I woke to the sound of rain clattering into the tent and barely managed to restrain a roar of anger. “Fucking rain,” I muttered as I rolled from my cot and stood on the rug beside it. Stretching my arms and then working out the kinks of having to sleep in the cot, I let my mind play over the last roughly quarter moon.

  After speaking with Daemon and developing our strategy, I had returned to my camp. The day after arriving, we had finally cleared enough of the forest to get tents placed out for everyone to bunk in. Some of the men were jammed in a little, but it hadn’t seemed like a major issue as the construction of the various pieces of equipment we’d need for the assault shouldn’t take long to create, nor had they. However, eight days since the camp was completed, we hadn’t yet begun the assault as, as work on the battering ram was nearing completion, Rian had alerted me to an issue.

  To the north, forming in the Narrow Sea but barrelling our way was a stormfront. With the knowledge it was coming before anyone spotted it, I began preparations to weather the storm and alerted Daemon to the issue. Yet by the end of the first day of the storm lashing the island, it became clear that this wasn’t going to be a simple storm that blew over us.

  By that first night, we had been forced into emergency repairs as, because we had chosen a relatively flat section of ground to base the camp in, it turned out that some of that was part of the forest floor that was prone to flooding. Half the tents had to be moved and even as the rain and winds lashed the camp, everyone had been forced into emergency work to recover the tents that had been flooded and clear new ground to move the tents to.

  We’d done what we could to dry out the tents before putting them back into use and rotated men in and out of the other tents, but already we’d lost three men to pneumonia with another dozen likely to pass away in the coming days if the weather didn’t ease up. To make matters worse, the path back to the port was now all but blocked as a cart we’d found in the port and repaired had become stuck in the mud. While the supplies it had been carrying had been salvaged, the cart was now stuck in such a place and way that it was only possible to pass by in single file. Add in that the ground was a fucking mire, and it meant we’d been cut off from the port for the last three days.

  The track through the forest to Daemon’s camp was just about still passable, but with no ability to send anything but runners along it, it was barely used currently. The last message I’d received from Daemon said his men were coping as well as they could with the storm and that he had sent many back to the port for better lodgings, which at least meant his route to a port remained, for the time being, passable.

  Once I’d finished stretching, I pulled on extra clothes to fight off the coolness in the air because of the rain and wind outside and then my boots. With that done, I moved to Kaa’s cage. The viper lifted his head as I neared and hissed irritably. “Yeah I know,” I said as I opened the door of the cage and slid my hand inside. “Rain fucking sucks.” Unlike even Rian and me – forgetting Ymir who was already outside wandering in the rain-soaked forest – Kaa was built for warm, dry climates, not the almost tropical rainforest we were currently experiencing.

  Kaa slithered forward, moving over my arm, taking the chance to get out of the cage for at least a short while. He needed a new one, yet I wasn’t sure when or where I could find something that would be big enough to hold him and the items in the current cage without the bars also being too wide, meaning he could slip out whenever he wanted.

  Once he was out and had settled around my torso, I turned and moved slowly. He was no longer a small, and thus light, viper but his weight, girth, and size weren’t yet at the point where I struggled to move with him wrapped around me. As I turned, an irritated chirp-slash-whistle came from Rian. Currently, the Sunfyre eagle was resting on a stand that I’d brought from the Kraken when I’d returned to collect Kaa.

  Rian had gone out a few times each day since the storm had made landfall, however, he was never out long and always returned infuriated at having to dry off again. It was so bad that he actively fought against me the one time I’d wanted to take him up to scout Koros’ settlement. Well, fort. Now, I didn’t consider it a fort, but Daemon did as did the other men, so I’d altered my opinion on the matter.

  Anyway, because of Rian’s reluctance to go out in the storm for any length of time, he’d accepted me using the gulls I had with me. I’d lost one of them when I’d misjudged flying in the high winds of a storm and had been lucky to slip from the bird’s mind before it slammed into the unfortunate pirate on guard duty at the fort at that time. Since then, I’d not used the gulls often, only going out for a short burst to confirm Koros and his men were remaining bunkered down in their fort, though I was cursing him as the fort had proper buildings designed to withstand the elements if not potentially a cave they could shelter in while my men and I remained exposed to the elements.

