NOTE - Just a quick point on Dornish inheritance laws. Unlike in the rest of Westeros, daughters inherit equally with sons. Yet, GRRM states in one of his Arianne Martell chapters that if Arianne were to marry Viserys, she would have given up her inheritance on becoming Queen, and Quentyn would become his father's heir. I have applied this system to the Yronwoods. Lord Yronwood's daughter Ynys is older than her brother Cletus, so she would be heir, yet she is married to Ryon Allyrion, heir to Godsgrace. Using GRRM's precedent, and the basis that as 'stony' Dornishmen, the Yronwoods are less Rhoynish than the others, this makes Cletus the heir to Yronwood, not Ynys, who gave up her claim upon marrying the heir of another house. Hope that makes sense. Enjoy.

Margaery

The road to Dorne was a long one. However, the ride up the Boneway made the rest look easy. The harsh, rocky mountains towered above them on all sides, the sandy track turning sharply following the curve of the range's contours. She and Willas had made for the Boneway as it would bring them up to Yronwood, where Quentyn Martell was waiting for her. She had managed to get Willas to tell her more of this Dornish Prince, but what he told her was mostly what he had been able imply form his communications with both Prince Oberyn and their grandmother's letters from Prince Doran.

Margaery had learned that he was a well-meaning young man, aged eighteen and a knight. He also seemed to have a strict sense of honour, as evidenced by his decision to be knighted by his guardian Lord Yronwood, rather than his uncle, Prince Oberyn. As well as his preference to be dubbed by the man who had pretty much raised him for ten years showing loyalty, it also showed no small amount of political skill, as it avoided the presence of his uncle in the castle of Lord Yronwood, whose grandfather he had killed in a duel. His sense of honour may be difficult to deal with, given her plans for their marriage, but she would wait until they were alone to bring that up.

Other than that one potential, Quentyn sounded to be a very good man, and this added to his position made him a fantastic match for her, but she couldn't help thinking that it wouldn't work, and the reason for that rode beside her. Her raven knight had already adopted a flowing cloth, green of course, to tie around his helmet and stop his head becoming little more than a fried egg, and four days worth of stubble covered his cheeks. This aside, he was just as he had always been, tall, strong and silent. He was nervous, she could tell, even Willas had noticed. When her brother had asked him about it, he had replied with a tale of a rivalry between House Yronwood and House Morrigen, but that was not it. She could read him like a book. She leaned over,

"Is my big strong raven knight nervous?"

"A little, and how many times must I tell you it's a crow not a raven?"

"I know that, but raven knight sounds so much better than crow knight. You can be the raven of Crow's Nest. What's the difference anyway?"

"Crows are relatively small birds. Ravens are much bigger."

She giggled, "And so are you." He flushed, as she'd known he would. She liked to tease him, loved it in fact. Nudging her horse forwards, she began to question her brother.

"Looking forward to meeting your bride, big brother? I hear she's a beauty."

"I hear that too, and yes, I am. I only wonder if I'm not quite what she was expecting. It's like grandmother said, she'll want excitement, but I am no knight or a great warrior. I am a cripple."

"No you're not a knight. But you have victories and battles under your belt. You fought the Ironborn at sea, you took Crakehall, despite your bad leg. Self-pity doesn't suit you Willas."

"It's not self-pity, it's her I feel sorry for. She probably dreams of someone to sweep her off her feet and that is not me. That's Loras or Garlan."

"Enough Willas. You focus too much on what you don't have rather than what you do. No, you're not as handsome as Loras, but you are good-looking compared to anyone who isn't Loras, plus you're actually interested in women. No, you're not as strong as Garlan, but you're kinder. He may mean well, but his wife tells me that she gets fed up of his constant joking around, especially when he's the only one who finds it funny. You can joke, but are more serious than Garlan. You will treat her well, be faithful to her, which is more than can be said for most Lords. You don't have any bastards hidden away. Plus you have something that no-one else does. Highgarden."

"Not yet."

"But you will."

"I hate it when you're right. I do feel a bit sorry for Loras though, he is getting the worst deal."

"Yes, he'll hate absolutely hate it. Especially having to have a woman handle him instead of Renly."

"He already knows what that feels like though doesn't he? You must be getting quite good, all this experience you're getting. First Loras, then Renly, now Ser Guyard here."

"What? How do you know about that?"

"Come on, Margaery, everyone but mother and father know about that. Loras told me what he was before he left for Storm's End, and of your little exploits. His little sessions with you were how he knew. It is quite funny looking back, how the woman who is supposedly the mos beautiful lady in the Seven Kingdoms turned my brother into, well, as grandmother says, a sword-swallower."

It was her turn to flush. "Don't tell anyone about me and Guyard. I love him, it's going to be hard enough to deal with Quentyn, I don't need all of Westeros knowing."

"We're family. My lips are sealed."

"Thank you."

"Unfortunately, Garlan knows too, so that means it'll be all over the Reach by now."

