Chapter 9
CGTN: AMERICAN IMPERIALISM SPREADS TO WESTEROS
CNN: AMERICAN NEOIMPERIALISM SPREADS TO WESTEROS
BBC: DO WE REALLY NEED TO BE BOMBING WESTEROS?
FOX NEWS: WESTEROS RECEIVES ITS FIRST DOSE OF FREEDOM
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The Master of Lightning - the 20th day of April, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest
The towers of Sunspear were visible, a couple of miles back north, as The Elia Martell came in to land.
The plane bounced a couple of times on the smooth beach, before rolling to a stop. Ellaria held Oberyn's hand, clutching it as if for dear life. His other hand wrested on the skull, sitting comfortably in a fur-lined box on his lap. He was caressing it gently, like fondling a newborn babe. Ser Gregor had not exactly pleaded for mercy at his execution. When his head had been put on the chopping block, and Oberyn had made his little speech, condemning him for the deaths of Elia Martell and her children and asking if he had any final words. The Mountain that rides had looked up at him and only uttered one.
"Who?"
Oberyn had not bothered with a reply. He had taken his head off with one smooth stroke. Robb Stark had generously lent him his father's greatsword for the task, while the Lords of the Trident looked on. That night, there had been a great feast at Riverrun, where Northerner, Rivermen and Dornish alike drank toasts to dead Lannisters. With its walls breached, Harrenhal had fallen in an hour. Lord Bolton had left a garrison, while it would take another week for the rest of his army to march west. From there, they would be bound for the Golden Tooth.
While we head for Oldtown Oberyn mused. Surely even Doran must see the sense of that now.
The plane was not quite as large as that owned by the king. The 'Beechcraft King Air' could only seat a dozen people aboard, so he had left most of the Dornish delegation back in King's Landing. He had named the machine for Elia, perhaps following the mournful lead of Robb Stark. Ser Stevron, as the King's Master of Flying Machines, had taken a different track with his own purchase, having reverently named his Walder Frey after his still living father. Back in King's Landing the Lord Hand had taken the last delivery. Oberyn had wondered if Mace would name it the Loras Tyrell but that hadn't quite come to pass. They had gone with the only slightly more subtle Knight of Flowers instead. So now there were five flying machines in all Seven Kingdoms and two of them named for victims of the Lannisters.
He helped Ellaria down the steps, cradling the box in his other arm. His old squire, Ser Daemon Sand and his father, Ser Ryon Allyrion of Godsgrace, followed after them. Bringing up the rear came Lord Florent, the other dignitary from the Small Council to have made the trip.
The Dornish party had not even left the beach before they heard an ever louder hum of rotors. Four helicopters came in to land in turn. It was a similar pattern to what he had seen in King's Landing. Australia, America, China and the United Nations. The local power, the two greatest powers, and all the rest, jumbled in together. That much he now understood.
It was not long before a score of riders emerged, leading twice as many horses, the party snaking its way over the nearby dunes. Oberyn immediately recognized his cousin, Manfrey Martell, Sunspear's own castellan. He had sent ravens from King's Landing and Riverrun both on his imminent return. Manfrey rode over to them, gawking openly at the flying machines parked on the beach. The flying men were disembarking, bearing their own banners. He turned to Oberyn.
"My prince. It is good to see you well."
"And you, cousin. I have had the voyage of a lifetime."
"These are the new friends you spoke of?" Manfrey asked, gesturing at the flying men.
"They are. They must be shown every courtesy. Does my brother expect us?"
"Prince Doran returned from the Water Gardens just yesterday, my prince."
Oberyn clapped him on the back. "Perfect. How many horses did you bring?"
Not enough, as it turned out. Oberyn and his companions mounted up, as did Lord Florent and his squire. Oberyn rode over to the Australian party, offering his apologies.
"No bother, Prince Oberyn. We can walk" Ambassador Fifield replied, with his usual cheer.
The procession took maybe an hour to reach the outskirts of the Shadow City, itself another mile or so on from Sunspear. Word of their arrival must have spread quickly. It was a hot day, but hundreds had gathered on the walls by the time they approached. Men and women alike pointed and stared. Children ran between the legs of the adults, hoping for a glimpse of the fabled flying men. Not everywhere was the reception favourable however. Here and there Oberyn glimpsed shutters closing, or hawkers grabbing their wears and rushing off, as if afraid of trouble.
