Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, Man without Honour

An east wind blew through his luscious locks, as soft as his sweet sister's hands, but far more than a sight chilly, though he supposed that Cersei was well enough capable of matching it with her eyes. There were no birds singing, but the air was yet abuzz with noise, as the steady droning of oars sweeping through the placid ocean carried through it.

He was not at the Nightfort where he had initially made his seat, in the seven-forsaken land that was the Wall, but of today he was to accompany the Master of Ships, Lord Stannis Baratheon the Glum, First of his Name, on his grand mission to sink wildling rafts and haphazardly constructed longships.

It was not his first choice, no, that would be back at King's Landing with my sweet sister lest the drunk harass her too much, thought Jaime bitterly, but his position as a member of the Kingsguard meant that he had no say in what he would do, whereas the heir of Lord Tywin Lannister would most definitely have had some.

The white cloak had been his dream for many years, for he had never been one for ruling, but he had served two rulers, and both were complete disappointments. What had once been the cream of knighthood, filled with heroes and legends, had been reduced to an order filled with sycophants and moderately skilled tourney-knights. Of his current brothers, only Ser Barristan and Mandon Moore were of great skill, with Boros Blount being only skilled in tourneys, where it were three-quarters horsemanship, and Preston Greenfield a passable soldier, but no warrior.

Meryn Trant was the worst of the lot, unskilled with sword, spear, lance, or any other weapon; though Arys Oakheart was near the same. The Oakheart boy was a good sword, there was nothing amiss about that, Jaime thought, but that one thinks with his cock, another Lucamore the Lusty in the making, had been Jaime's assessment, and every glance out of the corner of his eye that the White Knight had given to a serving wench proved it well enough.

He strode towards the front of the ship, Fury as it was called, that Lord Stannis called his flag-ship, over the venerable but aged ship named after his gregarious older brother, King Robert's Hammer. And doing so, he was mildly surprised to see that there appeared to be two small vessels a bit ahead of their ship. He trained his eyes yet again, and found that one appeared to be a fishing skiff, and the other a longship.

It was a boy, one of Stannis' squires, Jaime recalled who spoke then, "Must be a wildling longship raiding one of their own fishing vessels.", and Jaime inclined his head sideways, and responded, "And why would they want to raid one of their one?"

The boy bobbed his head up and down momentarily, and bit his lip, as if unaccustomed to speaking to Knights and Lords, before speaking, "The wildlings are not all the same like us my lord, they're of man tribes, and they raid each other as often as they harry the Northmen or the Night's Watch."

Jaime chuckled, "Lord Stannis has been teaching you, I suppose, if you know so much about these savages so soon. Atleast he can't complain about your diligence." And before the boy could respond, mortified as he looked, it was Stannis' voice which rang out, "I have instructed Devan as according to his abilities, and much like his father, he shows signs that he will serve his liege lord to my satisfaction, Ser Kingslayer."

Jaime turned around slowly, and cocked his head at Stannis, "So he's the smuggler's get then? An Onion Boy for a Lord of the Island of Obsidian, truly the Seven love their japes." And as he expected, there was the grinding of teeth that rang through the air from Stannis' mouth in response, "A Lord of Obsidian I may be, Kingslayer, but I cannot be said to be without honour."

And Jaime was mildly annoyed at this before speaking, "Very well, what does the Master of Ships plan to do with the two ships cavorting about the water ahead of us?"

And Stannis responded evenly, his eyes boring into Jaime's own, "Black Betha and the Lionstar shall deal with them. Wildling or not, a poor fisherman should not suffer the depredations of raiders."

Jaime chuckled loud, "The fish and onions you received at the Siege of Storm's End, have made you gain a fondness for Onion Smugglers and Fishermen it would seem, but very well, there is justice in saving helpless fishermen after all."

Stannis clenched his jaw and spoke no more, but Jaime observed the King's brother, a year junior to the king, and two years his senior. Stannis was a tall man, as tall as his brother, but not as… well-bodied. The Lord of Dragonstone was gaunt, but there was no weakness in this gauntness. His thin hands were muscled as cords of wood, and Jaime wagered if he had ever put on more weight he might have been a fearsome swordsman.

Gregor Clegane was said to be the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms, but Robert Baratheon in his prime was Gregor writ small, if six and a half feet could be considered small. He had only seen him then in a few tourneys, but he had been muscled like a maiden's fantasy, and could very well put a horse to sleep with a punch. There was something about the Baratheons that gave them unnatural strength even with their height. Perhaps it was that they could claim descent from both the Dragonlords, doubly so if Orys was truly a half-brother of Aegon the Conqueror, as well as the Storm Kings of Legend that gave them their freakish strength.

