Ocean Ice Palace
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In the midst of the chaos, I was able to escape, thanks to a quick-thinking guard and my father’s influence. It cost me a few coins from my purse and left me without the protection of guards or servants. But I was still alive. And with the help of a friend who had been waiting in the shadows just outside the door, we were soon on our way again into the streets of Ocean Palace.
The streets teemed with life that day. People went about their business as usual. They were busy preparing for what they believed would be one of the most important events in recent memory—the wedding of Princess Arianne Martell to Prince Doran Martell.
The streets echoed with the sound of carts rumbling over cobblestones, and people called out to each other and bargained loudly over prices for goods.
I kept close to my friend and followed his lead through the crowded streets until we came upon a building so tall it almost touched the sky. Its walls gleamed whitely; its pointed towers soared to even higher heights. It reminded me a bit of the White Keep at Dragonstone, but this place was larger, far grander—and much more imposing than any castle I had ever seen.
My friend stopped before a massive set of doors that led inside. “This is where you will find your father.”
“Father?” I glanced around nervously. “How do you know he’s here? Where are you taking me?”
He shrugged and smiled. “Trust me, child. Trust Ser Jorah Mormont, the best spy in Westeros.”
His smile reassured me a little, though it did nothing to ease my growing sense of panic. “I have never met anyone named Mormont, and I don’t want to meet him now.”
Ser Jorah raised an eyebrow. “You think a man like me needs introductions, boy? You should try living longer than three days, that might change your mind.” He reached down and helped me onto a stone step leading up to the door.
His hand lingered, then slid down the back of my thigh. My face reddened. “If only I could get away with such liberties,” he said with a sly wink, “you’d make a very different wife from yours.”
“I’m not interested in becoming anyone’s wife!”
A loud laugh sounded from behind us. A huge man stood there, staring up at me with eyes so dark they looked almost black. “Oh, no, she certainly isn’t! I can see by the look in her eyes that she means to be a man’s woman. No need to pretend otherwise, lad.” He patted Ser Jorah on the shoulder as he passed.
Ser Jorah chuckled. “Lord Baelor, I didn’t realize you were in the city today. Good day.” The giant bowed, then turned to me. “Come along now, boy, don’t let Ser Jorah frighten you. There are many strange men in Westeros, I’ve found, but none stranger than the old lion himself. We’re going to meet Father inside.”
I followed him up the steps. My heart pounded wildly. I couldn’t tell if the pounding was coming from my head or my chest. My feet felt numb as I stepped across the threshold.
It was colder inside. I shivered, and the sound seemed to echo off every surface in the vast entry hall: marble walls, polished white floors, gold-inlaid columns and statues, tall windows looking out on the sea, tapestries hung from the ceilings high above us. A golden statue of Dondarrion stood near the main doors, his arms folded defiantly under a great fur cloak, a sword held tight in one fist.
“Your father,” Ser Jorah whispered in my ear. “The High Septon sits at the end of the hall. When you meet him, kneel down and keep your head low.”
We walked toward the center of the room, where two massive thrones sat facing each other at the top of a raised dais. The High Septon rose and began making his way toward us. His long brown robes swept the floor behind him as he moved.
“My lord.” Ser Jorah inclined his head to the elderly man but did not bow. Lord Baelor returned the nod. “And this must be your son, my dear friend.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Ser Jorah. “Ser Barristan Selmy. This is my ward and heir, Daario Naharis.”
Lady Regent Elia gave me another once-over as she approached the dais, and her gaze lingered a bit too long on my face. “A pretty boy,” she said when she reached the foot of the dais. “Are you his squire?” She made some sort of gesture toward Ser Jorah.
Ser Jorah laughed. “No, my lady. He is my ward.”
“Well, it makes no matter, I suppose,” she said dismissively, as though I weren’t there. “Ser Jorah, I trust that all is well in King’s Landing?”
“As well as may be expected, my lady. Your brother’s wedding was a most joyous occasion, and His Grace has taken well to his new bride.”
Her smile was a cold thing to behold. “His grace, is it? He’ll learn to hate that word sooner or later. As I recall, he used to call her ‘that bloody woman.'”
Ser Jorah’s face darkened with anger. “I believe he was speaking of your sister, my lady.”
Lady Regent laughed softly. “Sister indeed! That was always Myrcella’s role. It’s only after she’s married that she becomes his true queen.”