Atop the Threefold Gate itself stood Areo Hotah, holding his huge axe. The Norvoshi was looking down at them suspiciously.
"Areo" Oberyn called out, with a wave. "Open the gate. The day is hot, and I bring friends!"
For a moment the captain of his brother's guards stood there, motionless, before turning to an underling and giving a tiny nod. All three gates opened in quick succession, providing the only direct route to the palace. Oberyn entered first, with Ellaria, Ser Manfrey, Lord Florent and the rest of the Westerosi. The UN special envoy, Amina Mohammed, and her party entered next. There followed the Americans and, jostling for space at the rear, the Chinese and Australians.
They were shortly approaching the towers of Sunspear itself. The slender Spear Tower rose a hundred and fifty feet into the air, with the gilded steel spear at the top adding another thirty. Beside it, the dome of the Tower of the Sun glinted gold and silver. Oberyn headed there, where he knew his brother would be waiting for him. Various retainers of House Martell lined the approach to the old throneroom. Ricasso, the blind old seneschal. Just as old maester Caleotte and young Myles. Alyse Ladybright, the Lord Treasurer. Ser Andrey Dalt, who must have ridden over from Lemonwood.
The party dismounted, and Oberyn strode inside on foot. Several of the Sand Snakes approached to greet him. Nymeria kissed him on the cheek. Tyene gave a little curtsy. While Obara simply clasped his hands and welcomed him back. "Is that it?" she asked excitedly, looking at the box in his arms. Oberyn only smiled at her. "You shall see, my dear."
They followed their father inside, staring at the visitors in fascination. The Red Keep held but one throne, while at Sunspear there were two. They were twins. One was inlaid with the Martell spear, the other the Rhoynish sun. In the former sat his brother.
Doran was dressed for the occasion, with flowing golden silk robes and a heavily jewelled belt, but to a keen observer his legs remained suspiciously well concealed. Half the Dornish court stood around the walls, observing the foreign guests. Oberyn's eyes immediately fell on his kin. Princess Arianne stood only a few paces beside her father, with Quentyn and Trystane, all dressed in their finest. Oberyn strode up to his brother. Doran did his best to hide it, as always, but somehow he seemed even more frail than when Oberyn had left. He grimaced as Oberyn gently took his hand.
"Brother. It is good to see you again."
"Likewise."
Oberyn glanced over his shoulder. "I hope we will not strain the hospitality of Sunspear today."
"The hospitality of Sunspear is boundless, regarding friends" Doran replied amicably. He looked past Oberyn. His eyes drifted over the foreigners, but others came first.
"Prince Doran. It is good to see you. It has been some time" declared Lord Florent, bowing low. "I bring the wishes of King Stannis, and the royal court."
"My lord, you are welcome. How fares our new king?" Doran asked.
"He fares well my lord" Lord Florent replied. "We have just received word, the royal army has entered the Westerlands and laid siege to Deep Den. It will not be long before his grace reaches Casterly Rock itself."
The hall broke into murmurs at this news. The Dornish were looking from their fellow Westerosi to the foreigners and back, suspicious and fascinated in equal measure. Doran's face remained neutral. "That is good to hear, my lord" he said calmly. "It is clear we will have much to discuss tonight. Please, share the bounty of Sunspear, while we welcome new friends."
It was King's Landing all over again. The ambassadors stood before Doran, introducing themselves and their parties one by one. Diplomats, ministers, bureaucrats, scientists, entrepreneurs, journalists and security guards made up the parties, roles that had been explained to Oberyn by this point. In one corner of the room a small crew was setting up a few 'film cameras' to the complete curiosity of the Dornish.
When this was done, the prince clapped for silence, and declared again that all the hospitality of Sunspear would be shown to the foreign guests. The feast began. A throng of servants quickly brought in additional tables. Not as much planning had gone into this meeting. The foreign delegations jostled for space in a way Oberyn found slightly amusing. They see us as children, but even they have their game of thrones.
