the Lyseni merchants, even though he was proficient in the language. The musical, bastardized Valyrian language troubled him. Thankfully, Marwyn had no such problem and acted as a translator in those times.

He addressed the guard, "It is quite all right. Why don't you send him in?"

The guard went away. Wyman said, "It seems fortune favors us today. We were thinking about meeting Vaelaro Morellis, and it seems that they are also of the same mind."

"Let us hope so," Aryan replied.

Soon, the guard returned with a man. The man, like other Lyseni with Valyrian features and a lithe appearance, stood before them and asked, "Am I in the presence of the Magnificent Aryan Stark, Lord of Winterfell?"

Aryan and Wyman looked at each other, bewildered. Aryan replied, "I am not sure about the 'magnificent' part. But I am Aryan Stark, Lord of Winterfell."

The messenger now gave him his undivided attention and made an elaborate bow. He then addressed them, "This humble one is Saluris, a messenger of the magnificent Vaelaro Morellis. His magnificence seeks an audience with you at the earliest convenience." He then waited for the reply.

"Can we trust him? I mean, in Westeros, lords use their seal to give genuineness to their messages. This messenger is just giving us a vocal invitation," Aryan asked Marwyn and Wyman in the Old Tongue. They had agreed that they would use the Old Tongue when they had to discuss in front of others.

"No, my lord. You don't understand. Here in Lys, they use messengers to send messages in person, not as written messages as we have in Westeros. It is considered a great honor to be invited by such great houses. This man is a messenger of the Morellis. Look at the seal on his cheeks, which identifies him as their slave," Marwyn said.

Aryan thought for some time, then said, "As of now, we are sitting here and achieving nothing. Let us go and meet Vaelaro Morellis now itself."

"In that case, I will go and arrange some gifts for them," Wyman said and went out.

Marwyn relayed Aryan's response to the messenger, who nodded.

The messenger Saluris had brought them to a large palace, white and pink-colored, sitting inside a beautiful garden.

"Now I understand why Lys was considered a paradise by Valyrian dragonlords," Aryan said. "The gardens are so beautiful."

"I am sure my radiant Lady Morellis would be pleased at your compliment," Saluris said, smiling.

Soon they reached the entrance and were led through the doors into a small hall, which Saluris referred to as the private hall of Vaelaro Morellis. Inside, Aryan saw a lavishly decorated hall with tapestries and carpets. While Westerosi used chairs to seat dignitaries, the Essosi preferred mattresses. Inside the hall, on a raised platform, was seated a man with pale silver hair and blue eyes. Two beautiful slave girls stood behind him, fanning him. A boy knelt nearby, bearing a plate of fruits.

Saluris announced their presence. "Your magnificence, presenting before you Aryan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, his vassal Wyman Manderly, and the knowledge bearer Grandmaester Marwyn." After which, he went out, closing the door.

"Welcome to my humble abode, my lords. I am Vaelaro Morellis." The man they had been looking for introduced himself and gestured for them to take their seats.

Aryan looked over the man. All the magisters he had come across till now were fat and bulky, with double chins, jiggling chests, and rotund bellies. And Vaelaro Morellis was no different. But Aryan noticed the intelligence in his eyes.

"We are very pleased to meet the First Magister of Lys, Vaelaro Morellis," Aryan greeted their host.

"Your magnificence, we are here to propose the setting up of a Trading Center here," Wyman said, getting to the point.

"Ah, yes. I have heard. News travels fast here. We will talk about this later. Until then, you are our guests. I have arranged for your things to be brought here. Why don't you enjoy our hospitality today? We will talk about this tomorrow. I will bring a few more magisters for discussion," Vaelaro suggested.

"That is reasonable. I am still thankful for your agreeing to meet us," Aryan said as Wyman went out to instruct the guards.

"You may be surprised, but you are quite well known here," Vaelaro said with a smile.

"I find that hard to believe," Aryan said with a frown.

Vaelaro laughed and said, "Aryan Stark, the one who is credited with transforming the North from a barren wasteland to a powerful kingdom, the one who crushed the Ironborn and wiped out everyone on Skagos, earning the moniker 'The Bloody Wolf,' the one who quite recently earned his own chain from the Citadel in just one day." Vaelaro continued listing out many other things.