Jaime mused, that even Renly, who liked to be buggered rather than do the buggering, was perfectly capable of swinging a large Warhammer that would have taken Jaime an absurd amount of effort to lift, with ease. Stannis, though still somewhat young, was losing an awful lot of hair, as it were receding from the front, into what Jaime thought, resembled the shadow of a crown.

Jaime spoke, "It is a curious thing, Lord Stannis, that we share so many similarities." And Stannis looked at him yet again, with a jaw clenched so hard that it were about to shatter, but Jaime laughed at this and continued, "Yes, I am the Queen's brother, and you are the King's. And we both have the misfortune of being ordered around by our beloved siblings, no?"

But before Jaime could continue, Stannis spoke yet again, "Whatever you may think are the rest of our similarities, Kingslayer, there lies a key difference between us. My honour is intact, and I broke no oaths."

Jaime had had enough, and so he spoke, arrogance dancing through every syllable he spoke, "No? You were the Lord of the Stormlands in all but name, and in declaring for your brother, your broke your oath of fealty to the King, no? Are you not a oathbreaker as well?"

Stannis did not clench his jaw or grind his teeth this time, to Jaime's astonishment, but spoke, "I did my duty to my family, and chose it over my duty to King Aerys." But Jaime responded blithely, "I would have expected a better defence from he who the realm claims is the foremost servant of justice and duty. Aerys was your own uncle, your father's cousin, as well as your liege ruler, what you did was choose a brother over an uncle, not your family over your ruler; and so even a child would tell you that you claiming to have done your duty to your family is an excuse as poor as piss."

Stannis growled, "Poor you may call it, but I did not kill my uncle as he was seated on the throne, nor was I complicit in the murders of Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon as well, all for the want of saving my own neck rather than die as a white-cloak."

And this was the last straw for Jaime, for the murders of Elia and her children yet rankled him, for it reminded him of his failed promise to Rhaegar to look after them, and so he growled angrily, "Draw your sword. You are as much an oath-breaker as I am, and I shall duel you until you accept the same, lest you are a craven."

Stannis it would seem was no craven, and so he drew his sword, already being garbed in plate and mail, much the same as Jaime himself, and so Jaime drew his own sword, while the squire, Devan scampered away to the far side of the galley lest he make a nuisance of himself. The men manning the oars watched from the ship, no doubt pleased at finding a modicum of entertainment as a respite from their duty, while the crownlander soldiers merely watched in amusement, though they would no doubt intervene if anything untoward were to happen.

It was Stannis who swung first, and to Jaime's surprise, he was faster than Jaime had thought he would be, but Jaime was faster still, and so his own longsword met Stannis' sword with a resounding clank. Jaime's white cloak billowed in the wind as he prepared for the dance of swords.

It was a flurry of steel and a collection of cacophonic sounds, as their weapons clashed against each other with frightening speed. Fuck, he's better than I thought he'd be, thought Jaime, as he swung his sword to intercept a swing from Stannis aimed at his feet, and carried the momentum from the parry into the left shoulder-guard, where it connected with a satisfying thunk.

If Stannis felt pain, he did not express it with so much as a grunt, as a mailed fist sailed from the hilt of his sword into Jaime's un-helmeted face. Jaime's long locks may have fluttered across his face, but they did nothing to protect him from the force of the blow, and so Jaime jumped backwards, and hawked a glob of blood as he spat. He could feel his lips swell, and so in rage, he slashed at Stannis' face with immense speed, to which the Master of Ships barely reacted in time, dodging out of the way at the last second.

But a wave of blood spurted out, and Jaime was satisfied to see that there was a slash across the man's left cheek dripping blood. And so once again they connected swords again and again, but it was Jaime who was getting the better of it, for his skill was superior still.

For a man who has a repute as one who commands from the rear, he's no less a sword than the White Bull, thought Jaime, but Gerold Hightower and Stannis Baratheon shared only one advantage over Jaime, and that was of strength.

If Stannis had the same musculature as Robert in his prime, perhaps he would be even stronger still, and actually something for Jaime to worry about but as he was now, it would only be a fight of moderate difficulty for Jaime to deal with. As Stannis' sword came down from upwards in a high slash, Jaime swung at Stannis' legs, in a riposte, forcing the man to abandon the attack and jump backwards.