  The only thing I was sure that was not going Koros’ way was that he was no longer sending out scouts towards either my camp or Dameon’s. Ymir, along with a small detachment of men who rotated the duty, had done a wonderful job of taking out any scout before they could report back to Koros. Hells, Ymir was so successful that my men refused to move in the same section of forest as him on the chance they might meet the fate of Koro’s scouts. However, some of that might be because Ymir often left the scouts in rather bloody conditions after he found and took them out and I suspected that, when the men gave him a wide berth as he moved around the camp, Ymir enjoyed the fear he sensed from my men.

  “Mi’lord.”

  I turned at the call from the flap leading to the outer section of the tent where my guards stood. “Yes?” the flap lifted, and I saw Ballar enter. He stopped after a few steps, just enough that the flap could drop without striking his wet person. His eyes widened as he saw Kaa resting on my shoulders, the viper hissing irritably at the interruption.

  “M-mi’lord. Two of the scouts you sent north have returned with news.”

  I nodded at his words, remembering that before the storm had arrived, I’d sent four men north with instructions to locate and then follow the hidden path to see where it led. Through Rian’s eyes, at least before the storm struck the isle, I’d failed to discern what was there, seeing no hidden port along the coast, so I hoped the scouts had encountered better luck.

  Ballar turned back and pulled open the flap. One of the guards on the other side – men kept dry by the extra entranceway to my tent – pulled it fully back. A moment later, a short, wet, and very muddy man entered. “Tranis, was it?” I said softly, one hand scratching Kaa under his jaw to calm him at the new presence in his domain.

  I knew I had the name right as thanks to Emotionless Recall, I remembered every name and face I had ever encountered. Thanks to that, it was easy to convince the men that I was interested in them, their lives, and their goals whenever we talked.

  “Yes, mi’lord,” Tranis said, his eyes keeping low as I saw him shiver though there was a spark of something – possibly amazement – when I guessed his name.

  “You and your team managed to find the destination of the track?”

  “we did, mi’lord. However, only Aren and me came back. The other two stayed to keep watch.” He paused and grimaced. “I do not know how they are doing mi’lord as the weather…”

  “Aye, it’s bad,” I finished for him. “Hopefully they found somewhere to shelter and wait out the storm.” Tranis nodded. “Now,” I continued, moving a chair over for him to sit in, “while Ballar gets you some clean clothes and fresh food, tell me what you found.”

  I’d have him look over my maps later, once he was dry and rested, but for now, an oral report would be fine.

  … …

  … …

  Three days later, after the storm had finally broken itself on the island, I was walking through the track toward Daemon’s camp. The path was, to be kind, a bog, and if not for the fact I was wearing my sabatons, I was sure my feet would already be damp and caked in mud. Though given the way I struggled to not sink into the ground with each step, I knew it would only take one misstep and I’d be covered in mud.

  I’d already passed by the small stopover that we had created along the forest track linking our camps, along with a handful of lookout points to monitor for scouts. However, after over a quarter-moon of almost non-stop rain, the points and stopover were all but washed away. Thankfully, the weather had prevented Koros from sending out many if any scouts. The stopover and lookout points would have to be rebuilt soon, as would those to the north of my camp and whatever Daemon had placed to the east of his camp. However, for that to happen we needed the weather to hold for a few more days, which was sadly looking unlikely as Rian had already spotted another storm to the north.

  While not as large as the one that had nested on this island, from its current size, it would further delay the siege, which left us in a race of hoping the ground dried up enough that we could assault the fort before it arrived over the island. Failing that, we would have to hope it was nowhere near as strong as the storm we’d just endured, or that it moved to the east or west of us, saving us from the worst of its ravages.

  “Fucking bloody Gods-damn mud!” I snarled as my boot slipped and only getting a hand onto a nearby tree stopped me from face-planting into the ground. “And fuck the rain that caused it!” I snarled at the skies. My head snapped to my right as I felt a burst of amusement. “Oh, fuck you too,” I spat at Ymir.

  He was a good fifty metres to my south – at least I thought it was south as I couldn’t see the sun to be sure and was just working on the idea I was heading generally east – and while hidden in the darkness of the canopy of the forest, my enhanced eyesight and the bond I shared with him allowed me to find him in an instant. The giant direwolf was no doubt had mud up to his knees, yet unlike me and any of my men, he seemed to almost be revelling in the damp, muddy conditions.

  Now, he wasn’t moving with the same grace as he normally would, nor I suspected as quietly as the ground squelched whenever anything was pushed into it. However, he was still built for these conditions better than I was.

