GOT: P Chapter 37

Dinner was held in one of the open chambers facing the sea. Long table, white plaster walls, the scent of salt and roasted peppers filling the air. The evening breeze came in slow, stirring the torches lightly.

The table was full, Oberyn and Ellaria, their daughters scattered along the benches, Prince Doran and his son Trystane at the head. Myrcella Baratheon sat beside him, quiet, her hands folded neatly on her lap.

And Rhaenys, seated opposite Oberyn.

The meal began in silence. Forks on clay, the slow pour of wine. No one quite knew what to say to a woman they’d buried in memories.

It didn’t stay quiet for long. Oberyn had been studying Rhaenys for most of the meal. When he finally spoke, his tone was calm and curious, not probing.

“You’ve seen much, I’d guess,” he said. “Surviving what you did… it changes a person.”

Rhaenys didn’t look up right away. She cut a piece of fish, steady hand, steady breath. “It does,” she said. “You stop expecting kindness. You learn to make do without it.”

Oberyn nodded slowly. “And yet, you found it somewhere.”

She looked across the table. “A ship,” she said. “Small crew. A good captain. He didn’t ask who I was, and I never told him. He gave me work, and that was enough.”

Ellaria smiled faintly. “You worked?”

Rhaenys allowed herself a small smile. “Work kept me alive. Easier to scrub a deck than carry a name.”

Tyene leaned forward slightly. “So you lived among sailors?”

“I lived among people who didn’t look twice at me,” Rhaenys said. “It was... peaceful.”

No one spoke for a while after that. The sound of the sea drifted in through the open arches, soft against the walls.

It was Oberyn again who broke the quiet. “And now that you’ve come back,” he said, “what will you do?”

He didn’t mean it as a challenge, only a question that asked more than it sounded.

Rhaenys didn’t answer at once. She took her time, poured herself a bit more wine, and looked down the table before speaking.

“I’ve seen what’s left of this realm,” she said. “The lions and stags fight over a throne that doesn’t belong to them. The wolves bleed in the mud for honor. Everyone’s busy claiming power that was never theirs to take.”

Doran’s hand stilled over his cup. His face didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened.

Oberyn tilted his head. “And you?”

Rhaenys met his gaze. “I haven’t forgotten what was stolen from me.”

Oberyn smiled, small and knowing. “Vengeance is easy to talk about, harder to live with.”

“I’m not talking about vengeance,” Rhaenys said. “I’m talking about balance.”

Across the table, Nymeria spoke up, tone casual. “Balance comes from strength.”

Rhaenys glanced her way. “Then it’s good I have some.”

Oberyn leaned back, wine swirling in his cup. “Legitimacy doesn’t win wars, niece. Men do. You’ll need allies.”

Rhaenys’s lips curved slightly. “I already have one.”

Oberyn raised a brow, intrigued. “And who would that be?”

She looked toward the open archway, where the wind had started to shift. “Someone the world hasn’t met yet.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Curious I'm.”

She didn’t argue that. She stood from her chair, the motion drawing every gaze. The open window behind her framed the dark sky and the lights of Sunspear beyond.

“Aegon didn’t start with an army,” she said.

Obara smirked. “He had dragons, though.”

Rhaenys turned her head, her expression calm, even amused. “I have mine.”

The table stilled.

Then came the sound, deep at first, rising sharp enough to pull every head toward the window.

The torches flickered. Servants froze.

A shadow crossed the courtyard below, wide enough to swallow the light. Then came the rush of air, a single heavy beat of wings before flame lit the sky outside the window.

Velmir dropped out of the dark, wings spread wide. The fire under his feathers flared as he steadied himself above the balcony, close enough that the air shimmered from the heat.

Oberyn leaned back slightly, eyes on the firelight. “And here I thought I’d seen everything.”

Ellaria grabbed his wrist without realizing. Tyene’s knife-hand twitched toward her belt before she stopped herself. Obara just stared, jaw tight.

Doran didn’t move. Only his eyes followed the creature.

Rhaenys turned, the light from Velmir’s wings tracing the edge of her profile. “He’s not a dragon,” she said evenly. “But he’s more than enough.”

Velmir let out a low, echoing screech,not deafening, but deep enough to rattle the plates.

She looked back to the table. “Fire and blood,” she said. Quiet. Absolute.

Velmir lingered a moment longer, then rose, his light fading into the night.

The silence that followed was heavy. Only the sea kept moving.

Oberyn sat back slowly, still staring at the window. “Well,” he said at last, voice low and rough with something between awe and warning. “Dorne’s not going to stay quiet after this.”

Doran’s hand tightened around his cane. “No,” he said softly. “It won’t.”

Rhaenys met his eyes, calm as ever. “It wasn’t meant to.”