Upon the hour of the Gulltown Tournament Archery Contest, arguably the most talked about name in the competition withdrew. While most in the tournament crowd were either just killing time before the melee and joust, or just there for the thrill of a tourney, those that followed archery contests or nobility would talk: [i]Why did Princess Allyria withdraw?[/i] It was to be her first public showing of skill. 

And besides, those running the gambling wanted her because she’d draw in people who wouldn’t normally bet. It was hard to answer with any certainty, and there was a growing number who thought it was a ploy. That she’d show up for the contest just the same. Ser Drayton was even asked as he prepared for the joust--his response was a confused look before going back to his practice. Practice was a plus when you were going to joust on any level for the first time in nearly a decade.

When the time for the contest came, a fanfare of trumpets came alive with a brass fury, followed immediately thereafter by a man with a loud, booming, voice crying out to all present: “Queen Myriah Martell of House Targaryen, and Princess Allyria Martell of Dorne.”

Dressed for an archery contest, but seated next to the Queen of Westeros upon the high dais that was flanked by Kingsguard, the heir to Dorne looked miserable for the first few minutes of the contest, before the dark haired woman near forty years in age with a slender, simple, silver crown leaned over and said something. 

Something that erupted Princess Allyria Martell in laughter. 

“Ah, good. You seem to be enjoying yourself now.” The words were gentle and warm, touched only slightly with a smirk and hint of Dornish sass.

If there was another woman in all Creation that Ally loved more than her aunt Myriah, it’d be news to the Princess herself. Only in public moments of state was it ever ‘Your Grace’ with Myriah, and always otherwise simply ‘Aunt Myriah.’ 

“I should be down there winning.”

That made the Queen laugh. “You are, like my own children, the combination of two ancient and powerful bloodlines sweetling; you are [i]always[/i] winning. No need to prove it with a petty contest.”

Even though it was hard to tell if the Queen was simply placating or not, all Ally that could do was try not to frown as she thought of poor Baelor. Drayton and she had rode hard and fast for days to get to a town big enough to send a message from when they heard the news from Ashford. Ally poured her heart out for her beloved aunt in that little piece of parchment. It never felt like enough to her, but to her aunt...it seemed to mean a lot.

“You know your mother is very worried about you.”

If Allyria heard her aunt, it was hard to tell; her eyes stayed before her and trained upon the competition that so rightfully should have included her, too. And though she’d never complain about spending time with her Aunt Myriah, talking about her mother...was a subject she’d much rather leave alone. 

Not just right now--but always.

“Am I wrong?”

The Queen took a moment to clap for the archer of the moment; a tall, lanky, farmer from the Vale if the Cryer was to be believed. “He looks to have a natural eye for the target,” was all she said, leaving out the obvious bit about how poor the man’s bow was--Queen Myriah expected Princess Allyria, like her own children, to take the unspoken fact and do something about it after the competition. 

“Are you wrong? About your mother?” The Queen looked from the field to her niece, and back again, shaking her head softly. “Your mother did not cause the war, Allyria.”

“Tell that to all the singers.”

Grumpy as the subject seemed to make Allyria, it only seemed to amuse her aunt. “Oh? Do you mean singers do not sing hard truth?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I do not, sweetling. Only simple minds and fools care what singers sing. A bear and a maiden? Truly? And people believed it?”

It’d of made Ally snicker, had she not already been so focused on the topic at hand. “Daemon Blackfyre and my mother--”

When the Queen cuts you off, even if you’re a hot headed Dornish Princess, you shut up and listen. If for no other reason than this Queen, herself, was once a hot headed Dornish Princess to hear the stories. “--they loved one another, Ally. Witnessed it with my own eyes. But by that point, the tension between Daeron and Daemon were at a low boil...I’m afraid your mother was simply the final straw. Daemon was looking for a reason to start a fight, and when his love was denied him...he did the only thing he knew to do: confrontations.”

“Confrontations that led to war, a war she had a hand in.”

The way the Queen looked at her in that moment...it made the Princess of Dorne uncomfortable. There was a knowing weight to the Queen’s look, and a sheer joy just under it’s surface, like a parent too amused by a child to be angry at them. “A very small hand, Ally. During the war, don’t forget she stayed on Daeron’s side throughout. It may be coming soon to the time to let your mother off the proverbial hook. You can’t blame her for all Creation forever.”

[i]Really? Watch me.[/i] But wiser voices in her mind, voices that sounded oddly close to the Queen’s own, disagreed. And for once in years, Allyria Martell even felt a pang of shame and guilt for treating Princess Daenerys so roughly. “You’re right.”