  He gave me a snort, or at least I thought it was a snort, before turning and heading further south. Based on what I could sense from him, he was hungry and wanted to see what he could find to hunt and eat. Given he’d spent perhaps too much time over the last nearly half-moon since we’d left the port eating human flesh, it would do the men good to learn he still ate other forms of meat.

  I resumed my trek to Daemon’s camp, cursing every few steps at having to fight my way through the mud. Next time I was just going to send Rian or a gull with a message for him to come to me.

  As I neared his camp, two men shifted. “Who goes there?” One called out as they drew their blades.

  “Get the fuck out of my way or I’ll burn you alive!” I snarled as I came into sight. Yes, they were doing their assignments and were alert to threats, but after taking nearly an hour to trek along a path that had taken me barely twenty before the storm had struck the island, and with mud covering south of my knees, I had no patience for anyone trying to get in my way.

  “M-mi’lord,” the one who’d challenged said as he recognized me and sheathed his blade. “F-forgive me.”

  I growled as I emerged fully from the forest and made my way towards the camp, ignoring the two fuckers. The first thing I noticed was that there appeared to be less damage to the tents I could see than those in my camp and then that two new large tents – the same size as the ones Daemon and I used as command tents – had been set up near Daemon’s since I was last here.

  “Ser Daemon is not there, mi’lord,” The guard called out as I moved toward Daemon’s tent. I turned back to him and his companion with a snarl. “He is currently with the newcomers.” My anger brought forth by the muddy trek fell away as I turned in the direction the guard had pointed. A second later, my ears caught the sound of steel clashing against steel, followed by what sounded like shouting and cheering.

  I gave the guard a nod of thanks, figuring he deserved that much, and then moved towards the sounds. The idea that there were newcomers here was unexpected, as was the fact that no one seemed concerned about it, nor the sound of weapons clashing against each other.

  As I drew closer, the sounds of the voices became clearer, I confirmed the men were cheering on whoever was fighting, though as I neared, I had to slow. A crowd had gathered around whoever was fighting, making it hard to who was fighting.

  “Move,” I growled out at those in front of me. The men either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me, though they failed to do so when I grasped the shoulder of the closest one and pulled him back. “I said move,” I snarled.

  The man I’d pulled stumbled back while his comrades, after realising who I was, removed their hands from their blades and stepped back to let me pass. The next rank of viewers, having heard the commotion behind them, turned and shifted to let me step near enough that I could see two men fighting in full armour.

  One of them was Daemon as I recognized his sigil, though the young man – or possibly just a small man – wore one I’d never seen before. The standard of House Fowler seemed to be the base of the sigil, though instead of the white background behind the eagle of House Fowler, this man had chosen black.

  As the newcomer moved around, his blade clashing with Daemon’s as they tested each other’s defences, I saw perhaps a dozen other men standing around the circle watching this spar – it was clear after a few moves that neither combatant was trying to kill the other – all with sigils on their surcoat or armour. Some I recognized from tourneys and jousts around Dorne over the last few years, but why these knights were here was still unknown.

  Along with the dozen or so knights, there appeared to be about three to four times that number of men I’d never seen before. Some had armour close to the standard of a knight, but most didn’t. However, each of them was better armed and armoured than any former pirates in my ranks confirming they were sellswords, though again, it remained unclear who they were and where they had come from.

  Watching the spar more closely it was clear that the newcomer Daemon was sparing with was while skilled, young, and prone to mistakes I remember having in my style. At least until I was thrown into the crucible of actual combat. Yes, I’d yet to face off against armoured opponents on the battlefield, but with Daemon, Bronn, Cayde, and Jaeronos around to spar with – for the most part – I knew I was still improving rapidly. So much so that only Daemon and Bronn remained above me, with me feeling I was close to taking the former. Or I would be once I was sixteen and my Agility and Strength limits increased again.

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  I hoped that would be enough to give me the edge to defeat Daemon, as I’d rather be able to do so before I turned seventeen and the restrictions on those physical stats were removed. While I understood the logic of the restrictions when I was younger, getting stuck at a limit over the last year or so, particularly now I was actively involved in a war of my own making, was irritating. Yes, both current maximum values (24 for Strength and 28 for Agility) were comfortably above the average of this world of 20, but not enough that they granted me an immense advantage against others; particularly not those who were better skilled than me.

