osterreicher: More like a little taunt that got out of hand, nothing major.
TMI: The Stormlanders don't like the Dornish, but they don't like the arrogant Reachers either, especially after the Siege of Storm's End. So they enjoyed them getting put in their place for once.
Dark Angels: Absolutely. Gerris is just a little paranoid. He could ask Quentyn for confirmation that one of his younger female siblings will inherit and he'd say yes.
Waringham: More on the North in the upcoming Catelyn chapter. On an added notice, the Karstarks were pissed because he executed Rickard, but never really supported the Boltons. Also, butterflies have spread their wings and the North is now on a...different path than canon.
ATP: That would not be a good idea.
Guest: Gulian IV, it is mentionned he and Gerris had secured betrothals. As above, the Stormlords don't like the Dornish but they certainly don't like the Reachers either after what happened at Storm's End.
Guest2: It is 15 years, yes, I edited the chapter.
Kuman: Quentyn is playing by Daeron the young dragon's numbers. To give his Dornish invasion credibility and heroism, he said that Dorne fielded 50k men which is absolute bullshit. But that number stuck for the other kingdoms, and Quentyn of course is very keen to play on that.
In this story and canon, Dorne can muster 30,000 men reliably and 48,000 if they scrap the barrel (meaning they give a sword and spear to every able man and woman). The advantage of the Dornish is of course, that they do let women fight in their armies, which helps inflate the numbers as well. The power rankings on terms of manpower being Reach Westerlands Stormlands = North Riverlands Dorne Vale = Crownlands Iron Islands
Margaery
Margaery took a seat on her lavish, rose-decorated, chair and poured herself a cup of Arbor Gold. After today, she would need every single drop in that cup to come back to her senses.
She quickly sent her handmaidens away, and took the time to enjoy some moments of solitude in her own tent.
She would have loved to have a room in Lord Caswell's castle, but as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she would need to prove, notably to the Stormlanders, that she was a Queen close to the men, and as such, she shared the same conditions as them. Or close enough, anyhow. Any other lesser Queen would've either stayed within Highgarden's walls or rested in one of Lord Caswell's lavish chambers. But she wasn't any ordinary Queen. She was Margaery of House Tyrell…no…House Baratheon. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And she wouldn't just be the Queen. She would rule.
After all, it was her hand that had secured Renly the entire Reach, and seduced the Stormlands. She and Renly made an almost perfect match. They were both beautiful, talented and smart, and would make a perfect match to guide the Seven Kingdoms into a new age of peace and prosperity.
If only he was more interested in me than Loras…no matter.
Indeed, as long as her husband fulfilled his duties, then their rule would be uncontested. Still, this was a matter for another day, with more pressing issues at hand.
The arrival of the Dornish and their demands had caused quite the stir. Her husband had thought that the Dornish would quickly rally to his side, and his confidence had been bolstered when he heard of the plans to betroth her brother Willas to the heir-apparent to Sunspear, Arianne Martell.
How short-sighted she was to believe him. In truth, she should have seen it coming.
While the rest of the realm bickered over everything and nothing, House Tyrell had paid particularly attention to the recent developments south of the Marches.
Everything began with sailor stories from Oldtown, but quickly developed into more solid stories. Stories of how a prince of Dorne had created a miracle medicine capable of curing almost all infections. And that was only the start of it all.
Over the next months, her family had quietly inquired about the developments in Dorne, and they were quite interesting indeed.
Medicines of various kind, the production of Dornish glassware and perfumery, the sudden appearance of Dornish tea, a spice usually only found in Yi-Ti, and the construction of a brand new Dornish fleet.
Something was brewing south of the border; her whole family knew it. But with the events in King's Landing, their focus shifted again towards the Throne, until a delegation came from Sunspear.
It proposed a betrothal between her brother Willas and Prince Doran Martell's daughter, Arianne.
