Time to start another day. Matthew climbed out of the bed once he saw the sun shining through the window. Being careful not to wake Alayaya, he moved around her and stretched his arms and legs. She and Marei still slept on the bed nude.
He'd taken to visiting prostitutes more often as a result of his stress, Alayaya being one of his favorites. Many had already agreed to spy for him and had given crucial information about possible rivals. And Tywin dismisses this sort of thing. Matthew still felt guilt, but less as time passed, reminding himself Westeros was his new home.
Listening to signs of possible danger, Matthew put on his clothing and chain mail, confident the Kingsguard were still inside the establishment. Save for Balon and Barristan, he was sure they were indulging themselves.
"Are you up for another round, Your Grace?" Marei flashed a true smile toward him, gesturing for Matthew to return to him.
"I'd love to, darling, but the realm must come first." Matthew kissed her cheek. "How is your reading coming along?"
"I'm learning more every day," Marei pulled out a book Matthew had managed to obtain for her. As supplies were limited, at least until he could construct a printing press, he had to settle for using a single book.
Whores were already an excellent source of information, with Matthew learning many secret from those at court, along with what the commoners believed. Teaching them to read, however, would allow him to build a true spy system, answerable to him alone. If Varys could use such a method for his mastery of information, so could he. Literacy's pretty rare here, so nobody's likely to expect whores to be able to read.
Only the wealthy could afford to attend Chataya's brothel and they were the ones Matthew wanted to keep a close eye on. Not all the information was useful or even true, but nobody bothered to hide their letters after sex. Matthew allowed himself a small chuckle.
Already customers were beginning to arrive, the girls taking them to private rooms once the money was given. Only a couple spared a glance at Matthew, the Kingsguard assembling around him.
"Your Grace, I can't say I'm too surprised to see you here," Tyrion arrive with Bronn in tow. His eyes glanced over at the naked women in the establishment. "I see I've been teaching you a few bad habits."
"Well, you do have that effect on people," Matthew chuckled, refusing to reveal the real reason he arrived so often. "I'm merely getting ready for my Small Council meeting."
"Yes, my father was wondering if you'd lower yourself enough to attend it," Tyrion responded. "And he's not pleased about you spending so much time with whores."
"Somehow, I will find the courage to live on," Matthew rolled his eyes. Tywin still fancied himself the power behind the Throne. And in large part, he is. He could keep Tywin in check better than Joffrey could, but he still couldn't be defied openly. King's Landing was still dependent on Lannister troops for defense.
Inside the Small Council chamber, Tywin and Pycelle were already waiting for him. Matthew stared at Tywin for several moments, a dominance contest that grew increasingly common between them. "Good of you to finally arrive, Your Grace." Tywin spoke, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
"Time flies when you're enjoying yourself," Matthew dismissed Tywin's displeasure. "What news on the war front?"
"Kevan is in the process of forming a new host deep in the Westerlands where Edmure cannot reach them. Nearly all small castles are under siege, with the land burned. Come winter, we are likely to face a famine." Tywin spoke such words with indifference as if describing what he had for breakfast that morning.
"Harrenhal is liable to prove a formidable barrier," Matthew spoke. "The Tyrells won't join us unless we win a decisive victory. They want to be on the winning side. Robb can't take King's Landing, which I don't doubt he's aware of."
"He won't be a problem for much longer," Tywin responded. "Despite his military victories, he is still a green boy."
"What are you plotting, Father?" Tyrion inquired. "It sounds as if you've already done something that will ensure victory."
"That is none of your concern. Suffice it to say that Stark's position is not as secure as he believes. The Vale might have joined them, but his hopes to wait us out will go unrealized."
"You know something the rest of us don't." Matthew thumped his fingers against the table. He was certain Tywin referred to Roose Bolton and the Freys. "But you can't be that confident of a field victory, not when Stark still outnumbers us. I haven't heard of an alliance with the Reach, which would give you reason for confidence." His face broke out into a grin. "You're in contact with traitors within Stark's ranks, aren't you?"
Tywin's eyes widened in surprise, but he recovered quickly. "The Starks might consider themselves honorable, heroic. That doesn't mean all their bannermen agree."