“You sound like Maekar when you admit that.” The observation made the Dornish Princess blush. “...ha, though I’d love to see him blush like that.”

She didn’t know Maekar. She’d only met Baelor and Valarr a few times. By the time she was an adult, they had wives and children of their own, no interest in spending any time with a young cousin from Dorne. In fact of all the cousins she’d met, only little Egg seemed to make any connection with her at all.

Egg was a sweet one, to hear her Aunt tell it. So that was no surprise. 

“You should come back to King’s Landing with me. It sounds, and smells, like you could use some time off the road.” Though the Queen’s tone was delicate and careful, the small teasing edge to her words wasn’t missed.

Ally even sniffed at herself, upon the high dais, in a moment no proper Princess would ever be caught dead in. “Are you trying to marry me into House Targaryen?”

There was a short silence as her aunt stared in her direction. “I never had a daughter like you, Ally. You look so much like Maron and I’s mother it’s like seeing a ghost. Except in the sunlight...the purple flecks in your brown eyes are evident.” Dragon blood. “No, sweetling. I thought about it, spoke to the King about it, spoke to your father about it…”

If she spoke to the King AND her father? That was serious. Serious enough to scare Allyria Martell. A fright that must have been just as obvious in her eyes as the purple in her brown eyes were when reflected by sun.

“Your father was right...you are the future ruler of Dorne. The closest thing to Nymeria in living memory. As good as I worked a spear and horse in my youth, I couldn’t have won any archer’s contest. I couldn’t have combated Clans on the high road, or escaped from a village jail, or slipped away from pirates in the Stormlands, or settle an old score between red dragons and black like you did in the Marches last year...no, the Red Keep may be in your future, pretty girl, but if it is it will only come because you decided it.”

Allyria’s response drew more eyes and attention than the contestants on the field: she jumped from her high seat upon the dais and wrapped her arms around her Aunt’s shoulders...then she squeezed, hugging the woman desperately. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

Her Aunt laughed, and returned the warm embrace, even if she took the moment to prove a point: “Just remember, Princess, the dangers of falling in love when it finally happens to you.”

Ally laughed at that, and shook her head, slipping back into her own seat, scoffing at the suggestion. “Right. I’m going to fall in love, and dreeeam about the handsome man, and want nothing but marriage and spending my life with him.”

If Allyria knew the trap she’d stepped into, she never would’ve opened her mouth. That knowing, amused, look in the Queen’s eyes as she chuckled at her niece’s sarcasm, before dropping wildfire on her mind: “That’s funny. I remember when your then much younger mother said the same thing, once.”

What could she do? At first, Allyria simply stared in disbelief. And then...she laughed, louder and harder than she had since coming to Gulltown. “I hate you so much right now.”

“Wonderful! Mayhaps that will motivate you to cook.”

That excited her even more than avoiding a royal marriage match. Being able to cook for her aunt? “Absolutely. Tonight?”

“Aye, at the Martell manse?”

“If you don’t mind dirty old Drayton Dayne.”

“Lord Bloodraven tells me there’s another in your little band of travellers now?”

“Byron, he calls himself. What’s Bloodraven say about him?”

That Brynden Rivers was keeping the Queen informed of her travels didn’t surprise Allyria, not at all. Myriah said it best: she’d never had a daughter [i]like[/i] her. It meant Princess Aelinor was more dragon than sun and spear, unlike Baelor and his son. 

“Nothing yet,” the Queen said, and Ally believed the lie. 

“An hour or so after sundown?”

“Sounds wonderful, Princess.”

The Princess stood, and bowed her head to the Queen. “With your leave, your Grace, I shall go to the market now.”

“Go safely, Princess Allyria.”

So she did--not that running was the safest of options, but suddenly Allyria was so excited she felt like a little girl at the Water Gardens all over again. Ally spent well over an hour at the market, even purchasing a fine ash bow from the best, as she judged it, Bowyer in Gulltown. Luckily for her the man agreed to deliver to the tall, lanky, farmer who might’ve won today’s competition with such a bow in his possession.

At least Allyria had done the good deed her aunt had quietly demanded. The rest of the shopping was entirely for fun, which meant it was entirely for cooking. Finding green peppers of any quality took her well over an hour, and the price she paid for them left her scowling as if she’d been openly robbed. 