To say that this was a surprise to everyone was an understatement. After all, the Dornish didn't really communicate with anyone, bar their presence at tourneys in the Reach and Stormlands. But even more interesting was the fact that Prince Doran had been willing to betroth his heir. Something that did align with stories of Dorne being on the verge of a civil war between supporters of the eldest child Arianne, and the gifted prince Quentyn.
It had seemed that prince Quentyn had already suffered two assassination attempts on his person, both times from her sister's supporters. Whether or not Arianne was actually involved, she knew not, but she herself had trouble in imagining hurting either of her brothers. But the Dornish were always a queer folk, and she would not put kinslaying past any of them.
And such a theory would make sense in the light of the potential betrothal between Willas and Arianne. However, she shuddered at the possibility of a kinslayer marrying her brother.
Willas didn't see it that way, of course. He saw it as an opportunity, and she could see where he was coming from. There would be a great many benefits of having the Dornish on their side rather than as enemies, including that miracle medicine of theirs. House Tyrell had managed to acquire some, but the process of making it was a mystery to them.
She forgot about the Dornish once Renly had been crowned king in Highgarden, and she took on her duties as Queen, accompanying Renly on his path to Bitterbridge. It was at Longtable that she heard the Dornish were sending a party of men to finalise an alliance with Renly, or so she thought.
When it was announced that Prince Quentyn would be leading said party, she had been even more confused. When a Dornish delegation came to Highgarden or Oldtown, it would always be Prince Oberyn leading the party, not Prince Doran's son. Still, this was another opportunity to see what the fabled prince actually looked like.
Her reverie was stopped as a guard stepped in.
She quickly tossed the goblet of Arbor gold away and settled down in her regal attire, small crown atop her head.
"Your grace." The Tyrell guard bowed. "The prince is here."
"Let him in." She smiled. "And make sure we are not disturbed, unless it is my brother or his grace."
The guard nodded and rushed outside. While his figure disappeared, another one entered the vast tent.
During the meeting in the grand tent, she had only seen the prince from afar, but with a closer look, she could now see his features much more clearly.
When it was known prince Quentyn would come, she had expected someone physically similar to prince Oberyn. After all, he was really the only Martell that she'd met, and he was prince Doran's brother. She had imagined a tall man with a lined face, dark eyes and long hair. Handsome and dangerous. As it turns out, she was very wrong.
The prince was short, probably as short as she was, perhaps a little taller. His dark hair was cut short, with none of his streaks falling into his dark-brown eyes. His features were lean, but he wasn't as handsome as she expected Dornishmen to be.
His lips were rough and his nose sharp, while the dress he wore concealed much of his body. Though, it wasn't a stretch to guess that the prince was as slender as his uncle, at least.
But by far the most distinguishing feature was the scar on his face. It cut deep, and stretched from his chin all the way up to his hair, narrowly avoiding his right eye. The gash wasn't completely ugly, much of it having healed, and it gave him a sense of dangerousness that he'd surely have lacked without it.
"Your grace." The prince bowed.
"Prince Quentyn." Margaery kept her smile. "Have a seat."
The young Martell thanked her and sat down in front of her, slightly uneasy with her presence.
"Wine?" she offered. "This is the best Arbor Gold."
"I usually do not drink…" the prince hesitated. "…but it would be unwise to die without at least trying Arbor Gold."
Margaery raised her eyes at the notion that the prince didn't drink, but poured him and herself a cup of the vintage.
The prince brought his lips to it and nodded.
"Surprisingly good." He smiled. "I usually do not have a taste for wine, but I must admit that this one does taste quite nice."
"Arbor Gold is the best wine in Westeros." She beamed. "Although your compatriots think Dornish Red is better."
"They do." The prince nodded. "But I trust you have brought me here to discuss more than just wine, your grace."
To the point, I see…
"Call me Margaery, please. All my friends do."
"I shall if you call me Quentyn."
"Very well, Quentyn." She continued to smile, not taking her eyes off of him. "It seems that your arrival has caused quite the stir. And I wanted to get a sense of the man that is rumoured to have invented the miracle Dornish medicine."