"That being said, I wouldn't expect them to act unless they were at least reasonably certain to gain from doing so. If I was him, whoever it happened to be, I'd play both sides, intent on coming out the winner no matter which of us triumphed."
"Your Grace, I am afraid I cannot allow you to hand over Lorch and Ser Gregor to the Dornish," Tywin announced with his hands folded.
"And why not?" Matthew raised his voice, more annoyed than surprised. Despite making the effort to convince Tywin, he should have known he wasn't going to let the Mountain go so easily.
"Ser Gregor strikes terror into the heart of our enemies," Tywin explained. "And I remain convinced your efforts to bring Dorne into the fold will bear fruit."
"You understand that disobeying a direct order could be construed as treason," Matthew kept his voice even.
"By all means, try to have me locked in the Black Cells," Tywin stared him down. Matthew refused to break under his gaze, but admitted he didn't yet have the power to force Tywin to do anything. "Your Grace, as your Master of War, it is my duty to serve you. That includes protecting you from your own poor decisions."
"If we make no attempt to mend fences, Dorne will stab us in the back at the first opportunity."
"No doubt, but are you naïve enough to believe handing Clegane over will soothe their anger? I gave it some thought, I admit. However, that will only be a display of weakness on our part and that I will not allow. Dorne will not be satisfied by such a gesture."
"Your Grace, perhaps you can wait for a more opportune moment," Pycelle suggested. "Having Arianne travel to the Capital will prove their sincerity. If they arrive, you can revisit the issue."
"Is there any sign of them leaving?" Matthew wondered.
"Not at the present time, Your Grace," Master of Whisperers Addam Jova shook his head. Matthew needed a replacement for Varys and he came recommended by Tywin. While undeniably competent, Jova did not possess the same reach. In contrast to Varys, Jova was a muscle-bound man standing nearly six feet tall.
"Notify me the instant that changes," Matthew ordered.
"If there is a marriage alliance, you will have convinced me this plot of yours will work," Tywin interjected. "Only then will I release Ser Gregor to the Martells. They bear no love for us, but neither have they assembled troops against us."
They're waiting for Daenerys. Saying as much would get him dismissed, so Matthew kept silent. "My only realistic choices for Queen are either Margaery or Arianne. Both have their choices, chief among them being both houses are or were our enemies."
"You could always marry both women, as Aegon the Conqueror did," Tyrion quipped.
"If you have nothing productive to say, be silent," Tywin snapped. "Both present problems, and no one else is powerful enough to have anything of value. The Starks are unlikely to agree to a unification that will end the war."
"Perhaps we can send the proposal anyway," Matthew suggested. "Sansa certainly seems willing." He had no intention of sleeping with her, at least not until she got a little older, but. . . if necessary, he'd do it.
"I'd love to see Robb's face when he reads the letter," Tyrion laughed. "It wouldn't be the first time a marriage was used to mend ties between two enemies."
"Stark is stubborn and will reject the idea out of hand," Tywin pointed out.
"The Tyrells will not send troops on our behalf unless Margaery becomes Queen," Tyrion warned. "Nothing else will be sufficient: myself, Jaime, or Cersei. It will have to be you, Your Grace."
"So long as they do not join the Starks. Have the guards on each sibling doubled. I wouldn't put it past the Queen of Thorns to attempt a rescue." Tywin gave Matthew a nod of approval. "Perhaps we can arrange to have the Tyrells and Martells together, remind them of their old hatred."
"If they start slaughtering each other in King's Landing, the effort will be pointless. That will spark a war, meaning neither Kingdom will be in a position to assist us."
"Or oppose us," Matthew offered a counterpoint. The Reach would be the kingmaker so they had to be kept from making an alliance with the Starks.
"I trust we will be able to prevent open bloodshed," Tywin spoke. They argued about it for a while longer before deciding it was worth the risk to have both families in King's Landing.
If my gamble with the Martells goes badly, I'll need Highgarden to counter them. Perhaps Storm's End as well, if Stannis decides to join me. He hadn't heard from the man in months, with Stannis Baratheon still in Dragonstone. What he would ultimately do, Matthew had no idea.
