YEAR 302 AC
At the Red Keep…
Within the Small Council chamber, King Daveth stood at the head of the seat—having decided to restore order and return holding council meetings in its original adjacent room instead of taking place in the Tower of the Hand; an act thereby reasserting his display of dominance following the death of his late grandfather and Hand Lord Tywin Lannister. Returning as head of the council, today's meeting was bound to be busy. And personally, Daveth was more than eager to get back to work. Namedays, the birth of his twins… he felt somewhat restless during this last month.
As he was waiting for his advisors to arrive, the Young Stag was taking a brief moment to look over a letter Olyvar Frey delivered to him. The wax seal bore the sigil of House Martell, a yellow spear piercing a red sun. Once breaking the seal, Daveth read the letter.
"To the Oathkeeper Daveth of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,
As a gesture of good faith in light of the fulfilled promises made to House Martell, we hereby invite you to Sunspear to discuss formal peace talks between Dorne and the Iron Throne. One of our own—Prince Oberyn—has gone so far as to suggest on having us meet you in-person. Had it been someone else, I might have been more skeptical. But my brother told me about the risks you took and how you saved his life during the Trial by Seven against Gregor Clegane the Mountain.
When Oberyn returned to Sunspear with the Mountain's head and told us what had happened, it served to confirm your earlier talk of reconciliation with Dorne was in fact a genuine one. It will not bring back our sister Elia or her children, but perhaps knowing that justice was served could bring us closure. As such, I'm inclined to agree with my brother on this one. If you are indeed serious about establishing an everlasting peace with us, then we appeal to your judge of character. Come to Dorne so as to make it official.
Your sister Princess Myrcella has also extended an appeal to you, one sibling to another. She grows more anxious to see you again after spending many years apart.
Signed,
Doran Martell · Prince of Dorne, Lord of Sunspear"
Daveth examined the last part repeatedly. This was it; a formal invitation to the principality of Dorne, to properly mend the bridge between the Iron Throne and the Dornish houses. Years of planning and each action carrying serious risks with it, the time had actually come. And Myrcella… the thought of seeing his sister again brought a small smile to his face, one that Daveth quickly brushed off as soon as he saw Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys, Tyrion Lannister, Barristan Selmy and Randyll Tarly arrive in the Small Council chambers. Much to their surprise, the royal councilors were joined by Mace Tyrell—Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South and Lord Paramount of the Reach.
"You're late," he spoke, motioning for them to sit down.
As they each took their seats, Varys shuffled his arms in his sleeves. "We apologize for the delay, Your Grace. But I'm afraid that we were caught unaware that the meeting room was to be relocated here instead of the Tower of the Hand."
"You could have sent us notice," Randyll seconded.
Daveth remained unmoved. "True, but time is a luxury we cannot afford even during times of peace."
Standing between Varys and Randyll, Mace looked at the Young Stag. "Your Grace, it's a great honor to have been granted a seat on this council. I—"
"Take a seat, Lord Tyrell," Daveth cut him off.
Tyrion raised a curious eyebrow. 'What seat? And why does Daveth sound like he's in such a hurry lately?' he thought puzzled.
Silenced into submission, Mace meekly took his seat between the Master of Whisperers and Master of Ships respectively and said nothing as the Young Stag shuffled around in his seat.
"We have only a moment for affairs of state. What do we have?"
Varys begun. "The fugitive Sandor Clegane was last spotted in the Riverlands, Your Grace, still remains at large on charges for desertion. My birds tell me the Hound slaughtered seven our soldiers sent to apprehend him. I believe the phrase 'fuck the King' was uttered."
"Disgraceful," Pycelle muttered; Lord Randyll's face showed disgust as well.
Barristan spoke. "Regardless, we must do what we can to minimize further loss of life. The Hound is a dangerous adversary, even more so when backed into a corner. With or without royal protection, it would take a lot only to persuade our men to even try to arrest him."
"Odd for the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to offer a merciful approach to a man who abandoned his post," Randyll mentioned. "Even if we did, the proper discipline would be a formal flogging if not forfeiture of whatever holdings Clegane's Keep maintained.