  The newcomer, thankfully, wasn’t one such fighter, and with a deft move – a shuffling of his feet, a rolling of his shoulder, and a twist of his wrist – Daemon had his blade to the newcomer’s throat. While in full combat, with them in their armour, such a blow would not necessarily be a kill strike, it seemed that for this spar it was enough to signal victory as cheers and groans went up from the men gathered around the pair.

  As Daemon moved back and sheathed his blade, I saw men exchanging coin for whatever bets they had made. The newcomer copied Daemon’s move and the pair then clasped arms. Taking that as the signal this was over, I moved into the circle that had formed around them so their spar could take place.

  Some of the sounds from the nearby men fell away, while others whispered to each other: those who served with me telling those new to the camp who I was. I paid none of that any mind, choosing to focus on Dameon and his sparring partner as the pair turned to me. Once their helms were off, I saw the face of the newcomer and blinked in surprise. “Barrian? I had not expected to see you here,” I said as I clasped his arm.

  Barrian Fowler, third son of Lord Franklyn Fowler – which explained the sigil – smiled back at me. “As a newly spurred knight, with little chance to inherit, and even less opportunity for glory in tourneys and jousts, where else would I head but to fight alongside a friend?”

  I chuckled at his words as I looked him over. Barrian was about half a head shorter than me and about half a year younger from what I remembered. His hair had darkened a touch, removing some of the blond, while his eyes and face had that look of innocence I remembered; one I wasn’t sure I’d ever born. Certainly not since the Greyjoy Rebellion and my claiming of Red Rain via, as King Robert put it, the Iron Price.

  “I had not expected this,” I said as we broke the clasp before I clapped him on the shoulder. “However, I am pleased to see you.”

  Barrian chuckled. “You do not realise the way word of your exploits has spread throughout Dorne, do you?” He remarked with a chuckle. “You have the ear of both Prince Doran and Princess Arianne,” He smirked there, “and others sing your praises across the sands. Of how you are working to bring order to a lawless place.”

  “To say nothing of the coin you have earned.” I turned at the new voice to see a large, stout older man approaching, his hand extended. “Ser Jedric Shore,” He continued as we clasped arms. “I,” he gestured with his other arm to the crowd around us, “my fellow knights, and fivescore of experienced sellswords, left Sunspear when one of your trade vessels made port in Sunspear. We had hoped to join you on your campaign to liberate Redwater, yet imagine our shock when we met your mayor of Northpoint, and he told us that you had already cleared the island and had set sail with a great fleet for The Shrouded Isle.” He laughed as we broke the clasp. “If you had told my grandfather he would have provided men and ships for the campaign.”

  “And then, as with Prince Doran when I took Dustspear, I would be forced to hand over the greater share of my spoils to one not actively fighting,” I replied with a smirk. “Yet, while your grandfather might demand a similar share as the Prince received, Prince Doran provided me with much of the initial coin to hire men, ships, and arms. Something I no longer need help with acquiring.”

  House Shore was a minor house in Dorne, one based along the Broken Arm and about the second or third closest to The Shrouded Isle – the exact order would depend on where I was on this isle – so Lord Dilron Shore would benefit from my actions here was not a surprise. When he had revealed his name, I had wondered if Ser Jedric had been sent by his grandfather, but that concern was minor as I remembered that he was the third son of Lord Dilron’s heir, and thus unlikely to be here for his grandfather. At least not in any meaningful way. Still, it was something that I would have to keep an eye on going forward; not just with Ser Jedric and Ser Barrian, but with other knights with trueborn connections to noble houses of Dorne and beyond.

  After I replied to Ser Jedric, I looked over the other new knights as they came closer. Many bore sigils that I recognised and remembered, though some did not. However, one sigil was more familiar than the rest. “I remember you Ser,” I said to one older knight who had greying hairs at his temples. “You jousted against my father in the final for Princess Arianne’s ten and eighth nameday, did you not?

  The knight in question, who was slightly shorter than me, nodded. “I did indeed, My Lord.” I push aside the unneeded referral to me as a lord. Each of these men were knights like me, and in Westeros, I bore no title. “Ser Warrek of the Black Sands.” As he finished I clasped arms with him.

  “What brings you to these shores?” I asked gently, wanting some sort of read on him – something I’d be doing for all the new men.

  “As Ser Jedric stated, the chance to earn coin and glory fighting at your side.”

  “You are not concerned about taking command from someone easily half your age?” I probed as we broke the arm clasp.