"Pycelle, what can you tell me about the orders I required?" Matthew referred to commanding handwashing for all Maesters and Midwifes.
"Your Grace, the number of infants who have died fell only moderately," Pycelle handed Matthew his report. "However, considering the hardship we recently endured, I am astonished that they fell at all."
"Suppose I couldn't have expected miracles." Matthew knew it wouldn't solve malnutrition, accidents, or the problems having half a million people clustered in a mere 12 square miles brought.
"The impact on mothers was considerably greater, however." Pycelle continued. Matthew looked through the pages, seeing the difference between expected and actual survival levels. "Deaths fell by more than half."
"Huh, it's almost as if I knew what I was talking about," Matthew scoffed. "Send orders to. . . Casterly Rock and begin the implementation." He turned to Tywin and added: "Highgarden's greatest advantage is that they can raise twice as many troops as any of their rivals. Lowering death rates in the Westerlands will help neutralize that advantage."
"Are we going to have enough food?" Tyrion worried.
Good chance we won't. Reducing infant mortality was likely to lead to a Malthusian catastrophe, at least in Westeros. There were still times it amazed Matthew how civilization survive at all. Little grew in winter, necessitating everyone to take full advantage of summer. Amazingly, they were able to do it with a three-field system.
"It will amplify the power of House Lannister," Tywin declared. Possible famine of his people meant nothing if it increased the power of the Westerlands. "You will not reveal this to the Maesters at large, Pycelle." He nodded, obedient as ever.
Have to bow to my circumstances. Matthew hoped to implement a four-field rotation and seed drills as well, but his knowledge of crops was not encyclopedic. And there was no guarantee soil-nurturing and soil-depleting crops were the same as back on Earth. Nor did he have the luxury of experimenting around in the middle of a war. Once he'd managed to defeat his enemies, perhaps then it would be possible.
He had already accepted he wasn't going to be able to fix everything in Westeros. Some problems were simply too complex for any meaningful solution and he was only one man.
Their debates continued until Matthew took his leave, realizing he was already late for training the peasants. He rushed down the stairs and entered the armory, allowing his squires to put on his gambeson and armor. The rest of the day would likely be spent preparing them for the coming battles. Hopefully, I'll be able to start arming them with muskets soon.
Before heading outside the gates of King's Landing, he assembled some of the Lannister cavalry occupying the city. His men needed to learn how to counter them if they wanted any hope of survival. By the time Matthew galloped outside the gates, most of his trainees were already assembled, complete with spears and pikes. Before he could open his mouth, everyone got to one knee and swore loyalty to Matthew.
They're definitely getting there. Matthew evaluated his troops. Many were still assembled for the promise of pay alone, but an increasing number stared at him with true adulation, particularly the younger men and boys.
Matthew pushed back his guilt and began with the usual military drills. Few had any trouble forming up and breaking apart, working together in a single unit. Here and there, he corrected them whenever he spotted a problem, keeping his voice stern but encouraging.
"Today, we're going to be starting something new," Matthew gestured to the horsemen behind him. "Now you might be wondering why I brought some cavalry out here. Well, today, everything you've learned so far is going to be tested."
His men looked at each other nervously, some of the Lannisters looking downright eager to get in grips with them. Matthew knew he had limited time to get them ready for what it would truly be like out there. As an aside, he mentioned to the Lannister in charge: "I trust you can keep your men from actually colliding into them. I don't want to lose any men before the fighting even begins."
"I will see to it, Your Grace," Addam Marbrand promised. From what Matthew remembered, he was one of the Lannisters who was both decent and competent.
He rode his horse until he was seven hundred meters away from the spear formation. "I think this is far enough," Matthew announced, raising his Warhammer. "Charge!"
Matthew galloped at full speed, hoping he would be able to stop his horse in time. At five hundred meters, he could make out individuals in the crowd. No one had retreated yet, but he was sure they were terrified. Not that he blamed them. Five hundred horsemen galloping at full speed was a terrifying foe for anyone who lacked discipline.
At two hundred and fifty meters, the first spears were dropped. This is going to be close. . . Matthew gripped the reins, focusing on his mission. Several seconds before they would have been upon them, spears were thrown down and his men scattered. The majority held firm, but the gaps would have been more than enough to break the lines had it been a real battle.