"I fear I am only a man, Margaery." The Martell prince admitted. "There is not much to me."
"I disagree. I think it is in both our interests to make sure that an alliance bears fruit."
"Why is the King not here to discuss it, then? It seems to me that an alliance should be discussed in the presence of his grace."
"My husband is praying."
"He is? I didn't take him to be a pious man."
"His grace is very pious. He has formed a new guard bearing the colors of the faith and has the support of the devout." Margaery smiled. "As such, he is very occupied, and I am keen to discuss the terms of an agreement benefitting us both."
"If you wish to get a hold of the medicine we produce, then I fear that you shall be sorely disappointed. We are having trouble distributing it to Dorne's smallfolk already, if we try to send it to the Reach, it will be nigh impossible."
"You would rather give medicine to your smallfolk than to noble houses of the Reach?" she inquired, surprised.
Margaery knew the Dornish always had a closer relationship with their smallfolk than in other kingdoms, owing notably to a much smaller population. The smallfolk's loyalty is what, in part anyways, kept them independent for so long, notably during Aegon the Conqueror's failed invasion.
"If I am to be their prince, I should put their needs above whatever any foreign lords need." The prince retorted, scratching his brow. "The lords and ladies of the Reach won't be my subjects, the Dornish smallfolk will."
"Are you a man of duty then?" she asked. "They are few and far between in these times."
"Duty, perhaps not." He shrugged. "But the smallfolk are people like you and I. Except they did not get the chance to be born amongst wealth like we have. They did not choose in which family to be born, and they carry that like a burden. I intend to ease that burden, since the gods have blessed me with being born into a wealthy family."
"A noble endeavour." She acquiesced. "But healthier smallfolk also mean a lot of benefits."
"Of course." The prince agreed. "It is a mutual relationship. The lord is the shepherd and the smallfolk the sheep. The sheep bring clothing, meat, cheese, drink and coin. In exchange the shepherd has to house them, feed them, treat them and protect them from the wolves that wish to harm them."
"But the shepherd has to slaughter the sheep, does he not?"
"And what do you think happens when a lord goes to war? How many of his troops consist of smallfolk levies? I know certainly at least half of your host consists of these levies." She could see the prince's right eye twitch as he talked. "They are sent to the slaughter then. They die for their lord, and in turn the lord has to protect their children."
Margaery stared in silence. She could feel the young prince was honest in his words. He truly believed in what he was saying. That was a sentiment that she could respect, but did the prince also understand that for all of their value, the smallfolk still had to be put beneath the high lords and knights? Nonetheless, she persevered in her first goal.
"I see." She coughed. "However, leaving the logistics to distribute your medicine to the smallfolk aside, surely if such if such a medicine can be produced, then it surely can be done outside of Dorne?"
"True enough. My father might put the instructions in my sister's dowry."
"It is said that you made it, why let your father decide?"
"My father is still the ruling prince, and I am but his heir, it is not for me to decide."
"As it stands, your sister is still heir. My father still hasn't agreed on a betrothal. He has just agreed for them to meet."
"My sister will not be the heir whatever happens." The prince frowned and seemed as if he instantly regretted his words.
"Why is that so?" she inquired further. "Does your scar have anything to do with this decision?"
"Astute observation." He chuckled. "Yes, as a matter of fact. My sister's most fervent supporters decided that getting rid of me was a better option to secure her reign. They failed, and they died. And I am still here. As a result, despite my sister having nothing to do with these attempts, it was preferable to have her disinherited, if only for appearance's sake."
There was something left unsaid in the prince's words. As it stands, princess Arianne does not have the reputation of a chaste woman. Were her supporters in fact vying for her hand, or her lovers trying to rise the ranks or obtain her favour? In either case, princess Arianne would be more involved than prince Quentyn had told her. But the way he seemed to not want her to be branded as a kinslayer…troubled her. If princess Arianne had tried to get him killed, surely, he would wish to slander her name to avoid her gaining any power as lady of Highgarden?
