the thing about dragons

chapter five (II)

in which there's cats and blood.

part II

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warnings: war, blood, bad life decision, Otto Hightower, Daemon Targaryen, murder, menstrual cycle

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"Offer them a big piece in the Stepstones," Lyra says. Corlys looks at her sharply, takes a breath. "No, no, no, hear me out."

Daemon is staring at him as he looms behind Lyra. Corlys tries to hold his gaze, but very quickly grows uncomfortable.

"Elaborate," he says unhappily.

"If we can sweep in and secure a good deal with Dorne, everybody benefits. You get better tariffs, they get better tariffs, Triarchy goes to fuck itself being attacked from both sides. You get half, they get half, you keep it together."

"It's not that easy."

"Oh, I know. I'm no diplomat, I don't even know what exactly would it take to parlay like that. But you need to push for an alliance that's beneficial enough for Dorne that they don't turn around and run to the Triarchy. If they do, you've automatically lost because they ill chase you out together very fast. Then, you get nothing. I don't know, maybe I'm weird, but for me half's better than nothing! My point is; you need to make good with Dorne and cuck Triarchy, or this whole war effort is fucked. Wasted, gone, reduced to atoms!"

Corlys sighs and puts his face in his hands. "Stop making sense, you horrible creature."

"No," Lyra chirps cheerfully. "Look, I get it, you hate making concessions, especially after uncle king stood your family up as he has, but concessions will be good in this case. And you'll be able to hold a semi-alliance with Dorne over uncle king's head. Wouldn't that be great? Hells, you might just lay the foundation to bring Dorne into Westeros-the-Kingdom proper. Think of the legacy you'd leave behind, if it all worked out. Corlys Velaryon, the man who laid grounds for proper alliance with Dorne, after the Conquerors themselves failed even that much."

Corlys' eyelid twitches, because Lyra hit the nail right on the head, especially with the last one. He knows it, she knows it, Daemon knows it from how he's smirking above her shoulder.

Corlys looks at her, his bright turquoise eyes shining with exasperation. "I told you to stop making sense, you horrid silver-tongued creature."

"And I said no. What says you?"

Corlys looks at her, then at Daemon, then back at her. "I say, I wonder where you got your smarts from, because it certainly wasn't your father."

"Hey!"

Lyra shrugs. "Kepa's not stupid. He's just very hotheaded and forgets to think, is all."

"Perzītsos, why do you bully your poor old father?" Daemon bemoans dramatically, swooning a little.

"For an old man, you're awfully under thirty," she says and pats his shoulder where she can reach. "And that's not what I meant, Lord Corlys."

"Fine," Corlys sighs. "Fine, we'll go talk with Dorne. But you're coming with. And Daemon, and you," he points at Daemon, "will be on your best behaviour. Laenor's coming too, he needs to learn. Where's that boy?"

"We should leave the dragons behind," Lyra tells him as she hops off the chair. "Dorne and Dornish won't have too good associations with them. It may have been a century ago, but the Conquest was rather traumatic to them."

"It will put us in danger!" Daemon protests. "It will put you in danger."

"It will be a show of goodwill," Lyra argues. "Appreciate one."