"Woah!" Matthew called out for his horse to stop a mere fifteen meters in front of his troops. He sniffed with the realization that at least a few of them had soiled themselves.
Others were less successful, four of the horsemen slamming into the line before their riders were able to stop. Those he was training had held firm, pikes piercing the horse's flesh. One rider had the horse collapse onto his leg, shattering it.
"Get him to a Maester," Matthew pointed in two random directions. He doubted the man would keep that leg, but hoped it would emphasize his point. One horse had been killed immediately, with the second being given a mercy kill.
Once the commotion was over, Matthew addressed his men. "If we'd been a real enemy, you would have been torn apart! Cavalry can run much faster than you; no way in hell can they be outrun! But if you hold firm, keep your spears ready, the only thing they'll accomplish is slaughtering themselves! Those of you spineless enough to flee, move to the left!"
While most feared physical punishment, Matthew opted to have them continue basic drills instead. Balon saw to their training, while he worked with those who were able to stand their ground.
Good thing I didn't put them through a flanking attack. Matthew doubted any of them were capable of withstanding that. They had a long way to go. Most of all, he had to make sure his troops wouldn't break at a cavalry charge, especially when the flanks were attacked. A frontal assault could be held, but he doubted Robb would be so foolish.
His crossbowmen were progressing best of all. Matthew knew better than most the difference between hitting a target and killing someone on a battlefield, but he was proud nonetheless. Once they were equipped with muskets, there wouldn't be a single army in the Seven Kingdoms who could face him.
XXXXXXXXXX
"We're not going to be able to take King's Landing," Robb collapsed into his chair. It wasn't something he wanted to inform his men about, not yet. He'd gone through every strategy, from the plausible to the desperate. And it couldn't be done. Reinforcements from the Vale would be enough to hold off any attempts at Harrenhal, but taking the offensive was another matter.
They're going to be expecting a strategy from me soon, Robb understood. He'd yet to lose a battle and despite the problems in the North, most still believed in him. Robb listened to the cheers, with many proclaiming King's Landing was ripe for the taking.
He wished he could be so optimistic. Robb knew his forces were dwindling while the Lannisters were recovering. He could not count on Stannis' efforts weakening the Lannisters, especially after Bolton informed him Stannis and Joffrey were trading terms for a possible alliance.
A creak from the door sparked Robb's attention, looking up from his maps. "Is this a bad time?" Theon inquired.
"No, what can I do for you?" Robb shook his head, happy to see a friendly face.
"Just interested to hear plans for your next victory," Theon smirked. Robb's guards watched him with barely-disguised loathing. Robb had to keep watch constantly, else Theon was likely to have his throat cut in the middle of the night.
"King's Landing is going to be a long-term goal," Robb didn't want to admit the full truth. "I'm not foolish enough to send my men into a siege when they outnumber us. We could live off the land for a while, but we have no Navy to speak of. No, I'm going to have to try something unconventional."
"You've gotten us this far, Robb," Theon spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Each time, you've been outnumbered, but you still won. Once that bastard's off the Throne, we'll have a proper King."
"Would have been easier if your father hadn't decided to stab me in the back," Robb's frustration flooded through him. He knew it wasn't Theon's fault, but it didn't stop his rage from manifesting.
"My father's dead to me now," Theon declared. After so callously risking his life, he'd learned better than to show loyalty to someone who held him in such low regard.
"The longer this goes on, the weaker we get," Robb confessed. "More men are leaving every day, either to defend their homes or for the harvest. Winter's going to be worse than it's been in decades, thanks to all the crops being burned. I need to end this war now, lure Joffrey's forces out and destroy them." With nearly 150 Leagues between Harrenhal and King's Landing, however, that was no easy task.
"We could send a few people into the city, kill Joffrey, and get Sansa out of there," Theon suggested. "Every city's got weak points and they can't watch everyone."
"I've considered that many times," and was still unsure. Sansa would be executed if any mistakes were made and he would not risk his sister's safety.
"I'll go," Theon offered. "It'd still be safer for me than with your bannermen."