She slapped him for that.


The castle loomed high above the sandy road that passed under it's western wall. Built from the same sandblasted red stone as the surrounding mountains, Yronwood would have been formidable enough if it hadn't been so huge. At least eight mighty round towers thrust upward into the sky, each flying the portcullis on sand of the Yronwoods, all enclosed by walls at least sixty feet high. It looked to be carved straight from the mountains themselves, such that it was difficult to tell where the rock face ended and the walls began. Most impressive of all was the huge portcullis that guarded the passage into the castle. As their party approached, it groaned into life and rose just high enough for them to ride underneath.

The first thing she noticed as she emerged on the other side was the gathering of people waiting for them. In addition to the dozen or so scale armoured guards, there was a group of tanned, blond men and women, all in the flowing silks of their homeland. As soon as they dismounted, a large middle-aged man came forward.

"My lord and lady Tyrell, welcome to Yronwood." The man, with his blond hair and blue eyes, could only be Lord Anders Yronwood.

Willas seemed to know what to expect, so she followed his lead. "Thank you my lord. We apologise for descending on you at such short notice."

"Not at all. You're the first guests we've had for a long time. Dorne has become somewhat isolated these last few months. Come, I'll introduce you." He practically pulled them over to the rest of the gathering.

"My daughter, Ynys, her husband Ser Ryon Allyrion, their children Edgar and Larra, and Ser Ryon's natural son, Ser Daemon Sand."

"A pleasure." She had heard that the Dornish treated their bastards differently, but she was surprised to find one so openly, especially in front of his father's wife. She briefly thought of what she'd heard of Lord Stark and his bastard son, Snow, she thought his name was.

"You are a long way from Godsgrace, Ser Ryon. Unusual to see a sandy so far north." Her brother was saying.

The knight was darker than the gathered Yronwoods, much darker, she remembered Willas' brief lesson on Dornish culture and people. The three types of Dornishmen were distinguished mainly by their skin tone. The lightest were the 'stony' Dornishmen, who lived in the Red Mountains, away from the deserts, houses such as Yronwood, Fowler and Dayne were leading 'stonies'. Then there were the 'salties' from the coast line, such as the Martells, Gargalens and Jordaynes. Darkest of all were the 'sandy' Dornishmen, from the deserts far from coast or mountain. The Allyrions were one such house, she recalled, others being Qorgyle and Uller.

"Indeed I am, my lord, but when the Prince of Sunspear commands, I obey. It is nice to hear that you know your Dornish peoples, so few outsiders do these days."

"I keep in contact with Prince Oberyn, we share a passion for horseflesh and hawking. I picked up a few things."

Lord Yronwood pressed on. "This is my son Cletus, and my youngest daughter Gwyneth." Cletus Yronwood's lazy eye distracted her slightly, but aside from that, he was a reasonably handsome knight, whereas young Gwyneth could have been barely twelve.

"And the man of the hour, fresh knighted by my own good self, Ser Quentyn, of House Martell, Prince of Dorne." He clapped the lad on the shoulder as he introduced him.

"My lady." He was a salty Dornishman, but paler than she'd expected. Willas had told her his mother was Norvoshi, that must be why. He was not tall, a bit short in fact, stocky, and plain faced. But he was courteous and looked honest, if a little scared.

Lord Anders once again took control. "Let's not all stand here gawping all day, come on in." He led them over towards the castle door, which opened before them. Taking his lady wife's arm, he walked straight down the corridor. Following his lead, Ser Ryon took Ynys' arm, and Quentyn offered Margaery his. She took it and flashed a grin at Willas. Not wishing to be outdone, he extended his arm to young Gwyneth, who squealed with delight and practically pulled his arm off.

When the door at the other end of the corridor opened, both Margaery and Willas gasped. Instead of, as they had expected, opening onto a Great Hall or another courtyard, before them lay an extensive manse and garden surrounded by a wall of red stone, and beyond that a vast expanse of fertile farmland leading down to the sea.

She heard Quentyn whisper in her ear, "Wonderful isn't it? My reaction was the same when I first came here. The Gardens of the Bloodroyal, the seat of the old High Kings of Dorne."

"But how?"

"The Castle Yronwood is one of Dorne's greatest fortresses, it has never been taken, and the armies of the Storm Kings and the Reach crashed upon it like waves on the cliffs. It guards the Boneway to the north, carved out of the rock of the very mountains themselves. The castle is built against an arete ridge, where the rock is relatively thin. The Bloodroyal Corridor leads from the Yronwood, through the mountain itself to the other side of the ridge, where the Yronwoods truly live. It's beautiful, and now you're here it's not the only thing. I know it's cliche, but I mean it. You are."

Despite herself, she found she was blushing. What is happening to me? I've only known him five minutes, and it's not like he's as handsome as Guyard. Though unusually, the thought of her raven knight did not stir her as much as it normally did. Shaking it aside, she continued listening to Quentyn talking about the history of Yronwood and the Yronwoods.

