Defiance
Twenty-Seventh Day of the Second Month 293 AC
While dragons did as they were wont to do and headed directly for the largest pile of gold in the palace, Tyene Sand was partaking in her own rather niche form of looting. Tyrosh had long been known as the sole purveyor of the purple dye that bore the city's name so it was little wonder that its lords took a keen interest in color and ornament. While some of the ultimate results of that fascination could be a touch... painful to look upon. She certainly had no complaints about the sheer plethora of fabrics and dyes she found just adjacent to the apartments of the palace tailor, a position that was counted more influential than many scions of the minor nobility.
Here away in dark beyond even the faintest touch of sun or rain were gathered silks and satins, muslin and fine-spun wool dyed in hues and patterns beyond count. No one was likely to miss a few rolls of fabric, and after all
bastards were supposed to be greedy, she thought, a little surprised at herself at how much the bitterness had been leached from the familiar thought, leaving only amusement.
"Are you in here?" a familiar voice accompanied by the harsh white light of sorcery called.
Waymar...
Calling back she added, "You should use a lantern in here. No one knows what that sort of light might do to the dyes in here."
"So you're saying you'll never wear them outside, are you?" came the amused reply, though he did dispel the motes of magelight which had spinning ahead of him.
Tyene shrugged. "The craftsman in charge of the place is rather fussy, but since he did hand over the keys willingly and without managing to insult me even once for a barbarian I count him among the better lot around here." She idly pulled up a corner of shimmering green silk to her chest and asked, "How do you think this would look on me?"
"You would be lovely if you wore sackcloth," Waymar said instantly.
"Not a very useful answer," the Dornishwoman countered.
"A safe one, though..." he replied with a smile. Before she could get another word in edgewise he explained the mission they were to be sent on to bring the vassal cities in line as well as their companions upon it.
"I rather preferred the days when we only fought against the unliving, not besides them," Tyene groused. "The damn pile of bones makes the Tyroshi seem positively respectful by contrast"
***
Therys was a young city, having only truly earned the name a little over a year ago taking advantage of the fair anchorage on the sea of Myrth, together with the hills at its back where grapes grew heavy upon the vine and fruit trees of all sorts blossomed freely. Alas that its relative youth and the habit of those of grander houses to call the ruling Celaenor family 'the sons of upjumped smugglers and Lyseni whores' bred a certain resentment for those of ancient lineage.
Thus it was what when a pair of griffons and a dragon announced the fall of Tyrosh to Viserys Targaryen, scion of the last of the Forty Families of Valyria, they were not met with support, grudging though it may have been in some of the other tributaries. It was met with furled insults and then arrows, for all the good it did.
"The flame's caress should remind them of their place..." the dead thing hissed, lathing of the living and dragon's pride in perfect accord.
"One cannot conquer a pile of ashes and tumbled stones. Loot them, perhaps, but that is not our purpose," Daenerys replied, her tone soft but more commanding than pleading, striking an odd pose indeed upon the hill, a child faced with death's made manifest.
"Kill the lord and the rest will fall," Waymar said with a sigh to Tyene's surprise. Seeing her expression he added, "I mislike it, but the man has shown himself unworthy to rule over a pigsty much less a city of over fifty thousand souls. Better that one die than many for foolish pride's sake. I would not see Dothraki loosed upon the city over that ... much less
him." He nodded towards the unliving dragon still looking fixedly towards Daenerys.
"We are supposed to make a show of force, to cow the others into submission," the Dornishwoman reminded him.
"How many lives is that worth?" Waymar asked gravely.
"One less than might be lost in the next ill-timed rebellion," Tyene countered, though not without misgivings of her own.
"Remember those shrunken boulders we made for Tyrosh?" the princess asked, having seemingly won a staring contest with something that had neither eyelids nor eyes. "Let's toss a few of those on empty warehouses, then deliver one more ultimatum. If they do not take that... well, it's going to take a fortnight for Rhango's khalasar to arrive by his own reckoning."
OOC: I was not expecting any of the eight cities to reject the offer of surrender with a dragon in the sky in addition to Dany and Tyene's diplomacy skill, but one of them managed it anyway. 