“As you say, my lady.” Ser Jorah bowed again and smiled at me. “I am glad you are feeling better, my lady. Please forgive my lord for his harsh words.”
She gave him an icy stare. “Harsh words? Harsh words?” She threw her hands in the air. “What could he have said that could have been worse than the truth? If I were not the king’s mother, I would have him flayed alive. And what about that little whore?
What was she doing here? Wherever did she come from, this Dornish girl? Has she got a brother or a cousin somewhere who wants to marry into our family? Are there any more of them?” Lady Regent glared angrily around the hall, taking in all the people in attendance. “I’d wager that half of these lords came from Dorne, with their red hair and green eyes.”
Ser Jorah put his arm protectively around my shoulders. “My lady, surely we should leave this subject—”
“Leave it, sir, before I decide to take up the matter with my father.” Lady Regent pointed a sharp finger at me. “If you had any shame, you’d leave right now, and never set foot in my kingdom again.”
“That I cannot do, my lady. Ser Barristan Selmy is sworn to serve the king, and the queen.”
“The queen? You mean your precious Cersei Lannister?” Her smile was a twisted mockery. “You’re her squire? Well, let her know that when she needs someone beaten bloody for some slight she’s suffered, she might think twice before bothering you.” She turned on her heel and stalked off.
When I glanced over at Ser Jorah, I found him staring at me wide-eyed.
“What did she want with you?” I asked quietly.
“Nothing, really. Just a piece of advice. It seems that you are to wed Prince Doran.”
“Is that so?” Ser Jorah nodded. “I had not heard.”
“He’s not even a Targaryen yet,” I reminded him. “The marriage can’t take place until he’s crowned.”
“True enough… but it will happen soon enough.” Ser Jorah took me by the elbow and led me away. “Come.” He pulled me through the crowd. “Let us find the queen.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s gone.”
“Gone where?” I demanded. “Has there been some trouble?”
“No. She left with her handmaids.”
“Left?” I stared at the big knight, dumbfounded. “For where? Why would they leave the feast? What does the queen need to go anywhere for?”
We searched the great hall, but the queen and her ladies were nowhere to be seen.
“They have vanished,” I told Ser Jorah. “How very curious.”
“There is no mystery, my friend.”
“Oh?” I looked at him in puzzlement. “Why would that be?”
“Dany loves to play a game of thrones. She likes nothing better than to watch others compete. And now you are one of her opponents. So she’s leaving before you can win.”
I remembered how the queen had laughed at me, mocked the notion of a princely union. The same woman who’d called me that Dornish cunt… and worse. I knew how to deal with a woman like her. With her brother, I could have been more subtle. But Cersei Lannister was my wife’s mother, my own blood kin, and as such, I felt bound to treat her with courtesy.
So I bowed low to Cersei, offered her a cup of wine, and listened politely as she told me what I already knew.
“Your Grace,” I said when the conversation had reached its usual boring point, “the king and I are pleased that Your Highness has chosen to visit Dragonstone once again. We shall look forward to welcoming you back to King’s Landing when next you come to Westeros.”
“I doubt that will ever happen,” said Cersei. “It would be safer for you both if we parted ways here.” She gestured around us. “Here you are safe. Here you’ll be able to sleep without fear that the walls of Storm’s End will tumble down atop your head. And here you’re certain to find a more willing audience for whatever tales you wish to tell of Dorne and the queen’s brother.”
“This is a most generous offer.” I gave a shallow bow. “But I’m afraid I must refuse.”
Cersei smiled a nasty smile. “You may call me selfish, but I don’t intend to die today. And neither should you.” Her face darkened. “And since it seems you have no desire to part ways, I see no reason why I shouldn’t make use of my gift. Let it end here, Tyrion. Put this whole sad business behind you once and for all.”
A dagger flashed in her fist. “Put an end to your little pet as well.”
The hilt felt cool and hard under my fingers. The steel gleamed pale silver, and a single red ruby glimmered near the pommel. I thought of Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. I thought of Ser Mandon Moore, his brother-lover. I thought of the night Joffrey Baratheon had sent those two men to their deaths. If only…
I raised the blade high and brought it crashing down into my chest. I felt the blade bite deep, and saw stars explode across my vision. A thousand voices rang out in a wild chant: “Tyrion! Tyrion!”
Then I was falling. Falling through the air, my lifeblood flowing between my legs…
…and then all went dark.
The End