"You speak as if you were an Yronwood, not a Martell."

"Sometimes I think it would have been easier. I came here when I was eight, my memories of Sunspear are strained. I grew up here, believing I'd marry Gwyneth when she flowered, and remain here all my life, but now..." he tailed off. "I am sorry my lady, you don't need to hear this."

"Not at all, it shows you're human. I always thought I'd marry some Reachlord's son and run his castle. Then Renly happened, and eventually, here we are."

They had somehow ended up alone, the others obviously having moved on. Only Ser Guyard remained, her eternal guard, her shadow, her raven knight.

"Who is he?" Quentyn asked.

"He is my sworn sword and shield. Ser Guyard Morrigen, formerly of Renly's Rainbow Guard."

"He's more than that isn't he?"

"My Prince?"

"I know the look he gives you. It's the look Ryon gives Ynys, the look Cletus gives to every tavern wench this side of Hellholt. He's your paramour isn't he?"

"I...I...yes." What was going on? Wasn't she supposed to be revealing this to an unsuspecting future husband?

"My uncle has a paramour, Ellaria Sand."

"You're not angry?"

"No. I'm a little saddened, but then, I'm not surprised. A woman of such beauty, I knew it was too good to be true when my father told me you were a maiden."

"A maiden? He knew I was married to Renly!"

"Yes, but with no child, and his known tendencies, it was assumed that you never... I am sorry my lady, I should leave you." He turned to go, but she grabbed his arm.

"Please don't go. I wasn't planning on bringing this up for a few days, but seeing a you know. Guyard! Come here would you please?" Her raven knight was there in an instant. "He guessed." It was all she had to say. Then, Guyard did something she had not expected. He knelt.

"My Prince, I must apologise for my actions, I swear that it will not happen again, but I would wish to remain in my lady Margaery's service, and by extension, enter yours. If you do not believe me I shall swear whatever oaths you require, on my honour as a knight."

Quentyn was shocked. "Ser, rise. I understand your actions, even if I am uncomfortable with the thought of your remaining around us, a permanent reminder that my wife might be sleeping with her sworn shield. Yet, I do not think I can send you away."

Now was her chance, "Have you considered that we might not have to cease our relations?"

"Yes, I believe you will. If my sister marries Aegon, I will become Dorne's ruling Prince, and my children must be mine, and mine alone. I understand you my lady, but I feel we have two options, he stays and it ends, or he goes and it ends."

Guyard, now standing again, turned to her and kissed her cheek. "My lady, it has been a pleasure. It's for the best." He turned on his heel and began to walk away. Before she could call out, Quentyn did.

"Ser Guyard! A word please, in private?" He approached the knight and the two of them disappeared briefly behind a tall orange tree. Before long, they returned and both were smiling.

"My lady, Ser Guyard has agreed to remain in your service, as your sworn shield. Ser, If we could have a moment?" The knight walked away and once he was out of earshot, she began to question him.

"That's excellent! How did you get him to agree?"

"I told him that I would be needing a knight to train our children in swordplay and other knightly pursuits, should they wish to. Also that I would need a captain of guard and a strong right-hand, above Dorne's inner politics. I offered him that position, and should he wish it, a wife of good standing."

"I don't understand, how does that solve our problem?"

"You wait until he meets my cousins, the Sand Snakes are many things, but they wear their emotions on their sleeves, and believe me when I say that they will fight each other to get hold of him."

"But what about me? I...I love him, my prince."

"All I ask is that you give me a chance to let me love you. In time, if you are not happy, and cannot bring yourself to love me, then by all means, go ahead, it's not unusual, not in Dorne. All I ask is time."

She threw herself at him and kissed him hard. He stiffened, before relaxing into it, holding her tight to him. He was obviously not a practiced kisser, but he wasn't bad. She found herself thinking it might not take too much time to love her Prince.


They headed out of the Yronwood's main gate back onto the Boneway, which led down to the plateau where the half of Dorne's fighting force was gathered.

"They were summoned when my brother's betrothal to Myrcella was announced. Some show for the Lannisters that we would support them, but my father is ever cautious, so they have not moved for a good few moons now." The Prince told her.

They made for Sunspear, a long ride through the desert. Willas had managed to escape Gwyneth at the gate, but left her crying, she had attached herself to him throughout their stay. Ser Cletus and twenty of Lord Yronwood's riders had joined their company, with a personal request for orders fro Prince Doran.

As she covered her face with the green silk scarf Quentyn had given her, she saw Ser Guyard, her brother and her betrothed talking as they rode ahead of her. Quentyn was the shortest of them, but matched Willas for brains, and had given Guyard a good run in their one-on-one two days previously, before finally being defeated. Margaery Tyrell had been a Queen, a Lady, a liar, a lover, and now was set to be a Princess. She had dreaded it for a time, but now... now she thought that she may not need the time he asked for.