Chapter 2 – The 19th day of March, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest

Prince Oberyn Martell wiped sweat off his brow, as King's Landing finally honed into view.

Three hundred Dornishmen rode behind him, among them some of the most prominent lords south of the Red Mountains. There was Ser Deziel Dalt, of Lemonwood. Lord Tremond Gargalen. Lord Harmen Uller and his brother Ser Ulwyck. Ser Ryon Allyrion and his natural son Ser Daemon Sand, the Bastard of Godsgrace. Lord Dagos Manwoody, his brother Ser Myles, his sons Mors and Dickon. Ser Arron Qorgyle. Myria Jordayne, heir to the Tor. Lady Larra Blackmont, her daughter Jynessa, her son Perros and of course, Ellaria Sand, his own paramour.

They were but half a mile south of the Blackwater when the royal party rode up to meet them. Oberyn knew few of the faces, but the banners were clear enough. The silver seahorse flew just behind the fiery stag. The man who reigned up was younger than Oberyn, with a handsome face and long, fair hair. He introduced himself as Lord Monford Velaryon of Driftmark.

"Well met, my lord" said Oberyn. There were introductions. Besides Monford rode Lords Caron and Bar Emmon, the City Watch Commander Ser Jacelyn Bywater, Jalabhar Xho of the Summer Isles and even Ser Barristan Selmy. After pleasantries were exchanged, Oberyn found himself trotting over to the legendary Kingsguard commander.

"Ser Barristan it has been a long time. Not since Lord Steffon's tourney, I think" Oberyn offered. It had been twenty years past, when a Targaryen was still king. "You were my age then, and I a young man, yet you unhorsed me all the same."

"I do remember, my lord" the old knight replied. "I also had the privilege to serve with your uncle Lewyn. One of the finest men ever to wear the white, I think."

"A great fighter, a loyal knight" Oberyn agreed. "Still, every man has his faults. I heard he had a paramour or two of his own, even while wearing the white?"

Ser Barristan blinked. For a moment he looked uneasy. "I cannot say I knew much of the man's private affairs" he replied slowly, which was all the confirmation Oberyn needed.

"Even the kingsguard are flesh and blood, ser" Oberyn prodded, but he was smiling. "The Kingsguard, the faith, the citadel, the Night's Watch. Why do all these orders forbid men from even the simplest of pleasures?"

"The privilege of serving is our pleasure, our duty" Ser Barristan countered. "A married man, or one with children, will always have his loyalties split."

"Perhaps that is true" Oberyn conceded. He nodded at the walls and towers of the city, slowly growing closer. "I hear also, you have been through this magnificent Ring, which appeared so mysteriously on the shores of the Blackwater last year. We have heard so many stories. Tell me Ser, what truly lies beyond?"

Ser Barristan nodded and started to talk, then kept talking. The other Dornish nobility were soon gathered around them, absorbing every word. They took a ferry across the river, still dotted with the ships of the royal fleet, then were trotting through the Mud Gate. Ser Barristan was still answering their questions as they climbed up to the Red Keep itself.

There Oberyn caught his first glimpse of the mysterious men from another world. A line of large, black carriages was parked in the square outside the Red Keep. Men dressed in black and green were gathered around them. The black stood in clusters, talking among themselves. The green were clearly standing guard, clutching ugly looking weapons and giving hard stares to passers-by. The Dornish party drew particular scrutiny, though no one stopped them as they approached the great iron portcullis.

"You are lucky you made it in time, my lords. The king's coronation will be tomorrow, starting at noon" the Kingsguard said earnestly as they entered the yard. "I expect the festivities to last well into the night."

"We thank King Stannis once again for his hospitality, and we are most keen to talk to these flying men for ourselves!" Oberyn replied. "Thank you, good ser."

Ser Barristan showed them to their quarters, a cornerfort facing the city, about as far away from the Tyrells as the king could have put them. Oberyn and Ellaria had just settled into their room when a squire came to collect them. He was a skinny boy of about twelve, with a plain square face and brown hair. A flaming stag sigil was sown onto his chest.

"Prince Oberyn" the boy said politely. "His grace requests your presence in the Small Council Chamber."

Oberyn considered him a moment. "What is your name, boy?"

"Devan Seaworth, if it please my lord" he answered.

"Ah, you are the onion knight's son."

"Yes my lord." He nodded. "And the king's own squire."