Talk began as seven courses were served, in honour of the seven gods and seven kingdoms. Doran remained sitting on his throne. It would have shown weakness to have to be carried somewhere else to sit and eat. Instead, tables were set up in front of him, and he allowed Oberyn to sit on one side, while he invited Lady Amina to sit on the other. Ellaria sat with Oberyn. Next to her was Ambassador Fifield, and then Arianne and others. Lord Florent sat on the other side, with yet more ambassadors.
A quintet of musicians began playing in the corner. The hall sat and tucked into soup with eggs and lemons, long green peppers stuffed with cheese and onions, lamprey pies, blood oranges, capons glazed with honey, and several whiskerfish from the bottom of the Greenblood that took two or three men each to carry them in. After that came a savory stew, with chunks of different sorts of snake slow simmered with dragon peppers. A final desert was served – spun sugar in a shape that resembled a flying machine. It was somewhere between a bird and a plane in truth, for the cooks could never have seen one with their own eyes, but Lady Amina seemed delighted nonetheless.
Speeches were made, extolling the beauty of Dorne, the generosity of its lord and the desire for peace and trade. When it came time to exchange gifts, Oberyn stood up. Doran raised a hand for silence so he could speak.
"My friends, I am sure there are many fine gifts that will be exchanged tonight. But you must forgive me if I insist one must come first. A gift to all of Dorne, and the realm beyond."
Oberyn reached for the box, which he had placed under his seat. Every eye in the hall was on him as he opened the lid and reached within. There were gasps as the huge skull emerged.
"I present to you, the Mountain that rides, or rather, did ride. Lord Tywin's mad dog is no more."
There was cheering. Even the foreigners clapped politely. Doran raised a glass. "To Elia Martell, princess of Dorne, and her children, Rhaenys and Aegon. May we never see their like again."
Across the hall people stood, even if their lord couldn't. Glasses were raised. "To Elia! To her children!" The Dornish drank deep, the mood sombre.
"And to his grace, King Stannis!" Lord Florent declared loudly, raising his glass even higher. "Who promised justice to Dorne, and has delivered on that promise!" Doran nodded. Many took up the cry. "To Stannis, the first of his name! Bringer of Justice!"
The band played a solemn tune, but it was followed by something more jovial. Within twenty minutes, jollity had returned. Maester Myles placed the skull on a high plinth between the thrones and a small mountain of other gifts began to change hands. Among others, Lady Amina gave Doran a large blue and green globe of her world, the Americans several 'remote control cars', the Chinese a small model of something called a 'Terracotta Warrior' and the Australians several pairs of sunglasses, bottles of red wine and some pretty purple packets of 'Cadbury chocolate'. Each country provided an elaborate 'photo album' featuring scenes from their homeland. Even the maesters received both a telescope and microscope.
In return, Doran gave Lady Amina a fine tapestry, twenty feet long and depicting the length of the Greenblood, filled with the richly decorated poleboats of the orphans. The other ambassadors received ornate goblets and plates, inlaid with the sun and spear, fine Myrish rugs, bottles of sour Dornish red and richly decorated pots filled with spicy dragon peppers.
The levity continued. The American ambassador demonstrated the use of one of the toy cars, then handed one of the controllers to Trystane, who had soon mastered its use. The little yellow vehicle was soon buzzing all over the throneroom, chasing after the guests, to the delight of the young prince and much laughter. The Australians repeated their squeaky air trick, first on Sandycheeks, the court fool, which had all the hall in hysterics. Soon every high lord and lady was begging for a try. Down the table, Oberyn saw Arianne trying on her own sunglasses, then overheard her asking the Australian ambassador if he was married. Eventually, with the audience distracted by Ser Symon Santagar singing a remarkably high pitched 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' Doran turned to him. "Oberyn. Accompany me" he said quietly. "I must use the privy."
