Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.

Chapter Nineteen

Oberyn V

King's Landing: 10th July 298 AC

"I stood last vigil for him myself," Ser Barristan said as they looked down at the body laid on the back of the cart. "He had no one else. Only an elderly mother in the Vale, I am told."

In the pale dawn light, the young Ser Hugh looked more like he was sleeping than dead. He had not been a particularly handsome man, but death had smoothed his rough-hewn features and the Silent Sisters had dressed him in a velvet tunic with a high collar to cover the ruin the lance had made of his throat. With the wound hidden, only the stiffness of his limbs showed his lack of life, especially with his eyes closed by the Sisters.

Oberyn looked at his face, wondering if it was because of him that the boy had died. Slain by a Lannister bannerman before Oberyn could speak to him; could that be a mere coincidence? He supposed that they would never know for sure, but both he and Aly feared that it was not.

"Hugh was Jon Arryn's squire for four years," Selmy went on. "The king knighted him before he rode north, in Jon's memory. The lad wanted it desperately, yet I fear that he was not ready."

Oberyn rubbed a hand over his face, feeling tired beyond his thirty-and-seven years. "Nobody is ever ready," he stated flatly.

"For knighthood?"

"For death," Oberyn corrected him, jaw tight as he studied the boy's body, troubled. He was only a few years older than Oberyn's eldest son.

Gently Oberyn recovered the boy with his cloak, a bloodstained bit of blue bordered in crescent moons. Then he turned to the woman beside the cart, shrouded in grey, face hidden but for her eyes. "Send his armour home to the Vale," he instructed the Silent Sister. "The lad's mother will no doubt wish to have it."

"It is worth a fair piece of silver," Ser Barristan commented. "The boy had it forged special for the tourney. Plain work, but good. I do not know if he had finished paying the smith."

"He paid yesterday, Ser Barristan, and he paid dearly," Oberyn replied. Looking at the Silent Sister he added, "Send the mother the armour. I will deal with this smith." She bowed her head.

Afterwards Ser Barristan walked with Oberyn to the king's pavilion to deal with the latest problem caused by the king.

As he walked, Oberyn glanced around at the different symbols and banners decorating the tents. There were ones from nearly every corner of the Seven Kingdoms: the silver eagle of Seagard, Bryce Caron's field of nightingales, a cluster of grapes for the Redwynes, and dozens more. Obeyrn spotted several of his own bannermen's sigils decorating the place, and made a mental note to either try and make time to see his visiting vassals himself, or else to have Aly do it. It was vital that his House maintained good relations with their bannermen, especially now that the Yronwoods were angered by the lost betrothal. Maybe he could betroth one of the girls to the heir, Cletus, to make up for it. Still, that was a matter to be dealt with later. He had other worries at present.

One of those worries was that there was not a Winterlander sigil to be seen, and it troubled him greatly. They rarely competed in tourneys, even in his youth, but the reports he had been reading worried him. Until he had become Hand, he had not realized just how much relations between the Winterlands and the Iron Throne had deteriorated over the past years. The Winterlands had always been distant from the rest of the kingdoms, on account of the treaty that brought them into the dominion of the Iron Throne, yet now it was as if they were a completely separate region once again. He was wary of prodding his wife about the matter, however. The Winterlands were devoted to their lieges, and as Aly liked to say, the North Remembers. They would not reconcile with the rest of the kingdoms until they received justice for the deaths of their people in the Sack. Yet Robert would not hear of it in spite of Oberyn's best efforts, and Oberyn was at a loss as to how to solve the problem.

Gods, he missed Doran. His brother would have known what to do. But then again, if Doran were still alive, then Oberyn would not be in this position, and so it was a moot point.

"Tell me what brought this ridiculous idea of the king fighting in the melee about," Oberyn instructed the Lord Commander as they made their way to the king's own tent, the largest of them in the centre of the field.

Ser Barristan's look was troubled. "Her Grace, she, well she ordered him not to participate in the fight yesterday afternoon. The king was in his cups at the time. He became aggravated by what he called her interference and he declared that he would do so no matter what she thought."