"Something of which I am sure you are very proud. Tell me, you have been through this Ring, also?"

"Yes my lord."

"How many times?"

"Just once, with his grace."

"And what did you see beyond?"

The boy hesitated a moment. "A city of light, my lord."

"A city of light?"

The boy nodded. "A city with no end."

Oberyn and Ellaria exchanged a glance. "Give me a few minutes. I must compose myself for his grace."

Devan nodded again and left to wait out in the corridor. Oberyn turned back to Ellaria. He gave her a warm embrace, then an equally passionate kiss. "I am not sure what this meeting will bring, my dear" he said as they broke apart. He turned and grabbed a wine flask on the dresser by the bed, taking a long swig. "But I am sure it will go easier knowing a beautiful, naked women lies dripping in my bed."

Ellaria smiled. She began untying her dress. "Alright my love, but do not take long. Else I will seek out these flying men for myself. Perhaps they fuck as well as they fly?"

"Let us hope not, or we are all doomed" Oberyn replied, kissing her again and following after the squire.

Oberyn had not been to the capital in twenty years, not since Elia's marriage to Rhaegar in fact. He had missed Robert's Rebellion entirely, one of his bitterest regrets. While his uncle Lewyn had led ten thousand Dornishmen into battle at the Trident, he had been in the disputed lands, riding with the Second Sons. By the time he had taken ship back home, the war was over. Aerys, Rhaegar, Elia…even the babes, all dead. He had spent years trying to raise Dorne for Viserys, but Doran would not have it. "Dorne cannot fight the Iron Throne alone" he had said adamantly. It had taken years for Oberyn to forgive his brother's weakness.

Now, there was a new king. Oberyn had met Stannis Baratheon once or twice, but neither of them had been men grown then. Still, he knew him by reputation, he who had held Storm's End against all the might of the Reach for a year, who had built a fleet and taken Dragonstone, the last Targaryen stronghold, who had smashed the Ironborn off Fair Isle, and now, in this war, achieved more with five thousand men than his brother had with a hundred thousand, before murdering him for treachery.

It was the obvious conclusion. Last Oberyn had heard, Renly's rebellion hadn't even lasted a day. There had been rumours of sorcery, but he had discounted those. No doubt Stannis had someone close in Renly's employ the entire time, who had slipped poison, or a knife, in his back at the moment of open defiance.

It was what Oberyn would have done.

It was a few minutes' walk to Maegor's Holdfast, yet he saw much and more in that time. The banner of the fiery stag could be seen everywhere, and the Red Keep was fit to bursting with half the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms, come to pay homage to the new king. He saw more than just men from the Reach and Stormlands. There were knights and lordlings from the Trident and the North as well – Blackwood and Bracken, Tully and Frey, the dancing maiden of Piper and the Mallister eagle, Dustin, Tallhart, Glover, Stark, the Manderly mermen and the flayed man of Bolton. He should have been surprised that so many lords would have ridden such a long way, but supposedly Robb Stark had a flying machine of his own now and had been gathering his bannermen from afar for weeks. Still, others were conspicuously absent. The Vale and the Iron Islands for starters, then the Hightowers and the Redwynes…and half the Crownlands were still in open rebellion, all the way from here to Duskendale.

He could smell cooking from the castle kitchens. Hundreds were heading for supper in various halls. In the inner yard, a crowd had gathered to watch a seven-foot man with a chained giant on his shield hacking away at a kingsguard, though Oberyn couldn't see which. Oberyn did not see any flying men inside the castle itself, a slight disappointment, but there were other foreign guests. He passed a trio of Lysene Magisters, fair-haired and lilac-eyed, almost as if there had been a Targaryen restoration after all. They were muttering to themselves in what he recognized as High Valyrian, though he caught only a few disquieted snatches.

Eventually Devan was leading him over the drawbridge into Maegor's. Another tall kingsguard he did not recognize stood still as a statue at the entrance, but did not challenge them. Inside there was a hive of activity. Servants were coming and going in a steady stream. On the morrow the main event was to be held in the throneroom, followed by a feast for a thousand people in the Grand Hall, but even in Maegor's there were to be festivities. A more exclusive reception was planned in the Queen's ballroom. Fresh tables and chairs had been acquired from somewhere, and the space was even looking half presentable, with fresh Myrish carpets laid down and new crystal ornaments hanging from the ceiling.