"You are well-informed," Aryan said, frowning.

Vaelaro then asked, "But do you know what the Lyseni are most thankful for?"

"I am not so sure," Aryan said.

Vaelaro said in a grim voice, "The Ironborn, or the squids, as you call them. They used to attack us every now and then. But now, we have been safe from them for many years. For that, we are thankful to you."

"You are welcome. The Ironborn are a threat who never change their ways. They claim glory in raping and reaving. I had planned to kill every man on the Iron Islands, so that they would not have been a threat for a long time. Unfortunately, back then, there were people more powerful than me who prevented me from doing that," Aryan said.

"That is unfortunate. The Planetos could have been a better place without them. Still, I am getting reports about an Iron Islander called Crow's Eye who is causing terror in many places. Thankfully, he is far from here for now. Last I heard, he was at Oros near the Smoking Sea," Vaelaro said.

"Yes, Euron Greyjoy. He is a dangerous, twisted, but cunning man. I have been looking for him for some years, but he remains elusive," Aryan told his host.

They both remained silent, mulling over what they said. Then Vaelaro clapped his hands, and Saluris came back. Vaelaro ordered him, "Take our guests to their rooms and make sure that they have a good stay here. Show them the hospitality of Lys." The last part was said with a wink to Aryan.

Saluris led them out, while Aryan's mind was fixed on Euron Greyjoy.

___________________________________________________________________

Aryan was standing on the balcony of the Morellis residence. When Vaelaro mentioned the hospitality of Lys, Aryan had not known what to expect. But he had thoroughly enjoyed it. The food, the music, and most importantly, the Lyseni courtesans. They knew how to do their work. Beautiful, with Valyrian features, whom Saluris had described as the best of Lys.

Two days had passed, and he had heard that Vaelaro was meeting with other magisters.

'Finally,' he thought as the messenger left. He had been summoned by Vaelaro Morellis for their meeting. Aryan dressed himself and walked out. There, he saw Wyman and Marwyn waiting for him.

"It seems our wait is over. Let us get it over with," Aryan announced.

"Of course, Lord Stark," both of them said and walked behind him.

He had heard about the situation. Lys was on the way to gaining control of the Disputed Lands. But Tyrosh, with the help of Volantis, might pose a threat. If he could in any way solve this problem and help secure the Disputed Lands for Lys, Vaelaro and the other magisters in the conclave would be very pleased—and would do whatever Aryan wished. Keeping that in mind, he walked into the meeting chambers.

He had expected a few others from Vaelaro's side but was surprised to see only a grim and hardy man seated alongside him. Looks like Vaelaro will go to the conclave again to tell them what we talked about and then tell me their decision.

Noticing their presence, Vaelaro welcomed them, "Welcome, my friends. I apologize for making you wait for so long."

"It is quite all right. It must have been a very important state affair," Aryan said, waving off Vaelaro's apology. He took a seat and immediately cast a charm against any eavesdroppers.

"You are too kind, Lord Stark," Vaelaro said. "Lord Manderly has told me about your proposal. I must say, I am impressed. I have heard about the one at Braavos and how profitable it is. And I am thankful to you for choosing Lys for your ambitious Trading Center. But before I come to that, first we must discuss the trade and profit from this venture."

"Hmm. I believe that is fair," Aryan said and nodded to Wyman Manderly.

The unofficial economist of the North began to lay out the terms and conditions, as well as the financial aspects of the Trading Center. Vaelaro, being the merchant he was, listened carefully and then haggled for a better share in certain areas. Eventually, after some time, they reached a decision where both parties agreed.

"Now that that is settled, we move to the next part. May I request to speak with you privately this time, Lord Stark?" Vaelaro asked.

Aryan narrowed his eyes, then indicated for both Wyman and Marwyn to leave. Both of them left promptly.

"I apologize for that, Lord Stark. The next part involves some important and sensitive matters, which you may share with your trusted men after you leave this room," Vaelaro said.

Aryan nodded.