"Damn it," Oberyn swore. "Does the woman not realize that forbidding Robert to do something is a sure way to get him to do so? They have been married a decade and a half, surely she has realized that by now!"

"They say that night's beauties fade at dawn, and the children of wine are oft disowned in the morning light," Ser Barristan pointed out, though he did not look hopeful.

"They say so," Oberyn agreed, "but not of Robert." Other men might reconsider words spoken in drunken bravado, but Robert Baratheon would remember and, remembering, would never back down. Once, Oberyn had liked that trait, found it amusing. Now, as the Hand attempting to corral the King, he found it frustrating enough to make him long to rip his own hair out. How had Jon managed it for fifteen years?

The king's pavilion was close by the water, and the morning mists off the river had wreathed it in wisps of grey. It was all of golden silk, the largest and grandest structure in the camp. Outside the entrance, Robert's warhammer was displayed beside an immense iron shield blazoned with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

For once, Oberyn had been hoping that the king was still abed in a wine-caused sleep, but, as per usual it seemed lately, luck was not with him. They found Robert drinking beer from a polished horn and roaring his displeasure at two young squires who were trying to buckle him into his armour. "Your Grace," one was saying, almost in tears, "it's made too small, it won't close." He fumbled, and the gorget he was trying to fit around Robert's thick neck tumbled to the ground.

"Seven hells!" Robert swore. "Do I have to do it myself? Piss on the both of you. Pick it up. Don't just stand there gaping, Lancel, pick it up!" The lad jumped, and the king noticed his company. "Look at these oafs, Oberyn. My wife insisted that I take these two to squire for me, and they're worse than useless. Can't even put a man's armour on him properly. Squires, they say. I say they're swineherds dressed up in silk."

Oberyn only needed a glance to understand the difficulty. "The boys are not at fault," he told the king. "You're too fat for your armour, Robert."

Robert Baratheon took a long swallow of beer, tossed the empty horn onto his sleeping furs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said darkly, "Fat? Fat, is it? Is that how you speak to your king?"

"Ah yes," Oberyn drawled. "Forgive me, my king. Allow me to rephrase myself. You're too damn fat for your armour, Your Grace."

Robert scowled indignantly, then he abruptly let out a fierce laugh, sudden as a storm. "Ah, damn you, Oberyn, why are you always right?"

Oberyn smirked. "Ah, I have many talents," he winked at his friend as lightly as he could.

The squires smiled nervously until the king turned on them. "You. Yes, both of you. You heard the Hand. The king is too fat for his armour. Go find Ser Arron Santagar, the master-at-arms. Tell him that I need the breastplate stretcher. Now! What are you waiting for?"

The boys tripped over each other in their haste to be quit of the tent. Robert managed to keep a stern face until they were gone. Then he dropped back into a chair, shaking with laughter.

Ser Barristan Selmy chuckled with him, as did Oberyn. As always nowadays, though, the graver thoughts crept in. He could not help taking note of the two squires: handsome boys, fair and well made. One was a bit older than Lia, with long golden curls; the other was perhaps fifteen, sandy-haired, with a wisp of a moustache and the emerald-green eyes of the queen.

They were Lannisters, the both of them.

"Ah, I wish I could be there to see Santagar's face," Robert guffawed. "I hope that he'll have the wit to send them to someone else. We ought to keep them running all day!"

"Those boys," Oberyn asked him, just to confirm it for sure. "Lannisters?"

Robert nodded, wiping tears from his eyes. "Cousins. Sons of Lord Tywin's brother. One of the dead ones. Or perhaps the live one, now that I come to think on it. I don't recall. My wife comes from a very large family, Oberyn."

A very ambitious family, Oberyn thought darkly. A very ambitious family that climbs to power by clambering over the bodies of women and children, purely because they were in the way.