They went down another corridor, in a space Oberyn had never been. Another kingsguard stood beside a heavy door. This time Oberyn recognized him as Ser Richard Horpe, though they had not met in many years. Another pair of knights he did not recognize sat on a bench opposite. One looked twenty years older than Oberyn, with the sigil of the twin towers of Frey sown onto his surcoat. The other looked twenty years younger, with a Florent fox instead.

Devan strode over to the door, gave a gentle knock, then stepped inside. Oberyn heard the boy announce him. "Send them in" a voice answered. The two knights opposite took this as their cue to stand up and follow Oberyn into the room.

Inside, at least half a dozen figures were pouring over a lengthy document and appeared to have been in the middle of a heated discussion. They looked up at Oberyn's entrance. He recognised the fat flower of Highgarden of course, with Ser Barristan now seated next to him. The rest of the king's Small Council he knew only by their sigils – the red crab of Celtigar, a couple more Florent foxes, along with a man in maester's robes. The only woman present was dressed all in red, with a surprising beauty about her, though Oberyn could not immediately guess at her age or origins. She was smiling at him pleasantly, yet he somehow felt no warmth behind it.

The king himself sat at the centre. Tall and rigid and dour, with a heavy brow and piercing blue eyes. On his head he wore a crown of red gold wrought with points twisted to look like flames. So he has embraced this new religion Oberyn thought, wondering at the implications. He was not an especially holy man, but there were plenty of such in Dorne. No wonder the faith is in uproar.

Oberyn stepped forward. The two knights came up beside him. All three of them bowed deeply. The king considered them a moment.

"Prince Oberyn, it is good of you to make it here in time. I know the ride from Dorne is long."

"We nearly rode our horses to exhaustion, your grace" Oberyn said. "My brother sends his apologies, but his health does not permit him to travel so far."

"No matter" the king replied. There was a round of introductions. The king gestured at the two knights next to Oberyn. "Are you familiar with these men?"

"I am afraid I have never had the pleasure, your grace."

"This is Ser Stevron Frey, son and heir to Lord Walder Frey of the Crossing."

Oberyn glanced at the older man, with grey eyes and a face that so resembled a weasel. Yes, most definitely a Frey. "Well met ser."

"And mine own goodbrother, Ser Erren Florent" the king said. Oberyn looked at the younger man. He was not a handsome specimen, with the large Florent ears, but at least looked more vigorous than his older kin.

"I have roles for all three of you" the king went on. "Time is short, so I will be brief. Prince Oberyn, Ser Stevron. I would like to offer the two of you positions on the Small Council."

Oberyn looked over the table. He counted eight people there, including the king. The Small Council already looked very full. "I am deeply honoured, your grace. May I ask in what role you would wish me to serve?"

"It is true the Small Council normally sits no more than seven, but it has often had additional advisors" the king replied, looking around as if to do a quick recount. "Laws, ships, coin, whispers…these are all taken, but in light of recent events, my first edict upon being crowned will be the creation of two new Small Council positions."

The king gestured at the table, where a number of oddly colourful books and other devices were scattered. Gifts, Oberyn assumed, from the flying men. "There is much about this new world we still do not understand" Stannis went on. "There are many inventions found there not found in our own. We must learn more about them and put that knowledge to good use, before others do the same. The first of these positions will be the Master of Flying Machines, to oversee these new devices, as the Master of Ships oversees the Royal Fleet. The other will be the Master of Lightning, to learn about their lighting machines, and also put them to good use."

Oberyn blinked. The words washed over him, so sudden and fantastic they took a few moments to comprehend.

"I will ask if either of you have a preference?" the king went on, looking at them expectantly.

The Prince of Dorne and the heir of the Crossing exchanged a glance. Ser Stevron spoke first. "Your grace, respectfully, my father was promised a flying machine by Robb Stark and the flying men" he said, rather quickly. "So far, that promise has gone unfulfilled."

The king nodded. He looked at Oberyn, who resisted the urge to laugh.

"Pardon, your grace, it seems a hard question to answer. Flying machines, or lightning?" He looked around the room. His eyes landed on Devan. "Your squire spoke of what lies beyond the Ring, a city of light, I hear?"

"The flying men have more than just flying machines, so it seems." The king glanced down at another sheaf of paper. "They have machines of…they do not call it lightning, but e-lec-tri-ci-ty" he said, pronouncing the unfamiliar word carefully.