Oberyn dutifully obeyed. He grabbed one shoulder, while Areo stepped forward to hold another. In as dignified a manner as they could manage, they lifted Doran into his wheelchair. Maester Caleotte quickly wheeled him out of the room. Oberyn followed. Behind them the festivities continued. The maester did indeed wheel his prince to the privy, a private one in the corner of the Tower of the Sun. Between them, Caleotte and Areo raised him to the proper position, the maester helping to remove his undergarments. Doran did his business. On the other side of the room, Oberyn decided he needed to do the same, albeit with the luxury of standing. When they were done, they lowered Doran back into his chair. "Leave us a moment" the prince commanded, with a wave of his hand. Areo and Caleotte retreated, leaving the Martell brothers alone in the room, a strong smell of piss still in the air.
"Well" Doran said after a pregnant pause. "So these flying men are real, after all."
"You still had doubts? You must have had a hundred ravens by now, half a dozen from me."
"We have ravens about krakens, mermaids and giants. I will reserve doubt until I see one with mine own eyes."
"Yes, they are real" Oberyn said gently. "As is their world. I spent weeks there, travelling from city to shining city, each bigger and more brilliant than the last. I have not even told you half of what I saw."
Doran seemed to consider this a moment. "Then we must consider what happens now."
Oberyn chose his next words carefully. "You have known me my whole life. I have known you most of yours. You know I am not a humble man, so heed me brother when I say, I am humbled before these people." He paused a moment, thinking on the gleaming towers of Melbourne, New York, Beijing… "We are but savages, fighting in the dust, next to these people. We could no more fight them then try and fight the wind and tides, or the coming of the seasons. I have not forgotten our worlds. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken, but we do not have to bend them the knee. Only to watch and learn from them, with open hearts and minds."
"And what will they teach us, exactly?" Doran asked.
"Everything" Oberyn said, struggling to contain his excitement. "How to build giant towers of steel and glass, how to talk to another person half a world away as if they are standing right next to you. How to build iron carriages that move by themselves, belching smoke. Flying machines, lightning machines, and a hundred other kinds!" He seized Doran by the hands, gently. "Brother, heed me now. Dorne must embrace this new world, for those who don't will surely be left behind in the dust."
Doran was silent, as if deep in thought. Oberyn continued.
"King Stannis, for all his faults, has won their favour. Those who swear to him will have their favour in turn. They will trade with us. Provide us with gifts, with goods and inventions you cannot dream of. Even heal the sick. Forgive me brother, but I have described your ailment to them" he said, glancing at Doran's swollen legs. "They believe they can heal you, to take away your pain. Brother, you must-"
"Did you notice anyone was missing tonight? Here at Sunspear?" Doran interrupted suddenly.
Oberyn frowned. "I did not see any septons present" he admitted.
"That's because I had to lock up septon Gilwood, and septa Naerys, and they were just the first" Doran said unhappily. "Just yesterday we had a raven. Ser Willam Wells and a dozen companions were caught two leagues short of the Torentine. They were making for Oldtown, to join the Warrior's Sons."
Oberyn frowned at this report. "Unsurprising. His cousin was declared the Grand Captain, wasn't he?"
"Before Stannis had him executed, yes. Now it is some pious knight from the Reach. But there are surely scores, perhaps hundreds of others, we have failed to catch. Not a week ago there were riots in the Planky Town. Men calling themselves Poor Fellows attacked the red temple and killed its priest. Ser Deziel needed to raise a hundred men to restore order." Doran sighed heavily. "Don't let one pleasant feast fool you Oberyn. The faithful all over Dorne have been agitating that we must join the High Septon's call and declare for Myrcella, or else all will fall under the Stranger's influence. Some lords have locked them up, others have not."
"Lies and paranoia" Oberyn said immediately. "They have swallowed Cersei's tales of men back from the dead."
"Tales I dismissed as rumour and lies" Doran said, but somehow he sounded doubtful. "At least, until recently…"
Oberyn looked at his brother in curiosity. "What do you mean?
Gingerly, Doran reached into his robes. From one pocket or another, he pulled out a small roll of parchment. He handed it to Oberyn, who unfolded it to read.
"This was written by young lord Edric Dayne, to his aunt Allyria, at Starfall" Doran explained grimly as Oberyn worked through the childish handwriting. "He rides with Beric Dondarrion in the Riverlands."
"This must be an old letter" Oberyn protested, still reading.