The other occupant in the room, who had not spoken until now, finally said, "I am Morin Stark."

Aryan blinked at that and said, "I was not aware of any more Starks than those in the North."

The man rose from his seat, bowed to him, and then said, "Lord Aryan Stark, I am Morin Stark. I am the Commander of the Company of the Rose."

Connecting dots from his knowledge of history, Aryan surmised, "Oh. Then you must be one of the descendants of the Stark who, along with many others, preferred self-exile rather than bend the knee to Aegon the Conqueror when Torrhen Stark bent his knee."

"You are indeed correct, Lord Stark. You will find many Umbers, Ryswells, Dustins, and many others too in the Company of the Rose," Morin said.

"Strange. You did not mention the Boltons," Aryan asked curiously.

"No Bolton came with us when we chose self-exile," Morin said in disgust.

Aryan sighed in relief and said, "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. The Bolton line went extinct recently, and their lands were redistributed. I did not want to deal with any future Bolton coming to present a claim."

Both of them laughed at that.

"I am sure you would like to share tales with each other, but perhaps we could get over our talks first," Vaelaro suggested.

"I apologize for that. What is it that you want to discuss?" Aryan asked.

"I would request your aid regarding the Disputed Lands," Vaelaro stated.

"Huh. I am not sure what you mean by that?" Aryan asked, feigning ignorance.

"As you know, Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr have been quarreling over the Disputed Lands for centuries. But you gave us an opening, which we have used to gain an advantage in claiming the Disputed Lands," Vaelaro said with a smile.

"What opening did I give you?" Aryan asked, though he knew the answer.

Smiling mysteriously, Vaelaro said, "As you profited from your glass production and trade, Myr started to feel its effects. Their magister conclave then decided to assassinate you and failed. Then you retaliated in the same way, and most of the powerful magisters simply died."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Aryan said, not confirming Vaelaro's facts. He saw Morin snorting silently.

"What I want to say is that you and the North are very powerful. I have consulted my own men, other magisters, and Morin regarding this matter. Myr will not rise against us, not with the chaos you spread there. We can handle the Tyroshi. But we are concerned about Volantis," Vaelaro said.

"You are worried that Volantis may aid Tyrosh against you. Volantis has been profiting from the fighting among you three. Now that Lys is finally about to conquer the Disputed Lands, trade in Volantis may suffer," Aryan surmised.

Vaelaro gained an astonished look. Then slowly said, "You are rather well informed. Yes, you are correct. The North is rising to power under your leadership. So Lys would like an alliance with you for aid against Volantis."

"How many men do you possess?" Aryan asked about Lys.

"We do not send our people to battle. We hire mercenary companies. I have hired the Company of the Rose, with almost six thousand men on our side. So far, we have the upper hand," Vaelaro said.

"What is the military power of Volantis?" Aryan asked.

Morin Stark said, "Volantis has a fleet of a hundred ships, mostly trade galleys. Along with its own slave army of about two thousand and another two thousand from mercenary companies."

"That doesn't sound that difficult for you, Commander Morin," Aryan said.

Vaelaro said, "You are right about that part, Lord Stark. But we had some troubling news yesterday. From our sources, we have heard that Volantis is negotiating with the Golden Company."

"Now that is really troubling news," Aryan agreed, remembering the Golden Company.

The Golden Company was a sellsword company founded by the Great Bastard, Aegor Rivers, known as "Bittersteel," a legitimized bastard of King Aegon IV Targaryen. After fleeing Westeros with the younger sons of Daemon I Blackfyre at the end of the First Blackfyre Rebellion, Bittersteel had formed the most disciplined and powerful sellsword force in Essos. They were known for never breaking a contract, making them the most expensive and sought-after mercenaries in the Free Cities. Their motto was "Our word is good as gold," while their war cry, "Beneath the gold, the bitter steel," honored their founder. Under their current captain-general, Harry Strickland, they boasted ten thousand men, several thousand horses, and a number of war elephants, making them easily the strongest of the sellsword companies.

"Now you see the problem, Lord Stark. We can hold the fort for now, but if the Golden Company involves themselves, then everything will go down," Morin Stark said.

