Chapter 23.2- The Seadragon's Roar

It was a death sentence in all but name, after a decade of being the Prince’s most ardent and loyal supporter. Those who rule do not oft forget slights, it seemed. Which was an even scarier thought becuase what would happen when the Velaryons realised that he had lied and decided to take revenge for it. That dragon might not have been as large as the three that famously devastated Dorne near a century ago, but it was certainly enough to burn the Tor to the ground. Did he Carew that much about Dornish independence? No. Not at all. It didn’t matter to Icarus who he bent the knee to. Whether to the Martells or the Targaryens, he was still going to be a servant in all but name. At least with the Targaryens, there was the benefit of being one of hundreds— maybe even thousands.

He could be forgotten. If any of his family courted Royal displeasure, they would be sent away from court and that would be it. Much better than being sent on a suicide mission that would have killed him if he failed and now seemed likely to kill his family with its success. He scowled.

“I’ll have the wine now” He said. Watered to oblivion or not, it was still better than nothing. Besides the wine was still somewhere in there right? He just had to drink enough cups of the damn thing for all the wine to find itself in his stomach and get him good and drunk. He did his best thinking when he was drunk, after all.

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They sailed into Tyrosh’s harbour, and he was sober. Oh of all the injustices that the gods had visited upon him, this one was the greatest of them all. He had sent his brother ahead as an envoy, and so had a small delegation of the Tyroshi waiting for him. Not as many as would have been here for a Great Lord. Seemed even the Tyroshi were aware of his House’s decline. What an insult. Not one he could call out without seeming like an entitled cock— at least not to himself. But not one he could entirely ignore either. Becoming famed for easily receiving insults was one way to doom his house to embarrassment beyond measure.

He just had to pick his moment. He walked off the ship steadily. He was a Jordayne of the Tor, he reminded himself. His House had been Kings once— so long ago that most of Dorne disputed it but he knew it true for sure. He had the blood of Kings in his veins. These were nothing but the descendants of slaves who had managed to rise so high as to become merchants of all things. He scoffed internally. What a rise, indeed.

He enterred the palanquin and allowed himself to be led away.