His wife's twin sister had merely been the highest-ranking lady to pay the price of the Lannisters' lust for power with her life. The Tarbecks, the Reyenes, the more famous and first. Many people had died for the Lannisters to rise to power. It deeply disturbed Oberyn how many Westermen were in the capital and the keep, loyal to the Lannisters first and to everyone else, probably even the gods themselves, second. He had done the numbers, and doubted his men's ability to protect all of his family if they were attacked, when they were so outnumbered by the redcloaks, even with the extra men supplied by his goodbrother. It was concerning, to say the least, and Oberyn was seriously debating whether or not to send the children home to the safety of Dorne.

"The talk is that you and the queen had angry words last night," he remarked, putting those thoughts aside for the moment to focus on the most urgent problem, persuading Robert not to be a fool and fight in the melee.

The mirth curdled on Robert's face. "The cursed woman tried to forbid me to fight in the melee. She's sulking in the castle now, damn her. Your sister would never have shamed me like that."

"Not the way the queen did, no," Oberyn agreed. "Elia would never have contradicted her lord husband in public, I agree. But I guarantee that she would have expressed her concerns over you joining the melee in private. Do not be a fool, Robert. You have no place in this melee. You are King, you cannot put your life at risk like this."

"I sit on the damn iron seat when I must," Robert scowled, though Oberyn knew that he had not once attended court since they had arrived back from Sunspear. Oberyn had been the one sitting on the blasted chair, and he had the bruises and torn breeches to prove it. "Does that mean I don't have the same hungers as other men? A bit of wine now and again, a girl squealing in bed, the feel of a horse between my legs? Seven hells, Oberyn, I want to hit someone."

Ser Barristan Selmy spoke up. "Your Grace," he said, "it is not seemly that the king should ride into the melee. It would not be a fair contest. Who would dare strike you?"

Robert seemed honestly taken aback, as if such a thought had never occurred to him. "Why, all of them, damn it. If they can. And the last man left standing . . . "

" . . . will be you," Oberyn finished. He saw at once that Selmy had hit the mark. The dangers of the melee were only a savour to Robert, but this touched on his pride. This was the way to dissuade him. "Ser Barristan is right. There's not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who would dare risk the Crown's displeasure by hurting you."

The king rose to his feet, his face flushed. "Are you telling me those prancing cravens will just let me win the thing?"

"For a certainty," Oberyn confirmed, and Ser Barristan Selmy bowed his head in silent accord. "They would fear for their heads, otherwise. Even if you did not have them punished should they hurt you, who is to say your wife or son would not act differently? Nobody would risk it."

For a moment Robert was so furious that he could not even speak. He strode across the tent, whirled, strode back, his face dark and angry. He snatched up his breastplate from the ground and threw it at Barristan Selmy in a wordless fury. Selmy dodged. "Get out," the king ordered then, coldly. "Get out before I kill you."

Ser Barristan left quickly. Oberyn was about to follow when the king called out again. "Not you, Oberyn."

Oberyn turned back. Robert took up his horn again, filled it with beer from a barrel in the corner, and thrust it at Oberyn. "Drink," he instructed him brusquely.

Oberyn drank, grimacing. The beer was like tar, black and thick. "Gods Robert, do you honestly enjoy this stuff?" he grumbled. "You ought to drink something decent, Your Grace, like Dornish red. What's the point of being King if you cannot have a decent alcohol?"

Robert smirked briefly, then the expression darkened again. "Damn you, Oberyn Martell. You and Jon Arryn, I loved you both. What have you done to me? You were the one should have been king, you or Jon."

Oberyn scoffed at that. "Are you mad?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow. "All of my ruling skills come from Aly's teachings and years of struggling to get a half-decent grip on how to do it. Anyway, I had no claim at all to the Iron Throne. The Martells never wed the Targaryens. Besides, the Tullys only agreed to support us because Hoster's daughter would become a Princess and Lady Paramount by wedding the new king's brother."

"I told you to drink, not to argue," Robert huffed. "You made me king, you could at least have the courtesy to listen when I talk, damn you. Look at me, Oberyn. Look at what kinging has done to me. Gods, too fat for my armour, how did it ever come to this?"

