GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Daenerys POV )

The ride to the Water Gardens was short. So short, in fact, that Daenerys did not need to do it on dragonback.

Especially not since Prince Quentyn would rather keep the dragons far away from the coasts, where they could rampage and kill innocents on the way.

For now, Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal were hunting off amidst the stormy seas, eventually returning with large bones between their teeth, and it was better for all.

Prince Quentyn offered to take both her and Aegon to the Gardens, in a relaxing few days, before they would sail up the Greenblood to Godsgrace, and rallying Yronwood afterwards to march on the Iron Throne.

A few days of peace and quiet amidst the palm trees, the sound of waves crashing in the distance and the soft chirping of birds.

The Water Gardens themselves appeared in the distance like an illusion in the middle of the desert. All around the place were only dunes and small outposts which looked as if they would collapse at the first gust of wind.

And then, suddenly, as if in a dream, large houses and towers painted red, white and even blue, appeared. Palm trees lined the road to the great residence of the Martells, founded to celebrate the union of her namesake with the prince of Dorne of the time.

Prince Quentyn had told her that the Gardens were the most beautiful place in the World, and she had a tough time arguing with that. Never in her life did she see so many colours, pools and trees.

Everything mixed in a dance of green, red, blue and yellow. The houses lined up each garden, themselves comprised of rows upon rows of various trees: palm trees, blood oranges, olive trees and cacti, all providing a large amount of shade to the large pools which crossed each path and each series of houses in a gigantic labyrinth.

If not for her guides, she could have gotten lost in these many detours, where water seemed to flow out of the sandy ground as if pushed there by some magical force which spontaneously created liquid out of grains of sand.

And at every balcony, at every pool and at every palm tree, there were the astonished faces of the onlookers. Men, women and children alike. A lot of children, as a matter of fact.

The Prince told her that the first Daenerys loved children. She wished for all to come play in the Gardens, be they lowborn or highborn. Since then, the tradition held, and the Gardens seemed to be a haven for the little devils to play in.

Some pools were reserved for older guests, too. Servants, soldiers, riders…it seemed that the Gardens hosted a small army of people, which usually seemed like shadows darting around the place, according to Prince Quentyn.

An army of shadows…that fits Dorne well. A nation of deserts and rough coasts, where nothing is expected to live. And yet, in its heart, these magical places, where life seemed to spring from nothing.

The private gardens were then opened to them, and it was as if another rug was pulled underneath her.

A maze of corridors of white and yellow houses with red roofs lined up before them, with bridges going over the expansive gardens, some of which had water running on the sides, where birds took a bath in the shade of the red shingles.

Everywhere she looked, Daenerys could see pools had been dug, with the still, bright blue water seeming oh so inviting.

It sneered at her, inviting her to jump in without a second thought.

For a moment, she could see herself wanting to jump from one of the small bridges going over the arms of each pool to bathe in the winter sun of Dorne, but refrained from doing so.

There was time for that later, and there were still people around.

She was a Dragon, first of all.

It took some time to realize that the massive pool was actually based on the sigil of House Martell: a giant sun and spear. This one became apparent at its peak, with the unmistakable tip of the spear appearing in front of her as if to show her the way forward.

"The spear points at King's Landing, Your Grace," Prince Quentyn pointed out, seeing her eyes had languished on it a little too long, "to point to whom Dorne now answered."

Past tense? It is true that House Targaryen did not hold King's Landing any more.

Daenerys and Aegon were then escorted to their rooms, on top of a luxurious mansion. Three floors, overlooking the large pool. The first floor was a private feast hall, while the second housed several relaxing rooms, with cushions, pillows, but also a small library and a small sparring room!

As for the third floor, the Martells had kept the best for last.

A room just like the ones prepared for them in Sunspear. A massive bed, larger even than the ones she had slept in in Meereen or Volantis, with cushions decorated with both the Sun and Spear and the Three-Headed Dragon.

Silks from all over the world draped the room, while the bedsheets were embroidered with all kinds of exotic animals.

As for the bathroom, there too, she couldn't help but still be surprised at the genius of it all. Running water, a flushing toilet, bath and shower…such luxury did not exist anywhere else in the world. Not in Volantis, King's Landing or even far away Yi-Ti.

It will be extremely hard to go for something more modest, but Daenerys would do her utmost to make Prince Quentyn send his best men to do the same in King's Landing, and she believed Aegon would not oppose such a project at all.

The curtains were opened for them, revealing the Gardens in all their splendor.

The large blue pools making the sigil of House Martell were now on full display, with a slight breeze slightly ruffling the palm trees.

Over the roofs of the other houses, which were no taller than two floors, one could see the sheer extent of the Gardens, and, even further, the sea, with the waves crashing on a pristine beach.

A door closed, another one opened.

Daenerys had opened the glass one leading to the large balcony, atop of which several pots with various colorful plants had been placed.

She breathed the autumn air, the salt from the sea filling her nostrils.