"No. Lady Allyria sent it on to me. This one arrived just the day before yesterday. It can't be more than a week old."
"But Lord Beric is dead" Oberyn said, confused. "The Mountain killed him at the Mummer's Ford months ago."
"You heard this yourself?"
Oberyn thought back on his brief visit to Riverrun. "I did not ask that monster myself, no, but Lord Edmure had him locked up for weeks. They did not hesitate to bring out the knife. Three of his fingers were missing by the time I removed his head…" Oberyn chuckled. "He said he killed Beric, drove a spear through his heart. I see no reason he would have lied."
"Keep reading" Doran advised. Oberyn did so. His eyes widened at the next part.
"Thoros of Myr?" he said, bewildered. "The kiss of life? What nonsense is this?"
"Reportedly, it happened more than once. He was killed by the Mountain, and then again by Ser Burton Crakehall, and revived by the red priest both times."
Oberyn gave his brother a strange look. "Edric Dayne can't be past twelve. A foolish young boy. He must be mistaken, or confused, or playing a strange jape. Perhaps these are more Lannister lies."
"From Edric Dayne, to his aunt? Neither of them have any reason to love the Lannisters, and it is a strange lie."
"You cannot think…" Oberyn said slowly. "You cannot think Cersei was telling the truth? About Robert…about the flying men bringing him back from the dead? That they have this power?"
Another pause. "Maybe not" Doran admitted. "But it seems someone does."
Oberyn had finished the letter. It ended with a heartfelt plea from Edric to his aunt, urging her to embrace the red god and King Stannis both. He crumpled it into a ball, doing some rapid thinking.
"I'm sorry Oberyn, but many things are still unclear to me" Doran went on. "Answer this question if you will. What exactly is the relationship between the flying men…and the red god?"
Oberyn thought on this a moment. "The red woman says her lord sent them, to aid King Stannis in his fight against the darkness, or something like that anyway."
"And what do the flying men say?"
"They claim they knew nothing of our world, before the Maidenring opened. They were as ignorant of us as we were of them, including our gods."
"And they say they do not know how the Ring opened? Who might have done such a thing? Or for what purpose?
"Yes, so they say."
"Hmmph" said Doran "perhaps Nymeria opened up the Ring, after all."
Another silence, while both brothers pondered on all the strangeness that had eventuated in the last few months.
"You wish to commit me to a course of war. To call our banners and march on Oldtown, is that not right?"
Oberyn felt like reality was crashing down to earth around him. He rallied quickly however. "Stannis is going to win. More than a hundred thousand men are sworn to him. He has Tywin Lannister and the Hightowers outnumbered two to one, at least, and that is before we join him. He has the favour of the flying men. You must know about Harrenhal by now? This American President has smashed its walls, more completely then Aegon ever did."
"Then what of Brightwater Keep?" Doran asked. "If the flying men are so powerful, then why is it ten thousand Hightower men surround Lord Florent's seat? He has the grace not to say so, but he is desperate. Why else would he fly all this way for our help?"
"So help him!" Oberyn urged. "The flying men are not here to fight every battle for us, and we should be thankful, else they would be the new lords of Westeros. We can defeat the Hightowers ourselves, while Stannis defeats Tywin. My only worry is this war will be over before we can gain our share of the spoils."
His brother looked at him unhappily. "I have other worries. Dorne will be divided if we march. There will be blood in the streets. Dornishmen will fight Dornishmen, as Reachmen already fight Reachmen, and aside from some plunder, what will we really gain? We are not marrying into the throne, unlike the Tyrells, and even if the Hightowers have turned rebel, I doubt we will gain any holdfasts for defeating them. Lord Mace will want every inch of the Reach to remain sworn to him."
The Prince of Dorne had a look of resolve about him now. "I am glad Elia is avenged, truly I am, but It seems you want Dornish blood to be spilt only to please Stannis, his red witch and these strange men from another world, whose motives and power we do not understand, and perhaps cannot even comprehend? No Oberyn." He shook his head, with all the strength his feeble body could muster. "I will not commit Dorne to that course of action. I will not rally the banners, at least not until we know more."