"What would it take to make the common soldier wishful enough to try his luck with the Hound?" Daveth directed his question towards Varys.
"10 Silver Stags seems a generous bounty."
"Make it 100."
'He's more himself when off the battlefield and out of the court room, but once on the battlefield he's like his father and his grandfather whenever he is in the court room,' suggested Barristan.
"What else?"
Pycelle stammered a bit. "Oh, uh… W-we will need a new Master of Laws, a new Hand of the King, and there are other appointments that require our attention at some point," he explained.
Daveth rolled his eyes. He knew he would eventually have to make more appointments, especially filling the two vacancies on the Small Council.
Mace cleared his throat. "Your Grace, I would be willing to serve temporarily as Acting Hand until a permanent replacement is—"
The Young Stag casted a cold, hard glare at the Lord of Highgarden, prompting Lord Mace to quickly clamp his mouth closed and look away, unable to meet Daveth's gaze. The King understood that Mace is not evil at heart and is a good, amiable man, but was noticeably being a bit greedy and ambitious—something Daveth felt compelled to curb. He already extended an olive branch to House Tyrell, and warned them not to push their lucky if they were to remain in his good graces.
"Your Grace," Pycelle intervened, "in the past on several occasions, a Grand Maester has served as the King's Hand."
His gaze shifted from Mace Tyrell to Grand Maester Pycelle; feeling the room grow cold, Tyrion and Varys knew that Daveth had never forgiven Pycelle for selling him out when he arranged Myrcella's betrothal to Prince Trystane Martell years earlier nor forgotten what the old man did. If this was Pycelle's way of getting in the King's good graces, he'd have much better luck laying siege to the gates of the Seven hells itself.
"I find your lack of loyalty these last few years quite disturbing, Grand Maester," he coldly told him. "Keep pushing your luck with me and the Conclave will hear about it."
The thought of having his twelve square linked chain stripped away like Qyburn made even Grand Maester Pycelle cringe, thereby silencing the old man. Varys gives an amused smile as Tyrion watched eagerly at how quickly Pycelle backed down. Once his composure was regained, Daveth spoke more calmly, betraying no emotion.
"Well, that was brief," he said. "If there's nothing more to add, my lords, then this meeting of the Small Council is hereby adjourned. Dismissed."
Once the assembled Small Council members left the room, Tyrion followed suit but heard a voice calling from behind him.
"Not you."
Tyrion stopped in his tracks, out of earshot of his colleagues and noticed Daveth had already stood from his seat and was the one who called out to him. Once they were certain they were alone, Tyrion closed the doors behind him and approached his royal nephew. Now he felt the timing was more appropriate to press the matter.
"Any particular reason why you decided to include Mace Tyrell on the Small Council?" he asked. "And why you chose not to tell us?"
"The Tyrells are the Lannisters only true rivals in terms of resources, uncle. And yet we'll need them on our side," said Daveth. "Vesting the Tyrells in the crown will help a great deal in the long term."
"With the inclusion of the inevitable wedding between the Lord of Highgarden's daughter Lady Margaery to Tommen, I assume?"
"That's half true, but do you want to know the other half?"
"Humor me."
"Tell me: you're the Lord of Casterly Rock. How much gold do you think was mined in the Westerlands?"
"There was hardly… any at all," Tyrion remembered.
Daveth nodded. "Indeed. Unfortunate, but true. Ser Kevan informed me that House Lannister's goldmines ran dry four years ago long before my coronation. The amount of money I paid back to grandfather only served to stall for time. But I guess he knew it was inevitable."
"And I suppose the earlier proposal of marrying off Janei Lannister to Ser Loras was meant to lessen the burden? Last I heard although Janei was thrilled about the notion, Loras was somewhat… less than enthusiastic about it."
"Loras Tyrell prefers the company of men, but he's not that stupid. He knows that as the only son and heir of Lord Mace Tyrell, the future of House Tyrell rests on his shoulders. Whether he likes her or not, he'll do his duty."