This was perfect.

"Your Grace?" a voice brought her back to reality, breaking a small joyful moment.

"Yes?" Daenerys answered, turning her head, seeing that only Aegon and Prince Quentyn there.

"Before I take my leave and let you enjoy the Gardens, may I talk with you both for a moment?" the Prince asked with a nonchalant air.

"Of course," Daenerys nodded, eager to see the Prince leave so that she – and Aegon – would finally be free.

"I wished to talk about our future campaign, by talking about the past." Prince Quentyn installed himself in a comfortable chair, while Aegon chose one opposite him.

Daenerys calmly made her way into another one, looking impatiently at the Prince.

"When we will invade the Seven Kingdoms, I expect we will meet resistance, dragons or not," Prince Quentyn started, "some will point out that you are foreign invaders, others will dispute King Aegon being truthful, some will dispute Queen Daenerys' claim, and some might not dispute anything but do not wish to see you rule over them."

"We have dragons, Dorne, the Golden Company, the Unsullied…" Aegon started.

"…and more will join us when we start winning." Daenerys completed.

"I fear that's not exactly going to be easy. The Lannisters and Reachmen will fight against you, and so will Jo…sorry, Daeron Targaryen." The Prince replied in an even tone.

"I'm sure my brother can prove himself reasonable." Aegon shook his head.

"And he will see that he has no chance against us. We will allow his traitor family to live, that is well enough!" Daenerys growled.

"That's exactly what I wished to talk about, Your Grace. His family has legitimate grievances with yours," Prince Quentyn continued, unphased.

"Legitimate?" Daenerys felt herself losing her temper. "When his uncle forced us into exile to Braavos? When he followed the Usurper to bring our family low?"

"But, Your Grace," Prince Quentyn cleared his throat, "what should he have done? What should the Usurper have done?"

"Not rise up in Rebellion?" Daenerys clenched her fists.

"So, they should have cut their own heads and sent them to King Aerys?" Prince Quentyn shook his head, "You say that innocents should not fear injustice. Where was the justice when King Aerys asked for Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark's heads?"

"They were fomenting rebellion!" Daenerys rose from her chair.

"He did have Brandon and Rickard Stark killed." Aegon finally came out of his silence.

"Killed?" Prince Quentyn sighed, "Your Grace if he had them killed, it would have been a mercy."

Daenerys sat back down, eyes circumspect.

"When Brandon Stark came to King's Landing, he was furious. He asked for Rhaegar to 'come out and die' according to some, while he merely asked for justice according to others…" Prince Quentyn started, before Daenerys immediately stopped him.

"He threatened my brother!"

"Well, when said brother does take your sister away, I don't think you are in a situation to react kindly," Prince Quentyn's eyes narrowed, "Arianne and I's relations have not been the best, but if anyone stole her away in the night to detain her far away from Dorne, I would have done much of the same."

Daenerys felt her blood boiling.

"But back to Brandon Stark." Prince Quentyn leaned in his chair. "He was arrested, of course. You don't threaten the heir to the Seven Kingdoms like this. And even less in the presence of the Mad King."

"A lie." Daenerys frowned.

"Is it?" Prince Quentyn continued without skipping a beat. "From the Wall to Sunspear, you will find no one denying it, be they supporters of the Usurper or of your Father."

"Ser Jon told me he once burned a young boy alive for the crime of stealing bread," Aegon nodded, "and once, he had the prisoners in the cells rounded up and burned with wildfire, before dancing to the screams in the middle of the court."

Daenerys' heart clenched. This couldn't be true! Ser Jon Connington was a man loyal and true, he would never slander his King!

"Indeed, and he also had Brandon Stark's companions tortured and killed. Royce, Mallister and Arryn. Three of the most influential families' sons or heirs, killed without the sliver of a trial." The Prince's eyes were dark now. "Only Glover survived. Survived to see the horror that came next."

"Rickard Stark came to speak in his son's defense." Aegon nodded. "Jon told me this."

"Yes, he did. He made a perfect case and even asked for Trial by Combat."

"Who did my father choose? Ser Arthur Dayne?" Daenerys asked.

"Ser Arthur Dayne was away in Dorne with your brother," Prince Quentyn pointed out, "and Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent."

"Ser Barristan, then?" Daenerys asked, wondering why the knight had not told her so. Shame, perhaps?

"No, Your Grace," Quentyn's voice was like venom spewing out of a viper, now. "Your father chose fire."

"Fire cannot fight a trial." Daenerys scoffed.

"And yet, that is what he chose. And what King Aerys wanted, King Aerys got." Prince Quentyn now mimicked with his hands.

"He had Rickard Stark suspended from the rafters of the throne room, above a fire lit by his pyromancers. Then, he had Brandon Stark chained with his hands behind his back, a leather cord wrapped around his neck, attacking a Tyroshi device to it that would squeeze his throat the further you pulled it."

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