"Have you ever been to King's Landing?" Robb scoffed. Very few of his men had, another reason why he didn't send them. Rescuing Sansa would have to go smoothly, else it would lead to her death.
"No, I haven't," Theon conceded.
"They can't conquer us, not in Harrenhal," Robb had spent much of his free time learning the ins and outs of the castle, putting more emphasis on it since the Kingslayer's escape. It wasn't nearly as secure as its reputation suggested, not with the destruction Balerion unleashed three centuries prior. Too many gaps and not enough men to fill them. "So long as we hold here, we're still in the fight."
But how to lure Joffrey out? Robb knew Tywin would not be so foolish, but perhaps the boy would be. The letter he'd received from the Queen of Thorns informed him no alliance would be forthcoming, not unless he could crush the Lannisters once again. Otherwise, Olenna Tyrell would not risk her grandchildren's life.
Whatever he did, he would have to act quickly. Already some of his bannermen went North to fight against Mance Rayder. However skilled Robb was, he knew he couldn't fight against an enemy on all fronts.
"As long as we're still fighting, Joffrey hasn't won," Robb declared. The Crown received no revenue from either the North, Riverlands, or the Vale. That alone would weaken their efforts.
Despite his massive army, Robb wasn't worried about Mance. The wildlings had numbers and were brave enough, but possessed almost no discipline. Reinforcing the Night's Watch would be more than enough to hold them back.
A few men will travel far faster than an army. Robb mused. Assassination might have been a dishonorable tactic, one his father would have frowned at, but he'd do anything to rescue his sister. Send some men to free Sansa as top priority, but kill Joffrey if the opportunity presents itself.
"Theon, I want you to lead a group of my best men to get Sansa out of King's Landing," Robb eventually decided. It was risky, but with the Kingslayer no longer in his hands, Sansa was helpless. "Seeing a familiar face should convince you it's the real thing."
"I won't fail you, I promise," Theon agreed.
"Patience will be important here, and you must be sure before you take her. There will be no second chances." Robb stood up, wanting to make sure Theon understood him. It was his real goal, in any case. He couldn't care less about the Iron Throne.
"There are a few people here who know the city, and gold will convince others to help us," Theon added.
"Search for hidden entrances into the Red Keep; perhaps there are some by sea. Take all the gold you need, and do not waste it on whorehouses."
"I may enjoy female company, but I will not do anything to risk our sister's safety." Theon gripped Robb's hand. "I swear by the old Gods, I will bring Sansa back to you."
XXXXXXXXXX
"I'm getting a little weary of your lack of progress," Matthew looked over the Flintlocks. He counted only eighty-one, but he needed thousands. "Are these functional, at least?"
"I have tested each one myself, Your Grace." Gian pointed to breastplates that were positioned near the brick wall. Each one possessed several bullet holes, parts of brick blasted away from the wall. "The trigger mechanism is difficult to duplicate with the information you gave me, but the weapons are effective."
"Great; how long until I can start equipping my army with them?" Matthew held his temper back. He was tired of waiting for his new weapons.
Gian frowned, looking away from Matthew. "Out with it! I can already tell you're not going to be giving me good news."
"Assuming everything goes well. . . four years, likely five." Gian admitted.
"Five years?" Matthew coughed. He knew there were some stumbling blocks, but he'd hoped they would be solved faster than that.
"And I am speaking optimistically. If we run into complications, or short on funds, it will take longer. We are doing everything in our power, Your Grace. That I promise you."
"Do you have any good news for me?"
"Some. Training of the acolytes is going well and as of yet, we have had no disasters. The gold you offered has proven a terrific incentive."
"Do you have a timeline when I can at least be able to equip some of my troops with these things? Say, the ones I'm training?" Matthew didn't know if muskets could do anything against more dangerous enemies like the Others. All the same, it was something worth an attempt.
"Perhaps two years, if funds and trained individuals increase in number." Gian informed.
"In that case, I'll have to make do." Matthew considered threatening them to move faster, but his alliance with Braavos was crucial. He needed those weapons sooner, especially against the two enemies that would destroy the continent if they weren't stopped. "It's still an advantage my enemies don't have." At least for now.