"Flying machines and lightning machines?" Oberyn went on. "Like choosing between two beautiful maidens, freshly flowered. Do I have any time to consider this offer?"

"I intend to announce these roles at my coronation feast" Stannis replied. He glanced at Ser Stevron. "You would accept your role as Master of Flying Machines?"

The knight bowed deeply. "Most gratefully, your grace."

Everyone looked at Oberyn, who sensed defeat. "Very well, your grace. The Master of Lightning it shall be."

The king nodded. "Very good." He turned over to the third man, Ser Erren Florent, the new queen's youngest brother. "Ser Erren, for you I have a different role, but no less important. The flying men have asked me to appoint an ambassador to them. Robert sent Renly, but he is no longer an option. I would send you."

Ser Erren bowed even more deeply than Ser Stevron. "Thank you, your grace. I am deeply honoured. I will not fail you in this task."

"I hope not" the king replied. "I will march west for Casterly Rock three days hence. Lord Tyrell will sit the Iron Throne as Hand. I will leave the three of you to deal with the flying men. Be cautious. They are powerful beyond measure. They have promised to recognize me as king, but otherwise declared themselves neutral in this war." The king cocked his head slightly, as if in silent consideration. "We would be wise to accept their aid if offered, though one must also be cautious in this. I will not have men say I won my throne through tricks, or that I serve as a puppet to others."

Ser Imry made a sound like a grunt of contempt. Hmmph. "His grace is his own man. He does not need the help of any flying men to rule."

There were murmurs of agreement, though the king himself ignored his Master of Ships. He turned back to his goodbrother. "Ser Erren, you in particular, be aware of the Imp." The king practically spat the word. "Lord Tywin has sent his dwarf son as ambassador to the flying men, and they have refused our every demand to expel him. The dwarf has a silver tongue. He won the Vale Mountain Clans to the Lannister cause. We must hope the flying men are not so easily persuaded; else they could recognize the kingslayer's bastard girl as ruler instead."

There were grumbles of outrage at this. "A Florent can outwit a Lannister dwarf" Lord Alester scoffed. Others laughed, but the king only frowned. With a wave, he went to dismiss them. "This is settled then. We shall resume on the morrow. Lord Tyrell, Prince Oberyn, remain."

Oberyn obeyed, while the rest of the Small Council shuffled out. Everyone but the red priestess, he noticed. She remained in her seat, watching them over steepled fingers. Oberyn glanced at her, but did not otherwise return her stare. The king offered him a seat opposite Lord Tyrell. The fat flower was looking at him suspiciously. His gaze Oberyn did return. When only the four of them remained in the room, the king began.

"I am thankful you have ridden all this way, prince Oberyn, truly. With Sunspear, five of seven kingdoms will have given me their allegiance. Tywin Lannister's list of potential allies grows short." Oberyn wasn't sure what to say to this, so he merely nodded.

"As it is, I have ample strength to march on the Westerlands." The king pulled out a map and began explaining his intentions to Oberyn. After a while the king glanced at Lord Tyrell. "I am sending Ser Garlan back to defend his family's seat. Lord Tarly shall have twenty thousand men. I would have him march them north against Crakehall, but should the Hightowers bestir themselves, they could threaten Highgarden to his rear." Stannis looked at him. "The spears of Dorne would be most useful in this regard."

Oberyn was looking down at the map, doing some quick thinking. "My brother is a cautious man, I'm afraid. He does not believe in sacrificing Dornish lives without good cause."

It was the king's turn to nod. The frown on his face did not change, as if he had expected nothing less. "This I understand. My first offer to you is a Council seat, but I can sweeten the deal in several ways. Are you aware that Gregor Clegane rots in a dungeon at Riverrun?"

Now that was news to Oberyn. Riding to King's Landing, they had survived on little but rumours for weeks. "Is that so? And yet Lord Tully has not had his head off yet?"

"No, and he will not take it without my order" Stannis replied.

"May I ask why not, your grace?"

"He is a gift."

"A gift, your grace?"

"To Dorne" the king said. Oberyn blinked in surprise.

"It is a difficult subject, so I gain no pleasure in bringing it up" the king went on, his tone softening a little. "But how aware are you of the circumstances surrounding your sister's death, at the hands of Lord Tywin's men?"

Oberyn took a moment forming a reply. He desperately wanted a sip of wine to marshal his thoughts, but there was none at the table. "I was not in King's Landing at the time, your grace, but I have heard several stories as to how Elia and her children met their demise."