  He chuckled, as did a few of the other new knights and sellswords – though they were holding back a little further. “Young you might be, Ser Cregan, but your name is one with power and connection. Not just in Dorne, but in the North.”

  “I have even heard whispers in Storm’s End of your exploits,” another knight added. “Though those rumours say you stand as tall as two men and command a beast of legend.”

  I shared a look with Daemon, my friend chuckling as he replied. “Ymir is a great beast, Ser Garhar, but he is not one of legend. Just a creature not seen south of the Wall in centuries.”

  There were a few confused looks among the knights and sellswords, bar the few who had spent time in Sunspear and knew of me before I had set sail for Dustspear. “Ymir is a direwolf,” I explained, drawing gasps from several of the men, “and easily the best tracker in my forces.” I saw a few of the sellswords grumble at that. “If you think your senses can match that of a wolf as tall as me, then you are welcome to try. Ymir enjoys the challenge.”

  “And winning,” Daemon added with a chortle.

  As the new men looked at each other, some laughing along with Daemon and me simply to fit in, I turned to my second in command. “When did they all arrive?”

  “The morning of the storm,” Daemon replied. “It seems they hired two cogs to carry them to Northpoint, and once there, your mayor paid the crew for three more moons of service. The ships are now docked with the rest of my fleet.”

  “Along with supplies for the war effort that Mayor Phenias paid rather handsomely for. At least what he did not purchase for the development of Northpoint with the latest group of settlers choosing to move there,” Barrian added. “In my tent, I have a missive from him, along with ones from many in Sunspear, for you, Ser Cregan.”

  I nodded at hearing that, looking forward to hearing news from home. Asha would be well along in her pregnancy, and while I hoped I might be able to return for the birth – Maester Caleotte had said she would be due early in the eleventh moon of this year – I was feeling that would be unlikely. I wondered how Ari, Nym, my parents, and sisters were doing as well, and wondered if there might be a missive from my cousins.

  I glanced at Daemon, wondering if there had been news from Lord Eddard regarding the idea of betrothing Daemon to Alysanne, but regardless of if any letter for me bore such information, I would speak with him later about the matter. I could see no reason for Ned to not allow the union, bar perhaps not wanting the daughter of his sister Lyanna married to a Dornish bastard, but in the end, the matter was out of my hands.

  “I thank you for delivering the missive, Ser Barrian, and for all of you for choosing to sign on with me and my men,” I added, speaking to all the newcomers. “Has Ser Daemon spoken to you of the terms of your employ?” I asked, referring to the charter I had.

  The knights were going to be paid better than any bar my council – Daemon and the others who had served me since the beginning – but it would not place any strain on my coffers. I had a chest full of coin aboard the Kraken to pay any man their wages for each moon, if they wished to carry it into battle, and it was more than enough to pay for every man I’d set sail with for half a year. The cost of a dozen knights and four times that in sellswords, while a large increase in cost, would not strain my reserves, and that was before considering the trade goods being held in the port where my fleet was moored.

  “He has, and we have already signed your charter,” Barrian replied.

  Jedric snorted. “Some odd choices there, but Ser Daemon has explained the logic behind them. They make particular sense when considering that most of the men here are little better than rabble.”

  “Aye,” I replied, though already I was curious which parts of the charter he and the others found odd. I knew that many of the actions that happened in war were done by knights and nobles just as much as the smallfolk in their armies, but that didn’t mean I had to accept or condone such behaviour. So far, there hadn’t been any major issues regarding my rules, but I knew that eventually there would be. I just hoped that the first to break my charter was one I could deal with as otherwise it would undermine my leadership, which would be an extremely dangerous proposition. “Now come, I suspect that Daemon has already told you of my intentions for the fort before us, and then after that, but I would be pleased to hear the thoughts of my fellow knights.”

  I turned and moved towards Daemon’s tent, as he fell into step at my right. Barrian moved quickly, just cutting Jedric off from walking on my left. That made me chuckle, and while I knew that we could have taken the fort without their presence, having a dozen heavily armoured knights to throw at the defences, and in all likelihood breach them, would be extremely useful. To say nothing of the sellswords that came with them.

  Each of the new men was worth at least a dozen former pirates, though I did hope none of the knights had odd senses of honour that some had. Such... civility in warfare only led to the death of the one involved, and often those around them.

  The other issue was that I would now have to be cautious of how I displayed my abilities. The knights would soon hear stories from my men about what I had done, and if any were devout in their support of the Seven, they might well be an issue. However, that was a bridge I knew I would always have to cross at some point, and for the time being, with a fort to assault, an issue for the future.