Efforts to produce more wildfire were going far more quickly. After the Blackwater battle, Matthew had taken over authority from Tyrion, ensuring he had a steady supply. An additional two thousand jars had been manufactured and some of the Gold Cloaks had become competent enough with trebuchets to use wildfire.
Okay, I'd better operate on the assumption that I have no advanced weaponry. How do I beat Robb Stark? Matthew would have preferred to wait him out and let the boy's political mistakes destroy him. He was more competent than what he remembered, but Robb was still out of his depth. He defeated unprepared enemies, but Robb hasn't faced me yet.
Between training his personal troops, checking up on his attempts at building firearms, and working on his own skill, Matthew had little time for governing the Seven kingdoms. He'd been forced to delegate more of that job to Tywin. Whatever else could be said about the man, Tywin was a competent administrator.
Each day, Matthew noted and complimented his troops' progress. A few had died of disease, but his ranks were swelling. Swearing loyalty was scarcely necessary now, although Matthew went through the motions anyway. By last count, he possessed more than 4,000, nearly as many as remained in King's Landing's Gold Cloaks.
His men could now hold the line at cavalry charges, at least during exercises. Flanking attempts were still a weakness, as it was to any slow-moving formation. Matthew hoped his own horsemen could screen them, but in case of any breaches, his soldiers had to know how to respond.
Fortunately, they would have Lannister bannermen assisting them and combined, Matthew could meet with Robb on even terms. Tywin didn't say as much, but Bolton was likely already working against him.
You've got to destroy Stark now. So long as his army exists, it will be a threat. Matthew was unsure whether that was his voice or another's. He knew it wasn't Joffrey's at least. I'm getting very tired of people playing in my head; makes this damn job even harder.
Two weeks later, Matthew received a letter from Stannis Baratheon, the first he'd heard from the man in months. Locking his chambers, he ripped the letter open and read the contents.
Joffrey:
I grow weary of inconsistent correspondence and vague promises. If you wish to speak further, meet me and my Hand Davos Seaworth at Duskendale. You must come yourself; I will not speak through messengers.
It is only at Melisandre's insistence that I continue writing these letters. She believes you will be crucial for the war to come against our great enemy.
I want to see my brother's body. Despite his treason, he was a Baratheon and I intend to treat him as such.
Refusal to comply with my demands or an attempt to delay this meeting will result in negotiations being terminated. I will thereafter consider you my enemy, whether you be Joffrey or a mummer wearing his skin.
Stannis Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms
Suppose it's too much to ask for him to stop calling himself King. Matthew threw the letter into the fire. He could leave the very next day, with the only concern being the Lannisters' disfunction. Balon could train the men in his stead.
And his efforts were beginning to bear fruit at last. Stannis was still not accepting his terms, but a willingness to meet in person meant Matthew was getting close.
XXXXXXXXXX
"You can't seriously be considering this!" Oberyn paced around. "After what they did to Elia and the children, you're willing to. . . form an alliance!"
Doran let his brother pace and fume, knowing there was little point in trying to reason with the Red Viper of Dorne until he had time to calm down. He'd had far too many interactions with Oberyn to use any other approach. However much both would like to see Gregor and Amory suffer for their actions, they would have to be patient.
"Of course not, brother," Doran responded. "Do you think merely handing me the men who carried out the order will be enough to make things right? I've been waiting for seventeen years. I can wait a while longer."
The instant war broke out, his bannermen called on Doran to march his troops to King's Landing and butcher the Lannisters inside. He'd held them back, knowing Dorne was not yet ready for such a conflict. Many cursed him, a few calling him a coward to his face, more saying so behind his back.
It bothered him not at all. Oberyn had said worse on a regular basis, eager to avenge his sister. "But it provides us with an opportunity," Doran explained.
"What do you mean?"
"We'll play along for now, let them think we're considering a marriage alliance. You will go to King's Landing and represent me in my stead. Take Arianne as well."
"I'd love to see the look on Tywin's face when he realizes I'm there," Oberyn smirked. "Have him come face to face with his crimes."