Oberyn softened. "Robert . . . "

"Drink and stay quiet, the king is talking. I swear to you, I was never so alive as when I was winning this throne, or so dead as now that I've won it. And Cersei . . . I have Jon to thank for her. I had no wish to marry after Elia was taken from me, but Jon said the realm needed an heir, that Stannis and Renly weren't enough, I needed a son. Cersei Lannister would be a good match, he told me, she would bind Lord Tywin to me should Viserys Targaryen ever try to win back his father's throne." The king shook his head. "I loved that old man, I swear it, but now I think he was a bigger fool than Moon Boy. Oh, Cersei is lovely to look at, truly, but so very cold . . . the way she guards her cunt, you'd think she had all the gold of Casterly Rock between her legs. Here, give me that beer if you won't drink it." He took the horn, upended it, belched, wiped his mouth. "And Joffrey. My son . . . you love your children, don't you?"

"With all my heart," Oberyn declared fervently. All of them, from tomboy Obara to the child growing in Aly's stomach as he spoke, meant the entire world to them. If burning Westeros to the ground would keep them safe, then Oberyn would strike the match himself.

"Let me tell you a secret, Oberyn," Robert said, grim-faced. "More than once, I have dreamed of giving up the crown. Take ship for the Free Cities with my horse and my hammer, spend my time warring and whoring, that's what I was made for. The sellsword king, how the singers would love me. You know what stops me? The thought of Joffrey on the throne, with Cersei standing behind him whispering in his ear. My son. How could I have made a son like that, Oberyn?"

Oberyn looked away, unable to meet Robert's gaze. He had not seen any evidence of anything other than arrogance in the boy himself, but Aly's contacts had told them some truly appalling stories. How the Crown Prince, at the age of only five namedays, had found a pregnant cat and cut it open to remove the unborn kittens, the cat itself still alive, and then gone to the Great Hall to show it to his father. How he would torment and terrify his younger siblings and the servants, and refused to do any work. He could not count to ten or spell his own name, despite being two-and-ten, and he had ordered his sworn shield, whom he referred to derogatorily as "dog", to beat his tutors, and laughed when one of them, an elderly maester, was beaten so badly that he lost the ability to walk. The Crown Prince walked around with a gilded and ornate gold-hilted sword, yet he had absolutely no martial skills at all, and refused to go to the training grounds, insisting that he was a great warrior who needed no practice and ought to be knighted already. All of his actions, he excused with his status, and worst of all he got away with it.

The prospect of the boy sitting on the Iron Throne disturbed Oberyn much more than he wanted to admit, and he was deeply grateful to Elbert for warning him not to allow the betrothal between Lia and Joffrey. The thought of what would happen to the poor maid wed to the sadistic boy was deeply troubling.

"I don't know," Oberyn admitted honestly. "I see nothing of you in the lad."

Robert nodded sadly. "It was probably best off that you refused the betrothal," he confessed. "You've two lovely girls as daughters. Joff'd break either of them, were he to wed one. Myrcella wedding Rickard was the better option."

Oberyn stayed quiet for a moment, trying to find the words to comfort his old friend. "Your Grace . . . " he began carefully after a moment. When had he begun to fear speaking to Robert, least he evoke an explosion of wrath?

Robert slapped him on the back. "Ah, say that I'm a better king than Aerys and be done with it. You never could lie to me, Oberyn. Nor to anyone else you care for."

Oberyn hide a wince at that. Oh, Robert, he thought tiredly, thinking of Meria and the secret that he had kept for over a decade in regards to her birth. If only you knew. If only you knew, you would take my head, my daughter's, and probably my loyalist wife's too.

That was why nobody could ever know the truth about Meria's mother, not even Aly or Meria herself. He loathed the pain he had caused Aly, he knew she thought he dwelt on some past lover still. But he couldn't tell her. The threat to them all was far too great.

"I'm still young, and now that you're here with me, things will be different," Robert went on. "We'll make this a reign to sing of, and damn the Lannisters to seven hells."

"I have a suggestion for that," Oberyn cut him off quickly. "Making it a memorable reign, that is." Robert looked at him curiously, and Oberyn went on, hoping his idea would work. He'd come up with it a few days past whilst reading some reports, but had yet to have a chance to speak to Robert about it. He could only pray that it would work.