"Why didn't you hire the Golden Company yourself?" Aryan asked Vaelaro.

Vaelaro said, "We tried. But for some reason, the commanders were not interested."

"Hmm. Seems like someone doesn't want Lys to conquer the Disputed Lands," Aryan said. Then, looking at Morin, he asked, "What kind of aid are we talking about? You know I cannot openly support you."

"We need more men, weapons, and of course, ships. All of them at the earliest," Morin said.

Aryan started to think over all that he had heard, formulating a plan. Then, looking at Morin, he said, "It will take time to provide what you have asked. By that time, it is possible they would have already attacked us. So what we need is time."

They nodded back at him. He further added, "Since I am already investing so much, I have my own terms and conditions."

Vaelaro frowned while Morin just raised his eyebrows.

"What do you want?" Vaelaro asked.

"First, I want the Company of the Rose to work for me to protect my assets," Aryan stated.

"What? How dare you! We are a free sellsword company. If you think you can bring us under your thumb, then you are mistaken," Morin roared.

Aryan shook his head and said, "Look, I am making an investment here, so I need to see my profit too. Don't worry. You will have your autonomy. But I want you to protect the assets of Stark of Winterfell in Essos when they are attacked by a large force."

Before Morin could rant again, Vaelaro spoke. "Anything else?"

"Yes. I have heard that the Disputed Lands are fertile. I want a large tract of land there," Aryan said.

"Why do you need land there?" Vaelaro asked.

"The climate in the North makes farming difficult, but the warm climate here is ideal. So the land here would be used for farming. I want the Company of the Rose to protect such assets for Stark of Winterfell in Essos when attacked by a large force. I am willing to provide you with fifty ships, enough armor and weapons, along with three thousand men throughout the year, who will be on rotational basis, and those men will be paid by you. And I advise Lys to buy two thousand Unsullied men for the defense of the Disputed Lands," Aryan said. In this way my army will get battle experience and I won't have to pay them

"So you need us to fight for you when other sellswords attack your holdings in Essos," Morin asked calmly.

"Yes. You can accept contracts, but when my holdings are attacked by other forces, then you will be there to protect them. You will receive news when there will be attacks. And you will never accept any contracts against the Starks of Winterfell," Aryan further clarified.

"That is a rather generous offer," Vaelaro said with a smile.

Vaelaro added, "Your suggestion about the Unsullied is a good one. Lys can procure two thousand Unsullied easily."

Morin asked, "But what about when your holdings are attacked by some bandits or a small group of men? I am saying this because there will be sabotage attempts throughout the year."

Aryan said, "Don't worry about that. One of my allies will be willing to protect them then." Let the Dornish deal with them for small amount.

"The Unsullied can act as a defensive force when the Company of the Rose is away for their contracts. This way, the Disputed Lands and my holdings will be secure," Aryan told Vaelaro. He then started to explain in detail. Both Vaelaro and Morin looked impressed.

Morin Stark finally said, "When I first heard about your campaign against those Ironborn cunts, I had thought that your achievements were exaggerated. Now, hearing about the military plans and strategies coming from you, no wonder they call you the Bloody Wolf."

Vaelaro asked, "Even if we accept your conditions, as you said, it will take almost a year to bulk up the Company. What if Volantis attacks us before that?"

"Volantis will not attack you. Leave that to me," Aryan assured them with a smile.

Vaelaro then announced, "In that case, I will take this deal to the conclave. Your demands are fair, considering the assistance you are providing us. The conclave will agree."

"I also agree with your reasoning, Lord Stark. While I don't think there will be any resistance to this contract within the Company, I would still like to discuss it with the others," Morin reasoned. "I think it would be beneficial if you spoke to them."

"I will do that," Aryan assured him.

Later, after further discussion on their plans, they parted ways. From there, Aryan accompanied Morin toward the camp of the Company commanders. There, he met a few more Starks, along with the descendants of other Northern Houses. They had a warm reunion. Aryan told them about the recent developments in the North. All of them were happy to hear that.