"What story do you believe?"

"I believe Ser Gregor Clegane and his men scaled the walls of this holdfast, found Elia and her children, and murdered them most brutally" Oberyn said. He was gripping the table hard as he spoke, though scarcely aware of it. "Princess Rhaenys was stabbed fifty times, screaming all the while. Prince Aegon, a baby, was torn from his mother's breast and murdered in full view of my sister, his head smashed against the wall. Then the Mountain, his hands still red with Aegon's blood, raped Elia, and split her in two with his greatsword. Later, Lord Tywin wrapped the bodies in Lannister cloaks, red cloaks, to try and hide the blood, and presented them to your brother, who then climbed over their cold corpses to take his seat on the Iron Throne."

There was a ringing silence after these words. Even lord Tyrell looked saddened. The king was staring at him silently. "Ser Amory Lorch" he said finally.

"Beg pardon, your grace?"

"Ser Amory Lorch killed Rhaenys. He scaled the walls with Ser Gregor. I do not know the names of the common men-at-arms, but the rest of what you said is true."

"And you know this because?"

"Because I have ruled these Seven Kingdoms for twenty years" the king replied, sounding almost irritated. "Jon Arryn and I ruled, while Robert drank and hunted and whored. I was not in King's Landing at the time, but made every inquiry as to the fate of the Targaryen children. I had taken Dragonstone, but Viserys and the babe fled before I could sail. Robert was not happy about that." The king suddenly sounded tired, as if he had lost all interest in the conversation. "Jon Arryn went to Dorne the next year, returning your uncle's bones, and was questioned closely by your brother, we are both well aware. I am also aware that certain individuals wished to rally Dorne for Viserys, after my brother had taken his crown."

Oberyn did not reply to this. He had been not just one of those certain individuals, but the leader. Stannis paused a moment, then went on.

"So you ask, what good cause? I would say justice. I will deliver you Gregor Clegane, Elia's murderer. Amory Lorch as well. Last we heard, he sits at Harrenhal, besieged by a Northern army. I have written to Lord Bolton that he is to be taken alive. Unless he has the sense to throw himself from the battlements, he will soon be in our hands as well." The king spread his own hands. "They will be, both of them, gifts to Dorne. Do with them what you will. Take their heads off, dress them up in motley, the choice is yours, prince Oberyn."

Oberyn was reeling from several great shocks by this point. The king had surprised him several times over. He thought for a moment of Ellaria, naked in their bed. Never mind, my dear. This meeting has gone far better than I expected. "Your grace makes a most generous offer, though I can't help but wonder. Gregor is already in a dungeon, Ser Amory besieged. Both these men will soon die anyway, won't they? Even without Dornish swords."

"Most likely, but many things are possible" the king countered. "Ser Amory is still an anointed knight. He could be captured and sent back to the Westerlands for fair ransom. The Mountain…he is a more dangerous sort. Lord Tywin's mad dog will never be returned to his master, but should he beg for clemency, a kind king, a little too kind, perhaps…could send him to the wall. Strong men are always needed in the Night's Watch."

Oberyn's eyes widened. The king continued to surprise. "And you would see this justice denied, your grace?"

"The justice is right there, my lord, reach out and take it."

Oberyn thought it over a few more moments. Damnit, there should be wine. "You have made the offer most tempting your grace. All of Dorne would rejoice to see these mad dogs put down. Still…what of the man who let them off the leash?"

"I cannot promise you what fate awaits lord Tywin" the king said, sounding a touch apologetic. "He may yet have the sense to bend the knee. But should you meet him on a battlefield somewhere, you are welcome to take off his head as well, if you march with us."

Oberyn was nodding now. "I must take some time to think on all you have said, your grace, but I will write to my brother. I am sure he will be most interested in your offer."

The king nodded. "If your brother still hesitates to call his levies, remind him he need not necessarily march them into battle. To merely gather them in the Red Mountains may be enough to give Lord Hightower pause." The king stood, and the rest of his council with him. "If not, Oldtown must be lightly held. Tell me, how long has it been since a Dornish Prince sacked the city?"

Oberyn gave it a moment's thought. "Not since before Nymeria came with her ships, I think, your grace."

"Then that is what I offer you today" Stannis Baratheon proclaimed. "Justice, a Council seat, and a chance to achieve what no Dornishmen has in a thousand years. Tell your brother to gather his spears, and I will give you all this and more."