"I've heard of increasing troubles in the Kingswood and the Riverlands with brigands, especially around the border," Oberyn informed Robert, who looked interested for once. He'd loved it when they were young and gotten into skirmishes with the Vale mountain clansmen or bandits. "And of course, the Stepstones are always a problem. Here is my suggestion. Peace does not suit you, we all know it. I cannot do anything to give you a war, nor am I in favour of it, but what I think you ought to do in get back into shape. Spend time in the training yard, drink a bit less and bring back the legendary Demon of the Trident. Then, once you can fit into your armour again, go brigand hunting, sail to the Stepstones and bring them to heel. What do you think?"

Robert had gained a thoughtful expression as Oberyn spoke, and now he grinned, slapping Oberyn's back. The Lord of Sunspear suppressed a sigh of relief at the positive reaction he had received.

"I think it's a brilliant idea!" Robert declared, looking revived at the thought of future battles. "I'll start on the morrow, head to the yard after breaking my fast. Right now, however, I smell bacon. Tell me your opinion, Oberyn, who do you think our champion will be today? Have you seen Mace Tyrell's boy? The Knight of Flowers, they call him. He was Renly's squire. Now there's a son any man would be proud to own to. Last tourney, he dumped the Kingslayer on his golden rump, you ought to have seen the look on Cersei's face. I laughed till my sides hurt. Renly says he has this sister, a maid of fourteen, lovely as a dawn . . . "

They broke their fast on black bread and boiled goose eggs and fish fried up with onions and bacon, at a trestle table by the river's edge. The king's melancholy had melted away after hearing Oberyn's suggestion, and before long Robert was eating an orange and waxing fondly on about a morning at the Eyrie when they had been boys. " . . . had given Jon a barrel of oranges, remember? Only the things had gone rotten, so I flung mine across the table and hit Dacks right in the nose. You remember, Redfort's pock-faced squire? He tossed one back at me, and then you threw your whole plate back and before Jon could so much as fart, there were oranges flying across the High Hall in every direction." He laughed uproariously, and Oberyn joined in willingly, remembering those days of innocent mischief with affectionate wistfulness.

This was the boy he had grown up with, he thought; this was the Robert Baratheon he'd known and loved. If he could prove that the Lannisters had murdered Jon, this man would listen. Then Cersei would fall, and her family with her, and at last his deceased goodsiblings and their children would all be avenged and there'd be peace with the Winterlands. He'd be able to go home, friendship with Robert intact and his friend's reign secure. He could see it all so clearly.

He was in an excellent mood as they broke their fast together and joked about old times, for once not arguing about anything at all.

ASoVASoVASoV

Much later, after a rather tumultuous end to the tourney due to the Mountain going berserk, Oberyn at last trudged back to the Tower of the Hand, once again in a glum mood after the stress of dealing with the Clegane brothers' fight. Although Ser Loras had given his victory to Sandor Clegane after the Hound had saved his life, he had still crowned a Queen of Love and Beauty, in the form of his cousin, Desmera Redwyne. Though it was not scandalous like his sister's crowning, the event had brought back memories of Harrenhal, which in turn had caused him to think over some things he had learned whilst going through various documents in his office.

The questions it had brought up could, conveniently, be answered by the woman waiting his return in their chambers, and he intended to get those answers.

Aly was lying in bed, going through Malleon's book again, when he arrived. She cast him a tired smile as he entered the bedchamber.

"My love, open the window will you?" his wife requested, voice weary. "'Tis much too stuffy in here."

"Of course," he consented, as he unfastened the heavy shutters to let in the cool night air. The hour was well past midnight. Down by the river, the revels were only now beginning to dwindle and die.

"I just do not understand it," he murmured, tapping the page, again open to House Lannister, as he joined Aly beneath the covers and wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders. She never seemed to gain any weight save on her stomach when with child, and that always disappeared quickly after the babe was born. "What was Jon looking for? I cannot figure it out."