Stannis was tiring, clearly not used to duelling for so long, and with little practice, regardless of his strength and skill, for Stannis never participated in melees or tourneys. And as Jaime landed four more blows all over the plate, it was only a matter of time, to outlast the Baratheon to secure a yield.

Just as he swung again, connecting with Stannis' sword for the umpteenth time, a sailor shrieked, "By the Father, what the fuck is that?" And both Stannis and Jaime dropped their swords down and looked in the direction that the sailor pointed in, Jaime noted that the two ships that had been sent to rescue the fishing skiff had arrived near the fleet yet again, with the skiff following close behind them.

But the longship had decided it was wiser to outrun its pursuers and had decided to make north, and in doing so, had aroused the outcry amongst the sailors, for what had surfaced next to it could only be a Leviathan.

It easily measured atleast forty metres, twice the size of any ordinary whale, but the shocking thing was not the beast, for Leviathans were common enough, but what was coiled around it. Coiled around it was a bright blue beast that very much resembled a snake, but was as long as the whale, if not longer, but not larger, no. It's face however, resembled the dragon skulls he had seen when they were still hung in Aerys' court, though it was covered in flesh, scales, and sinew, and locked in a roar as it bit at the Leviathan and so he whispered, "A fucking sea dragon?" at which Stannis barked, "It would seem the Maesters need not consider the beasts myths no more."

The Sea Dragon must have been particularly hungry to seek the Leviathan as prey, and not a smaller whale, but the Leviathan would not prostrate itself as an offering, as it thrashed about wildly, instantly crushing the longship, and sending waves towards the fleet. Stannis barked orders about, and so they began to anchor the ships.

But it was needless, for the Leviathan dived yet again, taking its companion with it, no doubt to continue their fight underwater. It was a sailor who broke the silence, "The Seven must be watching over us, if we weren't sunk by those beasts instead. Maybe the Ironborn would be pleased to learn that some of their myths may be true."

Jaime spoke, recalling something Tyrion had told him, back when his little brother still harboured an obsession with dragons, "A dragon grows throughout its lifetime, provided it has enough food, and is given the domain of the skies. Perhaps a Sea Dragon is much the same?"

Stannis looked at him again, the same iron ferocity in his eyes, and spoke, "Do you yield, Ser?" and in half an heartbeat, Jaime raised his sword and placed it on the man's shoulder, its edge resting on the man's neck and it would seem Stannis had the same idea, for he too had done the same.

Jaime chuckled, "It would seem it is a draw, Lord Stannis. I tire of duelling you, it bores me so. Perhaps if you ever decided to eat… some food, and gained some weight, it would have been an interesting match."

Stannis gritted his teeth, before speaking, "It is a draw, Kingslayer, and you remain an oath-breaker." And Jaime growled, "If a King commands you to take your own father's head, while his Hand prepared to burn half a million souls, would you stand by and allow it to happen, Baratheon?"

It would seem Stannis was actually surprised, as he spoke, "The Pyromancers? Robert should have drowned them. How did they plan to burn the city?"

Jaime laughed, a mirthless laugh, as he spoke, "How would the Mad King burn anyone? Wildfire, Baratheon. Rossart and his cronies buried who knows how many thousands of pots across the city. BURN THEM ALL! BURN THEM ALL!, he shouted. Kingslayer, you call me. Oathbreaker, you call me. Man without honour, you call me. And what a King he was. I slew Rossart and then the King, or Robert would have been the King of Ashes."

Stannis frowned, as he continued, "The crisis was averted when you slew the Pyromancer then, for he could never have signalled the rest of his order. You could have merely restrained Aerys, what was the need to kill him? But you did your duty to the realm, and forsook your duty to the King… perhaps there are some similarities between us, Kingslayer. But what of the wildfire pots?"

Jaime frowned, "My lord father had the ones in the Red Keep carefully removed, when I told him of their existence."

Stannis scowled, "And of the rest? What did you do?" to which Jaime shrugged as he responded, "I suppose they're still littered about the city." Stannis' face darkened as he spoke, "It would seem, once we return to the city, we shall be having words about the locations of these pots lest the city burn due to an ill-thrown match. And it would seem, you needs must spread the truth about your kingslaying."

Jaime shrugged, but they were interrupted yet again by the Lionstar and the fishing skiff finding themselves bestride the Fury. Stannis barked his orders to the captain, and over the next few minutes, the three wildlings on the fishing skiff were brought up to the deck of the ship.