  … …

  … …

  I sat at the table in my tent, the patter of light rain outside as another barely registering with me as I looked at the letters and missives from home before me. The letters from my parents were nice to have, as was learning that both my mother and Lady Ellaria were again with child – I swore Oberyn wanted a blood son but was cursed to never have one so he lived vicariously through me – while Nym and Arianne were quite… insistent that I return to Sunspear so that I might once again grace their beds.

  The pair hinted that they had not taken another man to their bed since my last visit, but I would not begrudge them if they did. There was nothing formal between myself and Arianne, and I knew that Doran intended for her to one day marry Viserys, but the fact she seemed keen to stress that she had only lain with women certainly stirred a fire in my loins.

  My younger sisters – both through marriage and blood – missed me as well and looked forward to seeing what gifts I would bring them when I returned home, though, in the case of Dorea and Aliandra, they wished for me to bring them weapons. It seemed that the pair had yet to grow out of their desire to wield weapons like a man, nor had Elia who it seemed was, according to Oberyn, as comfortable in a saddle as knights thrice her age.

  Beron was doing well, though he did complain about Oberyn’s training as his squire – something that made me laugh. He also spoke of his growing happiness that, in the coming years, he would marry Wylla Manderly. They were both wilful, spirited, and adventurous and already it seemed he and his betrothed wished to join me on my adventures. I was uncertain of if either might one day do so, but I wondered if I could find a creature to take to Beron so that he might bond with it in preparation for when Ned discovered the direwolf pups about a year from now. If that event would still happen.

  It seemed that while she had not yet – and might not ever – meet Ghost, Alysanne had already displayed her potential as a skinchanger. She had bonded with young Talon, Rian’s chick with Riona, and spoke in subtle terms, or as subtly as she could, of her wonder at seeing and experiencing the world through the eyes of the bird.

  I was angered at myself that I was not there to help guide her; to work with Rian to help her and Talon understand and grow the bond they shared. I had a letter written for her – along with everyone else – that I hoped to send back to Sunspear once Koros was dead and his fort mine, but that just didn’t feel like enough.

  When the letters were written, no response had come in from Ned regarding her betrothal to Daemon, though it was clear that Alysanne cared deeply for him, and had asked me to do all I could to keep the man she loved out of harm’s way. That had made me chuckle as, while not as animalistic as I, Daemon was growing to enjoy the battles almost as much. So much so that, after our earlier talk about him knowing my goals for the future, my feeling about offering him one of the islands to rule in my name only grew stronger. Not only would it tie him and Alysanne firmly to me, but if the chance to hatch her egg ever developed, then I could do so. I hoped that she might be able to bond with such a beast, but if not, I felt that I could. Or at least I could if, as I expected, when I reached Level 100 of Skinchanging, I gained a slot for another Bonded Companion.

  Yet, for all I enjoyed hearing how everyone was doing in Sunspear, upon learning who the various letters had come from last night, my focus had been on two senders. The first, and the one that had cost me much of my rest through the night, had come from Asha.

  While I wouldn’t say I loved her, she was carrying my child and I wished I could be there with her. From her letter, it wasn’t hard to tell that she was upset – to put it gently – that I had left her high and dry with a babe in her oven and was quite insistent, with a rather interesting selection of vocabulary that I would be making this up to her when I returned to Sunspear.

  Already I had offered a prayer to the Old Gods that our child, regardless of their gender, would grow up healthy, strong, and powerful. Yet, I was also concerned as bar The Price of Blood, every magical ability I had carried the potential to be carried to our child. This was shown with the Martells, and their strength with Water Magic; a bloodline that had lain dormant in them since Princess Nymeria had arrived in Dorne with the survivors of Rhoynar.

  That meant that, in theory, my child with Asha, and any I had later in life, carried the potential to use any of the magic I had the capacity for when the child had been conceived. The fact I could birth new generations of skinchangers, mages capable of wielding elemental magic – with a focus on Fire Magic – or even potentially, future dragon riders was a scary concept. Hells, if the child’s mother had a magical bloodline, such as an example Ari, then the child might gain even more magical potential. Or the bloodlines could cancel each other out, weakening the child’s potential to manipulate various powers. It was also possible that one parent’s genes would carry more strength, overriding any benefit that the other might carry.