"Me neither," Aly murmured. "What about Robert's bastards frighten Cersei so that she would kill a pair of twin babes?" Her expression was pained, and Oberyn wondered if her thoughts lingered on her sister's babes, or else their own child, lost to them for no reason save an inexperienced new serving maid who had failed to properly dry the stairs after washing them, causing Aly to slip and go into labour three moons early.

"It makes no sense," Oberyn agreed. "The law does not give rights to natural children, save for in the Winterlands. Even if Robert acknowledged or legitimized them all, they would be behind even Princess Myrcella in terms of inheritance."

Aly hummed and sighed, snapping the book closed and setting it aside. "Something is weighing on you, my love," she murmured, cupping his cheek. "Tell me. I am your wife, share your burdens with me."

He gazed into her eyes, the colour of storm clouds at the moment, and asked her, "What was the purpose of the Harrenhal tourney?"

Aly stiffened, expression darkening. "Why does it matter?" she asked. "You must know already, else you'd not be asking. Besides, it's been seventeen years since the tourney."

"It matters," Oberyn insisted. "I cannot say why, but I must know, Aly."

She sighed, looking away for several long beats before replying at last. "Really it starts before that, if you want to properly understand why we did it," she began. "Lya and I came to court when we were ten. Mother had died about a year before that during a Shivers epidemic, and seeing as Lya was already betrothed to Rhaegar by then, it was decided that we should go and become ladies for the queen, in order to learn of what court was like. Prince Viserys was born about a year later. The King was paranoid with everything and everyone. He went as far as having his tester drink from the wet nurse to make sure she wasn't smearing poison on her nipples after the Queen's milk dried up. Not even Queen Rhaella was allowed to be alone with the babe. But where the other children didn't live longer than a few months, Viserys was strong and healthy, the first one to live to his first year since Rhaegar. And the King was sure he finally had another son who would grow up to be a strong prince. Queen Rhaella despaired: Aerys was convinced that it was his oath of fidelity that ensured Viserys' health, so of course he wouldn't leave her alone. She had women placed in front of him, but he stayed loyal. He was not brutal to her at the time, though. he was harsh, and had no tolerance for criticism, but it was controllable. He was still somewhat reasonable, or at least distractable. And then Duskendale happened."

She paused inhaling and exhaling heavily with a pained expression. "Gods only know what happened to him there, but the council and Rhaegar covered up how bad it was. We did not expect him to survive, preparations were begun for Rhaegar to ascend the throne, but Aerys pulled through. And he learned of the preparations for Rhaegar to be crowned and that planted the idea in his already-insane and paranoid mind that Duskendale had been a conspiracy against him." She sighed again, looking worn beyond her years and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"He had never been a kind husband to the queen," she murmured. "But after that he turned outright cruel and sadistic. Several times he beat her so badly she broke her bones, and she was left with physical scars."

Oberyn shuddered in disgust at the thought, feeling a surge of pity for the exiled queen. No lady deserved that, and Rhaella's kind nature was well known.

"That was just one example of how things were deteriorating," Aly continued. "He had Ilyn Payne's tongue removed for a jape, and there was outright war between he and Rhaegar.

A few moons before Harrenhal, he burned a person for the first time," she stated, eyes dark. "It was awful. I can still smell it. We all had to watch, and I remember that Barbrey was actually sick, and the whole time Aerys was just laughing and clapping, like a child with a new toy. The man was a commoner who had killed another man, and was due for execution, but he escalated quickly from criminals to anybody he could get his hands on.

We did our best to save as many innocents as we could as Aerys did not care whom he burned, so long as it happened. Queen Rhaella would sacrifice herself by distracting the king whilst we replaced the person set for burning with criminals from the Black Cells, but it didn't always work. After that, Rhaegar knew that he could not allow his father to remain in power any longer. He needed to be removed, sooner rather than later. So, we began conspiring to do so.

My family paid for the tourney. The Whents certainly could not afford it, and if Rhaegar were to take so much money out from the treasury it would be suspicious. There was a representative of almost every House in Westeros there. The intent was to call a sort of Great Council, and gain support for Rhaegar to become his father's Regent. Honestly, the attendants wouldn't have had any other real option but to support his coup. Aerys would have killed anybody who was at the meeting, even if they were unaware beforehand and came straight to him afterward. But then-"

"Then he met Elia, and all the smiles died," Oberyn muttered, recalling the ballad he had once heard, detailing the events of the Rebellion.