"I see." She continued, unphased. "And why send you, and not your uncle? He has come to Highgarden before and is used to us."
"My uncle Oberyn is occupied in Dorne at the moment."
"You must agree that sending their treasured prince rather than anyone else is quite a surprise to us."
"I serve Dorne." Prince Quentyn said simply. "Whatever my father asks of me, I shall do. My father himself cannot come, and my uncle has pressing matters in Dorne. This left no one else but me to come here and propose terms for an alliance that would've been taken seriously."
Dorne must still be fragile, then. This lines up with what we have heard. And if the reports from our friends in Dorne are true, then prince Doran sent prince Quentyn here to consolidate his power for he fears it is slipping away from him.
"Terms." Margaery nodded. "I must admit that you ask a lot for your spears."
"Easy to say when you get the Queenship and the Handship." He smiled. "I'd say our terms are quite generous considering how much House Tyrell will benefit from this."
"Well, I can say that we can indeed offer you justice…"
"Can you?" the prince laughed.
"Any pretender would be quick to make beautiful promises. You may promise now, but what shall happen once you actually take the throne? Discard them like Jon Arryn did when he returned to the capital? Words are wind, Margaery. Only actions speak for themselves."
"My husband the King is an honorable man. He understands your plea…"
"Does he?" the prince shook his head. "His grace was Master of Laws, wasn't he? Wasn't his job to apply the laws of the Seven Kingdoms? Where was he when we continued to ask for justice?"
Don't look away, Margaery. Look away and you've already lost the bout.
"It was a different King."
"His brother."
"They were never close."
"Close enough for him to give him Storm's End." The prince pointed out. "You see, I would like to believe your honeyed words. I would like to believe your promises. But where are your actions? What have you done? So far, I have not seen any army. I have seen a bunch of men feasting and laughing as if it was the Harvest feast. Why are your armies not storming the capital while the Northern and River armies keep the Lions occupied? Where is the fabled mighty fleet of the Reach? Why hasn't it secured Dragonstone or Driftmark? You are not at war, Margaery, you are playing at one. And I won't be the only person to tell you as much.
You want our alliance? Give us something. Give us a taste of the justice you promise us, and we shall answer by pledging our spears to you. Give us a taste of what we demand, and we shall answer your call."
"And how can we be sure, in turn, that you shall honor your word? Trust works both ways, Quentyn. And the Dornish aren't exactly known for keeping their word."
The prince took a moment to think, clearly startled at the rebuttal.
"You are right, you do not have a way of being sure. But I do know that you will need our spears to win the war to come. You are a Queen, but a Queen of only two kingdoms." The prince pointed out. "There are many kings running around the kingdoms these days. Perhaps another shall prove more amenable to us."
A thinly disguised threat. The Dornish are far from being securely in our camp.
"I only wish to give you your justice, Quentyn." Margaery continued, keeping her composure. "But to give it to you, we will need time."
"Of course." He nodded back, surprising her. "We do not ask for you to give us everything right away. But you must understand that we shall choose to wait till you have made good on your promises before we do anything. A written pact would do it. Signed by your king and myself, so that it may not be broken."
"I shall discuss it with his grace."
"I thought that he would join us here. Is he so devout that he need pray for so long instead of forging an alliance with our house? Or does he not consider Dorne as one of the kingdoms he wishes to rule over?"
He's trying to destabilize me. It shall not work. Many men before you have tried.
"I'm sure his grace would be delighted to talk with you later."
"You have a way with words, Margaery." The prince leaned in. "But we both know what praying involves."
"I do not…"
"You do, you're his wife." He shook his head. "Let us not play this little game forever. I won't judge him for this. In Dorne, we are the last to lecture people on indulging in the pleasures of the flesh. My uncle loves women and men both, and a few in my party here appreciate the company of men rather than women. I myself would find his grace handsome enough to bring to my bed should I not already be spoken for."
