GOT : Chapter 120

( Arianne POV )

Rain fell on Highgarden as if the gods were crying all the tears in their heart. Long gone were the days of sunshine, now the gloom had set into the capital of the Reach.

Gloom after the disaster at Riverrun, gloom after the sack of Oldtown, and finally, gloom as the dragons and krakens headed straight towards the heart of the Reach. She heard Oldtown was in ruins, the Citadel burnt and the Hightower flung into the sea as if it were a sand castle.

Her mind had raced to Sarella. Was she fine? Was she in Oldtown? What had happened to her?

No news came, and she and Tyene worried. Hopefully, a raven would come.

As for the Tyrells, gone were the days of the flower of the Reacher chivalry. Goldengrove had fallen, and it didn't take much thinking to know who was next.

On the other hand, disturbing reports came from the Mander, of seemingly unstoppable Ironborn hordes marching to Highgarden. Although exaggerated, these reports were enough to scare most of the population living beyond the walls to ask for protection inside.

As such, much of the smallfolk of the surrounding areas were now huddled here, waiting with grim anticipation. The Reacher army had tried to make another stand to defend Goldengrove, without much more success.

Now, they could only wait till Ser – no, lord – Baelor Hightower had managed to scrape enough forces from the rubble of Oldtown to come and relieve a possible siege.

But, surely, the Ironborn were at the end of their tether, they couldn't live off the land forever. All that would come would be half-crazy, half-starved fanatics that a simple charge of the household guard would break.

Still, it was now a matter of who came first, dragon or kraken.

Arianne looked to her desk, and, from one of the small drawers, took out a small glass vial, with a colorless liquid floating in it.

Slowly, she picked it up, and placed it in front of her. Should the walls fall…there would be no question of what men would do to her. All Dornishwomen had one of these little glass flasks, hopefully never to be used.

But should perishing in dragonfire was not a happy thought, and falling into the hands of the Ironborn was an even less enviable one.

She took the small vial, and tucked it into her dress, making sure it did not slip or break. There was just enough in it for one person to go to a dreamless slumber, but not much more. Every drop was thus precious.

Stroking her hair, she just sighed, and waited, powerless, for the end to come.

Perhaps the Targaryen bastard would prove merciful, perhaps the Ironborn would be defeated, but Arianne knew better. All of her hopes had been crushed, it was doubtful that the gods would listen to her anymore.

She'd been abandoned here, and although she thought she could control the Reach, she found out she was more of a prisoner in a gilded cage than a ruler. Despite Tyene's reassurance, Arianne found herself more and more isolated, unable to sway or control Willas.

She did her best to smile and be a proper lady in public, but more and more, venom could be heard in her voice while she did her best not to strangle her husband-to-be.

Well, so much for her wedding as well. It should have happened already, but the events at Riverrun postponed it again. And besides, the Tyrells liked their feasts and symbols. A rushed ceremony would not do.

Willas and Arianne hardly shared anything out of public life. And with her isolation, there was nothing she could do about it. She had resigned herself to her fate: if she couldn't escape, she could try to embrace what she had. A superhuman effort.

But then came the bad news, and Arianne could only smile at them, seeing the worried and completely panicked faces of the Tyrells as the Starks had pulled a dragon out of their arses.

Hah!

What a joke that was. One that turned very sour as the dragon avoided King's Landing and headed straight towards them.

A knock at the door, then. A guard clad in that ugly green color she'd learned to hate asked her to come down to the mess hall. She just nodded.

Moving down the corridors of Highgarden had become easy for her. She could finally find her way in the maze of the castle, no small feat.

Gathered in the hall was, of course, Willas Tyrell, with a couple of lords alongside him. Amongst them she could recognize Benjamin Cordwayner, Garth Leygood, Lapalice Sloane, Josua Willum and Bayard Norcross. On the side, a few ladies, including Willas' mother Alerie, but also Tyene and Sylva, as well as Ser Joss Hood, who had a worried look in his eyes.

"What is happening?" she finally asked.

"The Northmen have been spotted beyond the northern woods," Ser Joss quickly answered, "without their dragon."

"Where could it have gone?" she suddenly asked.

"That's what the flowers are trying to find out…" Sylva spoke up, pointing to the various lords around Willas, each showing worried glances.

Suddenly, the room shook as the stones themselves seemed to want to break off the walls.

Then, Arianne heard a large roar outside.

Quickly, she got to the window, followed by a flock of people, and let out a gasp.

There, before her very eyes, was a dragon, flying over the spires of the castle.

She stared, wide-eyed, as it flew three times over the castle, its massive wings casting an even darker shadow than the grey clouds above. Its roar was like rolling thunder, terrifying everyone, who took a step back.

