"I tire of the bowing of lickspittles. You will find no objections to informality from me," I answered, taking a slow swig of the wine. It was Pentoshi—not bad, all things considered.
"Good. Then I would request you reveal what a Dragonlord is doing so far away from his home," she said calmly, intending to milk this truce for all it was worth.
"I think not," I replied simply.
She blinked in confusion, while Marc stopped wiping his mouth and glared.
"You are in no position to deny us, princeling," Marc growled, the steel returning to his voice. "Dragonlord you may be, but nothing stops me from cutting you down before your overgrown lizard even notices your absence."
I merely smiled at the threat. "You think too highly of yourself, Wildman, if you believe you can best me before I call for Caraxes. Or better yet, I might just cleave you myself."
"Aye, your dragon might burn me and the rest of the camp to ash, but nothing stops me from taking your headfirst. Bold of you to mislead us, and then spring a monster on us like that," he shot back, his volume rising.
"I did not mislead you; I merely withheld my tongue regarding my mount. And as far as Caraxes is concerned, he has not taken the life of a single comrade of yours. Only a tent," I quipped.
"That is enough, Marc," Ana interjected, ever the voice of reason. "Daemon has caused us no harm beyond the destruction of canvas, which can be easily replaced. We need not antagonize him over trivialities."
"Fine. I just wanted to see if he had ulterior motives," Marc muttered, though he lowered his voice.
Ana turned her gaze back to me. "How do you wish to proceed, Daemon, seeing as you simply refuse to answer any questions we might have?"
"I am not averse to answering your questions, provided you answer mine. Of course, we reserve the right to refuse any inquiry we do not wish to indulge," I proposed.
"I am amenable to that. In a show of good faith, you may ask the first question," she accepted.
"Very well. Are you of noble birth? Better yet, do you possess the Blood of the Dragon?" It was the most pertinent inquiry I needed answered.
She let out a soft sigh. "I am not of noble birth, and as far as it is known to me, I do not carry the Blood of the Dragon."
"Interesting. Then where do you come from?" I pressed.
"That is two questions, Daemon. I believe you must answer one of mine before asking another," she pointed out sharply.
"Right you are. Ask away, then."
"I shall ask the same as before. What is a Dragonlord doing so far from his home?" she reiterated.
"It is a self-imposed exile, if you must know. I ran away from home, and since I shall have no peace in Westeros, I sought Essos for adventure," I answered honestly.
She nodded slowly, beckoning me to ask a question of my own.
"Tell me about yourself. Where do you come from? Why did you choose to be a sellsword? Better yet, who taught you to wield a sword and shield?"
"That makes three questions, does it not?" she retorted.
"Ah, but you see, they are supplementary in nature. The question is still singular: I asked you to tell me about yourself," I countered with a wicked grin.
"Already finding loopholes in the arrangement. Capricious and conniving. Very well, I shall answer," she said with no real malice, a genuine smile forming on her face.
"I tire of this," Marc interrupted, suddenly standing up. Apparently, he had emptied the rest of the Pentoshi wine while we bickered. "I shall retire for the night, Ana. I trust you can handle things here?"
Ana nodded. "Sleep well, Marc. I shall see you on the morrow."
Marc cast one last, warning glare my way before ducking out of the tent and into the night.
Once we were alone, Ana's gaze returned to me. "I was born in Lys, in the pleasure gardens, but I know not who my mother was. When I was barely able to walk, a man came to me and asked if I wanted to leave that life of hunger and purposeless existence. I was young, but I understood that going with him was better than staying. So, I accepted. I was brought to a villa where I was taught letters and script. When I grew older, I was also trained in the art of combat. Three years ago, I was given a pouch of gold by the man I had come to accept as my father and told to find my own way in the world. I worked in various sellsword companies before deciding to form my own a year and a half ago."
"Fascinating," I murmured, watching her expression soften with the memory. My voice seemed to pull her from her reminiscence.
"Yes, well. I have one last thing to ask of you," she said, straightening her posture. "Do you intend to partake in the war between the Imperium and the Free Cities?"
"I do. I have come to enjoy your company in the short time we have known each other, and if you will have me, I would like to fight by your side," I conveyed my honest intentions.
It was true. I had quickly come to fancy her. She was a warrior woman—bold, strong, and undeniably beautiful. She was truly worth my attention. If things progressed from here, I would not be averse to taking her as a paramour. If Aegon the Conqueror could take two wives, I could certainly maintain one consort. I could persuade my grandsire to accept it eventually, and Viserys would surely help me smooth over the politics.
She smirked at my declaration. "Are you not being a little too forward, Your Grace? Ladies need to be courted. A woman like me does not open up on the first encounter."
"I would beg to differ, Ana, for you just told me your life's story," I countered effortlessly.
She chuckled, a rich, warm sound. "Perhaps. But there is still much you do not know."
"Then I intend to find out as we journey together," I said, leaning forward to accept the challenge.
"I see. I look forward to it, then." She smiled, standing up to fetch a fresh skin of wine, which she promptly poured for the both of us.
I remember not what else we spoke of that evening, but I do remember it was an enjoyable night, filled with mirth, libations, and the promise of a glorious war.