"I trust you'll be able to behave yourself." Doran gave a stern look. "Consider the offer, but make no definite promises. Draw this out as long as you can." Doran was tempted despite himself to make the match. His daughter would be Queen and his grandchildren would one day sit on the Iron Throne.
But he would be spitting on Elia's memory if he allowed ambition to get in the way of his vengeance. "And if I see Gregor or Lorch there?"
"Keep yourself under control; we aren't ready for war yet." Doran knew the levels of his hypocrisy. He did not believe he would be able to do it, despite being crippled by gout. "They are just mad dogs. I want the heads of everyone who gave them orders."
"Brother. . . should we truly send Arianne there? Even not taking the Lannisters into consideration, they think little of us. I do not wish to see any harm come to her."
"There's no one I trust more to protect her than you," Doran assured. "Both of us have waited half a lifetime to inflict our vengeance. That time is almost upon us."
"Then why do you not let us march north to King's Landing and destroy the Lannisters now?" Oberyn snapped, his temper getting the better of him. "I am getting weary of plans and schemes, while Elia's soul calls out for vengeance! Our men can more than equal Tywin's brutes and knaves! You have been promising revenge for far too long! By the time your plans are complete, Tywin will be dead and beyond our reach!"
"Have you ever wondered about that, Oberyn?" Doran kept his voice even. It was getting harder all the time to hold his brother and bannermen back. Once the war began, it took everything he had not to have them march North of their own accord. "Were there even a slight chance of victory, I would call the banners and attack now.
"Unfortunately, we do not have the strength to triumph on our own. I will not throw their lives away in a losing cause." Doran knew Dorne's perception of strength was the only thing keeping them safe. Were it lost, they wouldn't last long. Ironically, resisting Aegon's forces in the way they did had greatly bolstered their reputation. "But circumstances are turning in our favor."
"As you've been telling me for many years," Oberyn snarled, face contorted in rage.
"I promise you, every Lannister will be dead by the time my plans are finished. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, Tywin will live to see his legacy destroyed."
"Even. . . the children?" Oberyn turned his head, anger replaced with shock. "Tommen and Myrcella?"
"They showed no mercy to my niece and nephew; I will show none in turn." Doran chuckled at his brother's shock. "Why the hesitation? You've been demanding revenge since you were a young man."
"Yes, but. . ."
"We will wipe them out to the last. The Lannisters will cease to exist, as will those they ordered to commit such crimes."
"As always, I'm at your service." Oberyn nodded his agreement.
"Remember: best not to tell Arianne of what we're doing. I love my daughter, but she's never been one for plots. Tell her of the arrangement and that we're bringing her to King's Landing to learn if Joffrey is a man worthy of her."
Watching his brother depart, Doran knew he couldn't tell him the last portion of his plan. Not what I had expected, but it'll work out in our favor after all. Unlike most, Doran knew Tywin didn't underestimate him.
But no one in Westeros was paying attention or preparing for Daenerys Targaryen. Her hatching three dragons wasn't what Doran had anticipated, having originally intended to marry Arianne to Viserys.
Perhaps it was for the best it did not happen. Doran had soon discovered the boy inherited his father's madness, and would have been incapable of commanding an army. But Daenerys was different. With three dragons at her side, once they were grown, no one would be able to stand against her. Combined with Targaryen loyalists, the Lannisters would not hold the Iron Throne long.
XXXXXXXXXX
Roose Bolton burned the letter he received from Tywin Lannister, watching it burn until there was nothing left. Fortunately, the man knew how to circumvent what passed for Stark's intelligence and none of his men were foolish enough to try and read his mail.
There was the potential for gain, but Roose did not yet decide to act. Despite Robb's naivete, he had managed to win every single battle. His bastard was assembling cutthroats in the North to fight against the wildlings, ones that could turn on Stark bannermen should it prove necessary.
The odds were against him, however. Robb was stuck where he was, even with assistance from the Vale. Most from the Riverlands had already left to protect their homeland. What remained could not take King's Landing, but were still able to destroy the Lannister Army.
If Robb faltered in his campaign, Roose could betray him and become the new Warden of the North. If Robb continued to win and took King's Landing, he would be given a higher position thanks to his service. Either way, he would come up ahead.