Finding oranges fit for the Queen of Westeros was impossible. Finding some that still looked fresh enough to eat...well, at least THAT was possible, even if they cost more than the peppers. And the saffron she had to buy...that cost more than all of it combined. 

By the time she returned to the Manse, carts were just appearing to offload what had been purchased for dinner. Byron was nice enough to assist the Manse’s steward in getting everything into the kitchen, where the old cooks for the Manse began preparing while Allyria herself took a quick bath and changed, before jumping into the kitchen and the cooking herself.

The Queen arrived not too far after Ser Drayton, who came in with a slight hobble and more bruises than he’d gathered in a month riding with her. But at least, as she happily told him when he entered, he wasn’t dead--as she thought he might be after trying to joust for the first time in nearly a decade. Drayton snorted at her, and enjoyed his own bath before dressing in fine white linens bordered in purple silk with the star of Starfall sewn upon his chest in startling silver thread. For once, Ser Drayton looked a proper noble. He even acted like a proper noble; ignoring the hard work within the kitchen and taking in the Dornish red wines bought for the Queen with Byron as the two waited.

For the first time in years, Princess Allyria Martell looked every bit the exotic Princess of Dorne she was; her toned skin was cinnamon sunned and barely hidden behind a close-fitting bejewelled girdle under a loose gown of shimmering copper sand silk that fell above her knees and kept tight to her hips with a leather belt decorated with small golden suns. Her dark hair was scented with wild jasmine, tied into a long and intricate ponytail set into place with a large golden hoop on her head, and several smaller golden hoops further down the long tail of midnight black silken hair. On her feet were a pair of snakeskin sandals that were laced up to the knees.

She was only slightly sweating from the exertion in the kitchen, taking little tastes of everything before deciding each dish ready. As if waiting for the cue, the Queen arrived with her Kingsguard just at the right time. Allyria joined the table next to the small fire in the Manse just as the Queen was getting to chat with Drayton and Byron, bringing with her the first course of long green peppers stuffed with bits of bacon and cheeses and onions. 

Following the peppers came the spiced Strongwine, along with the dinner: Lamb roasted with lemon and honey. With it were grape leaves stuffed with a melange of raisins, onions, mushrooms, and fiery dragon peppers. Between the hunger at the table and the Queen’s ability to taste actual Dornish food prepared by an actual, trained, Dornish cook meant silence until the dinner and the strongwine loosened lips.

The Queen was laughing at Ser Drayton’s tale of surviving the day’s joust, just as Ally was mentioning how well Drayton did for not jousting for near a decade, when the last course came. “I know from Sunspear your love of oranges and lemons, Aunt Myriah, so I made for you spiced orange & saffron cakes bathed in sweet wine syrup and served with a refreshing lemon cream.”

“Careful, child, or I’ll have you married to one of my grandchildren yet--if only to have you around to cook for me!”

Allyria snickered, though even she had to admit how well the cakes turned out...and the sweet wine mixed with the lemon cream left her tastes tingling in joy. “I’m glad you enjoy them! Now’s a great time to ask a royal favor.”

Eyes at the table suddenly went from the sweet dish to Allyria herself. [i]Royal favors?[/i] 

“Gulltown’s going to get punished for Jasper Arryn’s madness.”

The Queen licked a bit of sweet wine and lemon cream from the tip of her index finger, and nodded thoughtfully. “The Free Cities first, and favorite, weapon is trade. This is true enough. White Harbour looks to gain the most from Gulltown’s future misfortune, but I don’t suppose it was Gulltown you had in mind?”

“Sunspear could use the extra trade, too. I don’t know about the sellswords or Knights of Faith that Jasper’s planning on deploying, but a sizeable yet still small force from the less extreme measures of Westeros society might be ideal should the Free Cities want an element within the Westeros born force to talk to.”

“To [i]reason[/i] with?”

“Yes,” Allyria nodded fiercely. “Exactly.”

“And you would command this force?”
Allyria Martell, not even having reached her twentieth year, nodded firmly. “I would.”

Quietly the Queen sipped at her wine, and let her dark eyes scan the faces of Drayton and Byron. “No. You are still too young and inexperienced.”

It was, to Ally, as if she’d just been hit in the chest with an arrow. The Dornish Princess was speechless, frustrated, maybe even angry...not that the Queen didn’t know it. Knowing Aunt Myriah, she could read every emotion on the girl’s face like words from one of her husband’s books. 

“Asking grown and grizzled veterans to follow you, sweetling, you must understand...will not be an easy thing.”

“...what if they followed Ser Drayton?”