After that, Morin told them about Aryan's proposal. Though there was some initial reluctance, they agreed when Aryan gave them a detailed explanation. He spent the night with them.

_____________________________________________________________________

After the conclave also accepted the deal, they departed from Lys. The Marauder was sailing away. Aryan had persuaded Wyman and his men, with some subtle use of magic, to go alone on his visit to Tyrosh, Pentos, and finally Braavos, where both parties would meet. He told Wyman that he needed to make detailed negotiations with Vaelaro and the conclave, to which the loyal Northerner reluctantly agreed. At the same time, he had convinced everyone in Lys—using liberal use of magic that he had left aboard the Marauder.

"I think it is time we went. It will take Lord Wyman almost two months to reach Braavos. We should depart now," Marwyn said.

"Of course, Marwyn. Where do you think we must begin?" Aryan asked.

"I think, my lord, we must begin from Valyria. From there, to the Free Cities. The power of the Doom was so great that the sea near its waters still boils, hence the name the Smoking Sea," Marwyn said.

"How near can we get to Valyria?" Aryan asked.

"There is a small settlement at the tip of the Lands of the Long Summer, called Oros. While once it was a sprawling city, the Doom of Valyria affected Oros too. It is just a small settlement now, with most buildings in ruins. We could reach there, and from there go towards Valyria," Marwyn explained.

Aryan declared, "So be it then. Let us not make any more delays."

Then Aryan took out the magic flying carpet from his charmed bag and laid it on the ground. He asked, "Come sit, Marwyn. I will cast a Disillusionment Charm on us and the carpet, and then fly towards Oros."

The Summer Sea

A red, lean, and fearsome galley with a single mast, black sails, and a dark red hull cruised through the warm waters. On the prow was a mouthless maiden of black iron with long legs, a slender waist, high breasts, and mother-of-pearl eyes.

On the red-colored deck stood a handsome man with a patch over his left eye. He looked into the horizon with a manic expression. The deck was full of sailors busy with their chores.

Turning his attention to them, he said, "My dear men, our destination is near. In a couple of weeks, we will be in Valyria, the doomed city, where no living man dares to go. But we will be the first in a long time. You, my men, will get the honor of laying down your lives for me when we reach there." He then started to laugh loudly.

This infamous ship was Silence, captained by the even more infamous captain, Euron Greyjoy, the Crowseye.

"I am sure you all will be very happy and joyous to hear that. You must be so happy that you are unable to express words to thank me properly," Euron said. "But don't worry. I am magnanimous and understanding. I know what is going through your heads."

A few sailors gulped and hurried with their work, not daring to meet their captain's eyes, who seemed to be in a monologue of his own.

Finally, he announced with a smile, "Whoever thanks me properly, I will give him riches enough to become a lord at my home."

Nobody answered. Euron frowned and asked, "Nobody? Come on. Somebody speak out. Has someone got your tongues?"

Still, nobody came forward as they bent down, continuing their work. A rumbling laugh came from Euron's mouth, and he spoke, "Of course, how could I forget? I got all your tongues." He then grabbed the nearest sailor and pressed his throat, prompting him to open his mouth. The man did not have a tongue.

After admiring his handiwork for some time, Euron then threw the gasping man down. The man immediately scrambled away.

Laughing to himself, he stood at the wheel of the ship. Almost five years had passed since his foolish brother had lost against the Greenlanders. Balon's whole scheme had gone down like a sinking ship. Only his plan about burning Lannisport was the one small success they had in the whole campaign. He had expected resistance from the Lannisters. But it was the North that had surprised them.

They had not heeded the information that the North was slowly getting powerful and thought that they could easily attack it. But not only were they unable to attack or capture a single fort of the North, but the Northerners also retaliated swiftly and ruthlessly, almost massacring three of their islands. He later heard that it was only because of the Hand, Jon Arryn, that the Ironborn were spared. The Northerners were ready to kill all the Ironborn to the last man. All this, under the leadership of a twelve-year-old boy named Aryan Stark.