This caught Margaery off-guard. What was he getting at? What game was he playing?
"But this does raise the issue of an heir. I know you might be persuasive, but the fact that you are not with child yet could lead to even more conflict in the future." The prince took a sip of the Arbor Gold, and continued. "I agree wholeheartedly with his grace's will to wish to rule a united realm. But for this, he needs to secure his line as to not invite conflict. Right now, no pretenders have such an advantage. Stannis Baratheon has a child, but it is a daughter with greyscale. If he is to win this war and sway more houses to his side, he needs an heir and fast."
"I have no doubt that I shall bear a child soon."
"I don't share your optimism, Margaery." The prince retorted simply. "I fear that the longer you delay it, the slimmer your chances will be. While his grace is still campaigning should be your best option. Lest your bannermen think it is you that is infertile and try to push you aside."
They would never. Not because of their love for me, but rather many know about Renly's escapades already. And the Reach is too valuable for him to discard.
"For someone who said that they'd be interested in looking elsewhere, you sure do care a lot about what goes on in the royal chambers." She finally countered.
"I am only offering advice." The prince crossed his arms. "How you choose to interpret this advice is entirely up to you."
"Then if you are so bold in asking these questions, surely you won't be offended if I ask you what you mean when you said that you are spoken for. Are you married or betrothed?"
"Not married." The Martell prince shook his head, scratching his curly, black hair. "Not betrothed either, although a Dornish match is likely going to be thrown my way soon. But I have a paramour."
"And who might she be?" Margaery raised an eyebrow.
"Don't push your luck." The prince smiled and quickly shrugged. "I don't doubt you'll discover it soon enough anyways."
Prince Quentyn looked in his cup and emptied the last few drops of Arbor Gold still left in it. Then, he put his elbows on the table and waited for a few moments.
"Was that why you wished to see me?" he finally asked. "I fear there isn't much we have learnt"
On the contrary, I believe I have learned a lot
"Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"
"Not at the present time." Margaery smiled. "We might yet discuss things with his grace in the near future."
"Send for me at any time." He smiled back. "It was a pleasure, your grace."
"Margaery." She quickly corrected. "And will you be participating in the melee tomorrow?"
"I fear that I am not much of a fighter, Margaery. But I shall see you at the feast. I fear that a long journey has made my and my companions long for a hot meal."
"Until tonight, then."
The prince bowed respectfully and left, leaving Margaery alone in her grand tent once more. Finally, she could breathe a sigh of relief.
She wanted to see where Dorne stood and she now knew. The exchange with prince Quentyn had been quite valuable, although, gods, were all Dornishmen so straightforward? But still, there were lessons to be taken from this.
Renly had thought that the Dornish would easily flock to his side. While she kept her doubts as to that matter, the exchange with prince Quentyn certainly confirmed it. The Dornish were a complete unknown, and as such, they were dangerous. She would have to talk to Loras about this and have a raven sent to Willas in Highgarden. Mayhaps princess Arianne would prove to be useful to them after all.
On the other hand, their terms were technically acceptable, although the Reachers on the coast such as the Hightowers and Redwynes would have problems with the implications regarding trade. Yet if what they desired most was justice, there wouldn't be a problem in handing them either Lorch or Clegane if they got their hands on them. She wasn't exactly a military genius, but she knew one man was worth fifty thousand.
With the Dornish having had a sense of justice, they wouldn't need to worry about them. But that would involve Renly bringing battle to the Lannisters, like the Martell prince rightfully pointed out.
Finally, there was the issue of her line. Sure, Renly hadn't impregnated her or even tried to, but she couldn't deny there was some merit to the prince's argument. To rally more houses, she would need to birth a legitimate heir. This, though, meant trying to cross another bridge with Renly.
She sighed and poured herself one last cup of wine, drinking it almost in one gulp.
Sometimes Queens had to make difficult decisions. But she would not shy away from them. She was Margaery of House Baratheon, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. And she would rule these kingdoms. All of them.