The Sword of the Morning, with his cheeks filled like a chipmunk with orange and saffron cakes, looked up and blinked. “Wrhh?” came the questioning noise from the man, causing the Queen to chuckle and Allyria to smack her forehead.

After a quick swallow, or two, the Knight tried once more. “Sorry, come again? I’ll be commanding whonow to whatthen?”

“It’s no royal command, Ser Drayton.”

Even the Queen’s calm, gentle, tones didn’t change Drayton’s sudden new state of mind. “...I’ve seen a lot of war, your Grace. Princess.”

Allyria almost frowned. It was asking a lot of her sworn sword, and no one knew that more than she did. She was a heartbeat from dismissing the whole idea entirely, before Ser Drayton said something she never would’ve expected. 

“My father lost his life in those Free Cities, protecting Princess Daenerys and Allyria here, getting them out safely...I’d like to find the Dothraki horselord that cut my father down. And if Allyria here is going to take her cooking talents to Essos,” he paused, scooping up a bit of sweet wine and lemon cream with his finger, tasting it and savoring the flavor, “...suppose I better follow, or else I’ll be left without these sweetcakes...and they seem as good a reason to die as any...certainly a better reason than a damned joust…”

“Good.” The Queen nodded, decidedly. “You shall carry Lord Bloodraven’s standard, many of his Raven’s Teeth have been given duties around King’s Landing and the Red Keep. I’ve heard they’ve been itching to get back together and do some fighting, so they shall accompany you. I’ll send word to Maron, and have him gather men-at-arms to go with you. Get these Free Cities folk to talk to you. I’d ask Lady Celena Lannister for help on the matter if I thought she’d give it.”

Allyria laughed. “What good is a Lannister in a Free Cities fight?”

This time, the Queen didn’t look half as amused as Allyria. “Most the time, none save for their gold and men-at-arms. But Lady Celena was once an agent of the Iron Bank, and a water dancer close to the Sea Lord’s inner circle.”

“I thought she was a pirate?” As confused as Drayton sounded asking the question, it confused Allyria even more. 

[i]...she was a pirate? What in the seven hells kind of Lannister WAS this woman?[/i]

“She was that, too.”

“And she won’t help us, Aunt Myriah?”

The Queen shrugged, taking another long sip of strongwine as the evening hour began to show weariness on her otherwise fine Dornish features. “Lord Bloodraven cautions against asking Lady Celena for help until he can learn more about her motives. But if you run into frozen lips once you arrive in Essos, send word and I will ask for her help.”

“What kind of woman makes a sorcerer like Bloodraven preach caution?” It was hard for Drayton to wrap his mind around. “I heard she’s busty and beautiful, even after childbirth. But I’ve never heard she’s something to be scared of.”

At the words ‘busty and beautiful’, Princess Allyria caught herself with envy. She would never have the curves of a woman like Celena Lannister--and just as well, she told herself, judging on the tone Drayton used when talking about the woman. Clearly he liked busty and beautiful. Best, then, that she not fit any mold Ser Drayton might desire. 

After all, he was an oaf. 

“What men say about her outside of Lord Bloodraven I couldn’t say, Ser Drayton.” And, clearly, Bloodraven wasn’t in the least concerned with Celena Lannister’s beauty, or her bust. “Tomorrow I will send letters before departing for King’s Landing, including a letter to Lord Jasper informing him of this royal force. Sail with me, or stay here and cross with the Arryns, I leave that for all of you to decide.”

The Queen said her farewells to Drayton and Byron, who even Ally noticed acting quieter than normal in the presence of Aunt Myriah, but otherwise shrugged it off. Outside, as the Kingsguard readied to help the Queen into her litter, Allyria said her goodbyes--for now. 

“Be careful, Princess Allyria. The daughter of Princess Daenerys, Daemon’s beloved, will make you a target to the remants of Blackfyre’s forces hiding in Essos. Make sure you take that dragonbone bow with you at all times.”

Allyria promised, kissed her aunt’s cheek, gave a last hug, and waved goodbye as the wheeled vehicle drawn by horses cruised out of the Manse’s gates and into the streets of Gulltown. She even closed and locked the gate herself, watching the white cloaked Knights flank her Aunt as they went off into the distance and around a city corner to disappear. 

“Don’t worry, Aunt Myriah. I’ll be fine.”

Even to Princess Allyria, the softly spoken promise seemed beyond what she could promise. But those fears and doubts, she would leave for another day--now was the time to run inside and steal any orange and saffron cakes left before Drayton and Byron stole them all.