It was the oddest trio of wildlings Jaime had ever seen, but then again he had not seen many wildling trios that were not trying to kill him or run from him during the rangings he had ventured upon. One was a woman clad in studded furs and brandishing a spear, obviously a spearwife, another was a haggard old woman whose clothes were covered in dirt and whose hair was in odd clumps, with soil and leaves between them, and the final one was a burly man who had about him, the air of a fisherman, including the smell.

Before either Jaime or Stannis could speak, the old woman looked right into Jaime's eyes in a manner that unnerved him, for though she was looking at him, in truth it were as if she was looking through him, at his very soul, before speaking "A golden hand rising from the ice, holding a sword, or is it a ghoul who chases his own reflection carnally? In the end, shall it be One King or Two, or mayhaps three? Mother Mole likes this one. Oh, she likes him very much. Hair of beaten gold, at heart a stumbling colt is this one."

Jaime was unnerved by what she said, for it were almost as if this wildling woman…. Mother Mole as she called herself possessed knowledge about himself and his sister and it was improbable that they knew of him being the Kingslayer. But then Stannis grinded his teeth, and at this the woman turned towards him, matching his iron stare with her own, and saying, "Oh this one is split in twain. I see a crowned man hanging from a burning tree to the left, a broken sword blinding all who come near in hand, and to the right I see a warrior of light, one who would be the iron talons of a dragon's claw. Oh my, Mother Mole has not seen any like these two in years, maybe never."

Stannis growled, "You chatter like a magpie, and with less sense. I shall assume you are Mother Mole, unless that refers to a deity you pray to." The Stag turned to the fisherman and asked him, "You are a motley trio for fishermen, even for wildlings, what were you doing here?"

The spearwife spoke, "We free-folk go where we wish, but Mother Mole bid me take her to Jeg-Leg here, she had an important vision that demanded she come here." Stannis clenched his jaw, almost as if he were unaccustomed of talking to women before he spoke, "I have had enough of your baseless superstitions and senseless portents. I shall never wear a crown, nor do I own a sword that produces light, so begone."

And taking the cue, the fisherman and the two women were again despatched to their skiff, and as they sailed back to the shore, But all the way, Mother Mole was cackling, "Oh yes, when you are faced with the demons of the crossroads, you would do well to remember dear old Mother Mole. Oh yes."

When they'd left the deck of the ship, Jaime exhaled a quiet breath of relief, glad to be done with the insane woman. And he observed that Stannis, while not perturbed, appeared to be contemplative, as if he were thinking about something strange.

Jaime spoke, trying to hide how unnerved he was by making the same arrogance flow through his voice, as he spoke, "You know, Stannis, there was a king like you once." And he brushed his hand through his hair so as to dislodge the ice that had formed all of a sudden.

Stannis growled, the iron ferocity in his eyes threatening to bore through Jaime's skull "Was there, Kingslayer?" with his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.

Jaime chuckled, though an image of a golden hand clawing through layers of ice as well as a man hanging from a burning tree flitted through his mind as he spoke, "Yes, I believe he was called Maekar."

====================X====================

The Queen of Thorns

Olenna was having a good day, not that'd she show it in any way except mildly decrease the intensity of her ribbings, but it was good nonetheless. And so she was reading a book in her room with her beloved grand-daughter Margaery with her, when her beloved oaf of a son, Mace had requested her to meet with him. Requested indeed, the pumpkin headed fool, she thought, but if anything atleast her grand-children by him were no disappointments. Willas was kind and smart, a well enough ruler even if he would never participate in a war, due to the leg that had never quite healed right when he had been unhorsed by that Dornish bastard, Oberyn.

Oh yes, Willas would protest to her that it had been Mace's fault for sending him in the lists at far too young an age, and that he and Prince Oberyn maintained a good correspondence with one another, Olenna would still bear a grudge against the Red Viper for having done the deed. But perhaps it had been a good thing, for while Willas was no knight, he was scholarly and wise, and wholly more capable of managing the Reach than her son.

Garlan was something that was wholly uncommon; he was as the little maidens spoke in hushed whispers about, a true and steadfast knight. Rightly so, he had been given the moniker Garlan the Gallant by his elder brother, and he had held true to his name ever since. Well-meaning fool, she thought, good-naturedly of the boy, but she knew he would look after the Tyrell name firstly if it ever came to that.