By the time Balon bent the knee, Euron had escaped, knowing Tywin would be looking for him. But Euron had gained a small appreciation for Aryan Stark for his ruthlessness. He had learned from Balon's foolishness that the Ironborn could not rise against the combined power of Westeros alone. They needed something more—something powerful enough to massacre armies.

He had visited many places, from Qarth to Asshai, in search of such a power. All had pointed him towards one place. Valyria. The ancient city, now doomed.

So he was on his way to Valyria, in search of gaining the only thing that could aid him in his conquest of Westeros and make him known as Euron the Conqueror. Dragons.

He had captured a few warlocks from Qarth and a few priests of R'hllor. He had tortured them enough that they had finally cracked. So he now had knowledge of how to gain his own dragon.

Soon, the world would tremble before his might.

Sunspear, Dorne

Oberyn had given him the medicines provided by Aryan Stark. Doran had been taking them regularly, and soon, the swelling and pain in his joints had begun to subside. While his condition remained unchanged, the absence of constant pain was a blessing. He was grateful for the relief—and for the one who had sent it.

Yet his mind was elsewhere.

Before meeting Aryan Stark, he had gathered every piece of information he could about the young Stark from his own sources, his daughter, and his brother. From what he had learned, Aryan was a player, and a rather skilled one at that. A man who had built himself into one of the most dangerous and powerful man in Westeros. But after speaking with him—truly looking into his eyes as they discussed the Lannisters, and his plans in Lys—Doran had come to a chilling realization. Aryan Stark is not just one of the most dangerous and powerful man. He is the most dangerous and powerful man in Westeros.

And yet, even he needs allies. And Doran was relieved that he could provide what Aryan Stark needs. He was grateful they are allies now.

But while Doran had gained a clearer understanding of Aryan Stark, new problems had arisen. He would have preferred that the marriage between his daughter and Aryan Stark was finalized as soon as possible, cementing their alliance before anything could shift. But he would have to wait. Then Aryan Stark is also going to meet his nephew soon, and though Doran did not believe that Aryan Stark held a deep grudge against Aegon, he also did not know what he wanted from that meeting. And if there was one thing Doran did not like, it is unpredictability.

And it frustrates him that his future goodson is the definition of unpredictability. That's why he wanted this marriage done as soon as possible.

Then, there was the matter of Gerold Dayne.

Gerold was dead, and according to Oberyn the one responsible was most likely Aryan Stark. Doran never liked Darkstar. But he had been a useful piece on the board. Now, with his absence, Doran needed to find another.

For now, however, he turned his attention to his daughter.

Seated in his solar, he waited patiently for her arrival. When she finally entered, she greeted him as she always did—warmly, with a hug and a kiss on his cheek.

"Father, you wanted to see me." she said with a smile.

Doran returned the smile "It is good to see you, Arianne. How are you?"

"I am well, Father," she said, then asked "Why did you want to see me?"

Doran let out a slow breath, gathering his words. "First, I must apologize to you, Arianne," he said. "For how I have treated you."

Arianne couldn't believe it "What do you mean?"

"I have always kept you at a distance," he admitted. "Ever since I began planning the downfall of the Lannisters, I looked upon Quentyn as the next ruler of Dorne. And you... I saw you only as a means of securing alliances through marriage. In doing so, I never prepared you to rule. And now, Ashara has made me realize that this could pose a problem for your future husband."

Arianne frowned. "What do you mean?"

"From tomorrow onward, I will begin teaching you the basics of ruling," Doran said. "Later on, Ashara will take over and continue your lessons, so that you may govern in your future husband's stead when he is away from Winterfell. And Ashara has hinted to help him in lessening his workload even when he is in Winterfell."

Arianne remained silent for a long moment.

Then, finally, she nodded. "Very well, Father."

"Good," Doran said. "Also, spend more time with Ashara. Learn about Northern customs, from someone who lives there. It will be expected of you. You will be the Lady of Winterfell. And this title comes with responsibilities. You wanted these things, right? You will be getting them soon. But you have to work for it."

She exhaled softly "I understand."

Doran gave her a nod with soft expression "You may go now, Arianne."

As the door closed behind her, Doran leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers together. All the pieces are in motion. Now, all that remains is Robert Baratheon's death.