  I’d spent a long night thinking on the matter, trying to determine what, if any clues, existed on the matter and outside of the Martells, and before they were reduced to two trueborn children somewhere in Essos and one currently living as a bastard in Sunspear, the Targaryens, I had no bloodlines to consider.

  Perhaps, just perhaps, this was why the Targaryens had been so keen to marry brother to sister and cousins to each other, or in the first half of their rule over Westeros when dragons still ruled the battlefield, intermarried with House Velaryon – another, if minor, Valyrian house. Yet, I recalled that the marriage of cousins was not limited to just the Targaryens. Tywin Lannister had married his cousin, Joanna, while Ned’s parents had also been cousins. That the practice existed through First Men, Andal, and Valyrian blood suggested there was some logic to the idea of keeping bloodlines pure, or at least clear so that certain traits – be they magical or other – remained strong in the family.

  Sadly, without a detailed examination of bloodlines of families, houses, and others from times before such records existed or from places where such records were destroyed, there was no way to be sure of what, if any effect keeping a bloodline pure had on the magical potential of the house in question.

  I had put that matter to one side this morning after a rather fitful night’s rest considering the matter. For now, my focus was on the final letter to come from Sunspear, and the only one I left until today to read sat open in my hands. I’d already read it twice, yet I found myself reading it a third time as I processed everything connected to the sender and myself.

  My dearest Cregan,

  When I finished my term of punishment with the Silent Sisters, I had both dreaded and longed to return to Sunspear. It had been a year since we had last spoken since my mistake had risked harm to the links my uncle and yours had created between Dorne and The North.

  In my time away, I learnt that my actions, while done with the noblest of intentions, were badly judged. Helping Alysanne sneak from Winterfell with the intent of escorting her in secret to Sunspear risked great harm to the links between Dorne and The North, though I still feel, not to the degree that you seemed to fear.

  Yet, when I returned to Sunspear, my heart yearning for you while not knowing if you still cared for me as I do for you, I was surprised by what I discovered.

  I had missed you by mere days – I curse the Gods for their timing – as you sailed out into the Stepstones to seek fame, adventure, and coin once more. Learning I had missed you by such a small passage of time hurt me deeply, though less so than discovering that Lady Asha was carrying your child.

  Do not misconstrue my words. I am happy for you both, and I look forward to helping Asha raise and care for your child. However, I had hoped, as foolish as it might be, that I might bear you a child; that we might one day be wed and live our lives serving my cousin when she became Princess of Dorne.

  I now know that with your taking and developing of Dustspear that part of my hopes is no longer possible, but I wish you to know that, for all my mistakes, for all the time we have spent apart, I miss you dearly. I hope that you might still feel a glimmer of something for me so that when you next return we might see if what we once had could be rekindled into the flames I wished to once grow into a great and happy family.

  With care and love always,

  Tyene.

  I closed the letter and sighed deeply, letting my emotions wash over me. Ty’s actions with Alysanne had been flawed, yes, but my reaction to that, to her and others… I shook my head and growled. I’d acted like a fucking moron; scared that the prepubescent plans I had been developing for the future had been ruined by the actions of two silly girls.

  I knew now that their actions had not damaged my goals; instead, helping forge stronger links between The North and Dorne. With Beron Stark and Wylla Manderly not only now betrothed but forging bonds of friendship with the children of Dornish nobles, and the trade fleets travelling between Sunspear and White Harbour growing more numerous and profitable with each passing year, the chances of Dorne being drawn into the War of the Five Kings on the side of House Stark were greater than they could be without having Robb betrothed to Ari.

  A chuckle escaped my lips at the idea of that pairing. Robb was no pup, but Ari would eat him alive if her eye ever turned to bedding him, to say nothing of a union between the two.

  The moment of levity passed, and I found myself cursing myself once again. I should have spoken to Ty before she was sent to the Silent Sisters in the Reach. I should’ve offered an olive branch to her. Yet instead, I had kept her distant, not writing to her while she was gone; my irrational anger never truly faded. Not until I found the outlet of combat for it.

  Now, with a clearer head and good distance between the incident, I knew that while Ty might feel she had much to apologise for, I had the same, if not more. As I lifted the letter to my lips and gently kissed her name, I swore to the Gods that I would see her again one day and make things right between us. I didn’t know if we could rekindle what we once had, not least as I now had to balance Nym and Asha as lovers and soon have a child with the latter, but I would try. She… we deserved that much.

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