Then, as the dragon moved away, came the Northmen. There were Stark banners, but also Manderly, Mormont, Karstark and…Tully, Royce and Arryn?

The Northmen had friends it seemed.

Arianne didn't have time to think, as she expected the dragon to come back for them and unleash its deadly flame.

Reaching into her pocket, she got the small glass vial out, and clutched it, expecting to have to down it at any moment.

But instead, the dragon landed away, towards where the Northmen were setting up camp. She couldn't see very well from here, but there seemed to be a lot of horses and carriages, as well as small ships being brought down from the Upper Mander.

In the room, it was pandemonium, when suddenly, with a firm voice, Willas decided to end all the chattering.

"Silence!" he cried out, "Ser Bayard, send a delegation under a flag of truce. Tell prince Daeron I wish to negotiate."

There was stunned silence, before the voice of Ser Bayard cut back in.

"Negotiate, my lord? But…"

"I gave you an order, Ser Bayard." Willas frowned. "Ask the prince to come into my home, we shall be more at ease than outside."

"Very well."

The old knight scurried off, escorted by two to three guards.

"Everyone out, I wish only to have my betrothed and my mother with me to welcome our guests." Willas then sighed. "Do not worry, if their dragon hasn't attacked us now, it's because they do not mean to harm us yet."

Arianne could agree to that sentiment. Whoever that Targaryen was, he did not wish to quench some bloodlust just yet.

But Arianne did frown at Willas' words.

"Tyene stays too," she said, matter-of-factly.

"As you wish, dear." Willas nodded with a slight smile, which Arianne only wanted to rub off his pretty face.

While the room emptied of its occupants, who wearily went back to their rooms, or, probably, sought a place they would think to be safe from dragonfire, Ser Bayard came back and whispered to Willas, just in range for her to hear:

"They agree to negotiate, but the b…the prince warned that at the slightest hint of treachery, his dragon would know and burn us all alive."

The words sent a chill through Arianne's smile. She thought that the Targaryen would just throw himself into the lion's maw and deliver himself as a hostage, impulsive youth that he is, but if he was willing to sell his skin like this, it was he who had thousands of hostages…

Nevertheless, the meeting did happen, and when the gates were thrown open, only three men entered the room, quickly taking the bread and salt offered, while Willas swore an oath on the Seven not to do anything…risking their health or freedom.

While this ritual was going on, Arianne could take a better look at the three men.

One was old, tall and brisk. Likely a veteran of a hundred battles, his face was wrinkled and scarred, showing the signs of a tired man, bruised and who wished for it all to be over.

The second man was much younger, and likely Daeron Targaryen. Sandy hair, blue eyes, a wonder he wasn't found out sooner. Just where had Lord Stark found him? And how did he hide him under the nose of Robert Baratheon? Surely someone would notice he was slightly out of place. Then again, Ashara Dayne…

Then Arianne's eyes met the last man's, and she was nearly struck by lightning. The last was the youngest, but he was by far prettier than the Targaryen prince.

Clean shaven, dark hair, grey eyes ... she stared languidly at him, then remembered her dreams as a young girl. A dark-haired knight, dark and dangerous, who came to save her and then…

Her eyes met his. Brown against grey, as she fought to not open her mouth in awe. The gods, for once, had not forsaken her. They had sent her the knight of her dreams; they had gotten her a way out of this flowery hell she had found herself into. What was he? A northman surely. Stark? Karstark? Manderly? Or even an Arryn cousin, who knows?

The man's gaze stayed fixed on her for a few moments, enough for him to show a slight, compassionate, smile, before turning his head back towards Willas, who had started to speak, his body leaning on his cane, while trying to remain confident, as if there wasn't a giant dragon behind these walls.

"Prince Daeron, thank you for responding to my offer and gracing me, your humble servant, with your presence." He finished with an extended hand to the sandy-haired boy.

This one, though, had a flash of surprise go through him. He looked down at Willas' hand, and then took a step back.

To Arianne's complete shock, her…erm…the dark-haired knight stepped forward and grabbed Willas' hand."It's Lord Regent to you, Lord Willas. My name is Jon Stark, and my companions are Ser Brynden Tully and Lord Harrold Arryn. Now what is it that you wished to talk.

Be brief, I'm afraid we do not have much time and Winter is very impatient." A wolfish grin appeared on his face. "Oh, and if you call me Prince Daeron one more time and I'll burn Highgarden to the ground, do we understand each other?"

This time, Arianne did not escape the need to immediately take a seat to stop herself from fainting.

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