Loras… well, Loras was a sword-swallower, through and through, but a fine knight, and maybe even a possible Kingsguard if Margaery ever sat the throne. Oh yes, Mace wanted it the most, planning and plotting with Renly, the so-called Stag of Flowers, to wed Robert to Margaery, but in truth that was not the fate she planned for Margaery. To be wed to a lecherous drunk brute, even if he were King, would be terrible. Mayhaps Joffrey would be a better choice, though the ladies at court that sent her tidings were of the opinion he was a queer child. Whether that meant he was Maegor or Aerys reborn, or merely an Aegon the Dragonbane would have to be seen in the future.

As she walked towards Mace's solar, Margaery trailing behind her, now reading the book that Olenna had left, but carefully so as to not dislodge the book-marker inside it. It was good that Margaery showed an interest in the same, for the only power a noble lady would wield would be that which she got from her husband, and being a master at seduction, cajoling, and intrigue were almost necessary if she were to wed into a Royal family.

She barked, seeing her erstwhile guard, "Left! Or is it Right? Where have you been? And for that, where is your brother?"

The seven foot tall guard merely smiled widely before saying, "It's Left, Lady Olenna, I don't know where Arryk is, though I think he might have gone to the kitchen."

She grumbled, "Well, the large aurochs would need to feed himself, he is your twin after all, now follow behind, my beloved son would have words with me."

And so she walked, leaving behind the honeysuckle and petunias that twined across the buttresses of the keep of Highgarden, while the air buzzed with the sounds of hummingbird wings fluttering and bees buzzing, and a dozen heartbeats later, she was at the door to Mace's solar. It was Erryk who opened the door, and so she walked in ,and was mildly surprised to see both Mace as well as Willas there.

"Ah, Mother, we were waiting for you." Spoke Mace, and so she responded, "Yes, yes, that's why you asked for me to come, didn't you, you big oaf"

Mace smiled good-naturedly as he responded, "Yes Mother."

And Olenna spoke, "So what's this about?", to which Mace responded, "Loras it would seem is not with Renly at the moment. He's been carted off to the Wall with Stannis, the Kingslayer as well as Selmy."

Olenna spoke, "Well? They clearly haven't taken the black so what's the issue?" And Mace nodded his head by speaking, "It would seem Oberyn Martell has taken a contingent of…. Camels to the Wall for a ranging against the wildlings, and King Robert decided to send men of his own to watch over the Viper."

Olenna was confused, when did Dorne get camels? And more-over so, why were they taking them on a ranging to the North? But she wouldn't get answers yet as Mace continued, "It would seem Lord Tywin too plans to send some of his soldiers North, but not only is he doing so, he plans to scour the Stepstones. I've no doubt he feels he cannot be outdone by the Dornish, and so is doing so."

Olenna thought differently, and so she spoke, "No, Mace, as proud as the Lion is of his wealth and power, there would be more at play than him simply responding to the Dornish. If he merely sent troops to the North, perhaps yes, it would mean that he would like to enter the member-measuring contest that you think it is. But him thinking of scouring the Stepstones tells me that perhaps he thinks there's something to warrant keeping an eye on Dorne for." And so she eyed her son

Mace looked confused as he spoke, "So I shouldn't send some Reachmen North too, Mother?" to which Olenna guffawed haughtily, "Oh no, we must show the power of the Reach as well, ask Tarly if he wants to go, seven knows he needs to find an outlet for his rage, though perhaps sending a Hightower or a Florent would serve better, they've always been truculent. But no Mace, there's more afoot." And hearing so, Mace began to pace the room, his jowls of flesh bouncing up and down slowly.

It was Willas who spoke now, stroking his goatee, "Prince Oberyn told me that his niece, Arianne was wedding Edmure Tully in the last letter he sent to me, and asked if I would attend it. It does seem like Dorne is planning something, but as to what still befuddles me." And he re-adjusted his cane, no doubt in memory of the circumstances of its impairing, or perhaps it was merely a flare of pain

Margaery responded, "I was of the mind that Prince Doran might seek to wed Arianne to Garlan, but it would seem we needs must continue his wedding to Lady Leonette Fossoway for wont of a better marriage." As she closed the book shut.