Aly shook her head. "Then Aerys decided to leave the Red Keep for the first time in years," she corrected him. "And we were unable to hold the Council with him in attendance. I have always suspected that Varys was behind it, that he found out what we were planning and informed the king. The damn Spider was forever whispering in Aerys' ear, stoking his paranoia to increasing heights. But what first drew our group's attention to yours was the alliance. It was very alarming."

Oberyn blinked in confusion at that. "What do you mean?" he asked, bewildered. Aly shot him an incredulous look, before sighing and shaking her head with a smile that was a mixture of exasperated and amused on her lips. It did not reach her dark eyes, and she took a long sip of her wine before she answered at last.

"You are hopeless at politics, my love," she sighed. "Thank the Gods I grew up at court, else we'd be in trouble. Now, think about it, Husband. After centuries of enmity between your two peoples, didn't you ever wonder why your brother promised Elia away to the Lord of Storm's End? Why your uncle fostered you along with the heir of Storm's End under the guardianship of the Lord of the Eyrie? The man whose nephew was betrothed to a daughter of Lord Tully, who was attempting to wed his other daughter to the heir to the West?"

Obeyrn stared at her, stunned. "You think my brother and Jon were plotting against the Targaryens?" he stated, stunned. He shook his head in denial. "No, impossible," he insisted. "Doran and Jon were much to honourable to do such a thing."

She gave him a dry look as she replied. "Rumblings of rebellion had been in the works for years, Oberyn," she reiterated. "I cannot say if their goal was truly to toppel the Targaryens from the Iron Throne. Maybe not, given that Lord Steffon was the one to send Robert to foster with the Vale, and he himself was the son of Princess Rhaelle, and your uncle and lady mother were both companions to Aerys and Rhaella when they were young. But they definitely were positioning themselves to be able to force the Targaryens to submit to them. For all I know, they intended to split the kingdoms back into seven different ones again. I just don't know.

Rhaegar did it all wrong in trying to stop the plot that we saw rising against his House. Gods only knows what was going through his head, though I know him well enough to know that he would not have done it if he'd realized the consequences of his actions.

But the fact is that it was only ever a matter of time until the Rebellion began. Perhaps when each of those marriages had taken place, perhaps even it would have waited until an heir had been born already, and then the alliance would make its' move. But charming as Robert was in his youth, and shrewd as Lord Arryn was, that alliance you all used to make defeat the Targaryens wasn't pulled together in a few moons, Oberyn. The battle lines had already been drawn and everything was triggered when Rhaegar and Elia ran away and Aerys did what he did to your brother and his family. It was the spark that set off the wildfire."

Disturbed by her revelations, Oberyn left the bed to pace, hands clasped behind his back. "I just cannot believe it," he said after a moment. "Jon always did his best to live up to his House words, he was an honourable man. And Doran never once gave me any of hint that he held any grudges against House Targaryen. I guarantee that Robert did not know any of this either. Why would they do such?"

Aly began to speak, but was interrupted by a soft rap on his door. "Milord, forgive me for disturbing you so late but a letter has just arrived from the Vale bearing the seal of House Arryn," Ser Garin called. "It is marked as urgent."

"Elbert must have spoken to the guards at last," Oberyn sighed in relief as he strode to the door and opened it to accept the envelope. Hopefully there would be answers to the questions he had sent his friend within.

But when he read the words on the parchment, he felt any temporary relief disappear. The page fluttered to the ground, dropped by his suddenly-nerveless fingers. The news felt like a blow to the sternum, knocking the wind out of him.

"Oberyn?" Aly asked, voice alarmed. "My love, what is it? What has happened?" She reached out to cup the sides of his jaw and turn his head towards her, and he realized that he had sunk onto the bed without noticing his actions. Expression bleak, he forced himself to look at his wife.

"Elbert fell through the Moon Door whilst in his cups," he announced dully. "He is dead."