It was Olenna who spoke again, her hands rubbing the arms of the soft, padded chair that she was seated in, "Willas, I think you should attend the wedding, see if you can wheedle anything out of your…. Good friend. I believe you should take both Margaery as well as Garlan with you; the three of you together would perhaps be able to uncover the truth of the circumstances of the marriage. Where is it anyway? Sunspear, no doubt, wretched hot place that bakes under the sun it maybe, it is still the seat of the Martells. Perhaps Marg can beguile Doran's son, what's his name? Quentyn?"

And Mace sputtered momentarily before placing his hand contemplatively upon his chin, or rather one of his chins, as he spoke, "Very well, though they very well cannot go alone, I'll ask Lord Paxter and Lord Rowan for the same, though I suppose I cannot forget the Hightowers either. Yes, a nice delegation of large size, would do nicely."

Olenna snorted loudly, and thought, Well, it would seem I must prepare an entourage of handmaidens and ladies in waiting, for after all, the Queen of Thorns owes her knowledge to grateful wives of loose-lipped husbands."

As she moved to depart the room, her own cane in hand, Mace spoke yet again, "Oh, Mother, I nearly forgot, Tywin's named his dwarf son the Lord of Castamere."

Olenna was surprised to say the least, and it was evident as she spoke, "A third branch of House Lannister? Or is a fourth? They call themselves lions but copulate like rabbits."

Mace looked miffed as he spoke, "Mother, don't say such things in front of the children, though it is surprising that Tyrion Lannister would rule both the Rock as well as Castamere." Hearing so, Olenna rolled her eyes as she spoke, "Don't be an oaf Mace, the entire realm knows how much Tywin Lannister hates his son, the dwarf would no doubt be disinherited from the rock. But the Old Lion is pragmatic if nothing else, the Lannisters will be wealthier than ever with this."

Mace it would seem was lost, as he spoke, "So who'll inherit the Rock? It can't possibly be the Kingslayer, he bears the White Cloak, and Cersei is the Queen… for now. So… it would pass to his brother Kevan?"

Olenna was ever so slightly pleased as she responded, "Finally some sense has creeped into that thick skull of yours, I suppose Kevan Lannister would inherit when his brother dies, though when that happens it is likely he too will pass soon after, leaving his son…. Lancel as the Lannister heir I suppose. Though speaking of which, what does Tyrion Lannister wish to call his house? He has the repute of a lecherous whoremonger, but in addition, he's considered to be a witty and smart man, so If Margaery is expected to memorize the colours of a House as dully named as the Lannisters of Castamere, I would be very disappointed."

Mace tutted disapprovingly before speaking, "If Lord Renly's informed us correctly, it would seem Tyrion has petitioned Robert to allow his house to take the name of Casterly, and Robert seems inclined to give it up… for well, the fact that House Casterly is extinct."

Willas had poured her a glass of wine by then, and so she sipped it daintily before responding, "The Casterlys of Castamere? I suppose it does have a nice ring to it, and mayhaps the dwarf wishes to subtly inform his father it would rather be the Casterlys of Casterly Rock to which I'm sure Tywin would like to inform him that the Reynes and Tarbecks were hardly the first houses to have been driven extinct by the Lannisters. Anyhow, all this is very well, I'll leave it to you to plan the wedding delegation Mace, if nothing else I'm sure you can do that adequately, I would like to sleep I think."

And saying so, Olenna Tyrell left Mace's solar, leaving behind a son no doubt befuddled as to whether his mother had just insulted him or complimented him, while his own children giggled.

As she walked, she noticed that the errant Right had found his place next to his brother, breadcrumbs still dangling from his moustache, but she did not comment on this.

There was much on her mind, and so she thought, the reclusive Prince of Dorne…. Doran Martell, is he a player? He's showcasing his power in the North, wedding into the Riverlands, and by all accounts is attempting to strengthen his position. But for what purpose, for it cannot be solely revenge for his dead sister? He would not risk a war with the Throne…as even if he were to declare for Viserys, he would find few supporters. What does he plan to do?

She trailed her hands amidst the shrubbery which traced the walls as she continued to think, the sweet smell of honeysuckle filling her nostrils, His brother invited Willas to the Wedding… and even though Marg will be accompanying him, and she's wily, I doubt that she could press any information from the man nor his elder brother. Mmmm… perhaps it would be for the best if I were to join in as well. After all, even if one were supposedly the Tywin Lannister of the desert, which Doran is not, for as Oberyn was noted to saying, "We do not kill little girls in Dorne", with the right ploy, perhaps the man would let slip whatever his true intentions are to a little old lady. After all, we have never met.

And as her hand touched the rose-pot perched on the sill, she had made her mind.