"That doesn't answer my first question, though."
Daveth sighed. He decided to tell him the truth behind his motivation. "Lord Tyrell will be taking your place as Master of Coin."
Tyrion looked disappointed and somewhat frowned at the notion, as if he appeared offended. "Decided to get rid of me, hmm?" he said bluntly, almost in mocking tone.
Daveth shook his head. "No. There is something else; something I should have done a long time ago," he said as he moved towards the window.
The Imp noticed the rolled up piece of paper in his nephew's hand. "That letter—"
"It arrived just this morning from Dorne. It was sent to me from House Martell. Prince Doran himself invited me to Sunspear to meet with him to oversee the final stages of the peace talks."
Tyrion looked somewhat surprised. "Jon Arryn was the last person alive in King's Landing to visit Dorne. It was soon after your father took the throne away from the Mad King."
"I know," Daveth spoke simply. "His first task as Hand of the King was to broker an uneasy truce with Dorne, but even then there was still a persistent bone of contention. Lord Arryn could only have done so much, but I set out to finish what he started."
"You mean the marriage proposal between Myrcella to Prince Doran's son?"
"Well, yes and no. Like the Red Viper himself, Elia Martell was very popular among the Dornish people. Even after she and her children were killed by the Mountain, they still demanded justice; a cry that went unanswered and forgotten for 20 years."
"Until the Trial by Seven…"
"Correct. I put a lot on the line to reach out to the Martells when arranging Myrcella's betrothal, risked the stability of the Seven Kingdoms, to show them I was serious about making amends with Dorne. I know it was a risk, a big one, and the price of failure would be high but I took it anyway."
"A bold statement, though not sure most would see it that way."
"Not sure I'd call it that when you describe it. Bold? Reckless? Nothing's ever certain these days," he said, looking over his shoulder to look at Tyrion. "But do you remember what grandfather used to say about people?"
Ooh, that was a memory Tyrion remembered all too well. "'A lion doesn't concern himself with the opinions of the sheep'," he recited. "Talk to me, Daveth. Why are you telling me this?"
Daveth approached his uncle. "I've decided to accept Prince Doran's invitation."
Well now, this was a surprise. "When will you be leaving?" Tyrion asked.
"In three days by sea. I'll talk to Sansa and have our things ready for the journey soon. With any luck, and a little bit of help from the wind, we might make it to Sunspear fast enough. If not… well, at least you'll know I've tried."
"You're taking a huge gamble, nephew," he reminded him. "If Robert had set foot in Dorne during his reign, he would have lost a foot. If you go, you'll be surrounded by a country of hot-headed vipers at every corner."
"I know," Daveth replied. "But I won't be going alone. I'll have three Kingsguard and a few household guards to escort me."
Tyrion offered a suggestion. "If you're determined to see it through, and knowing you you will regardless, might I suggest taking Ariyana Dayne with you? She's from Dorne and has even mentioned being Prince Doran Martell's ward after her parents died. And being the Sword of the Morning, that name carries a great deal of influence among the Dornish."
The Young Stag thought deeply about this and nodded. "Agreed."
"But therein begs the question," the Imp paused. "With the royal family gone from court, who will be left to govern the realm in your absence?"
Daveth felt a small smile form on his face. "That's why I asked to speak with you in private," he reached into his pocket. "When I chose to appoint Mace Tyrell to the Small Council as Master of Coin, I did this not to slight you. When we leave, you and the others will remain here in King's Landing."
Tyrion eyed the Young Stag's hand closely. "And do what?" he asked.
"Rule," the Young Stag answered, pulling his hand out to reveal a golden brooch shaped like a hand.
Tyrion eyed the brooch and immediately recognized what it was. It was the Hand of the King's badge of office! His eyes widened and left visibly speechless, the Imp could only watch as Daveth knelt down to pin the badge on his uncle.
"I… should have done this a long time ago," he said apologetically. "The winds of change are upon us now, which means further reforms will be needed if we're to truly make the world a better place—a new generation modeled upon the old—and ensure stability along the way. A world we can be proud of, one worth fighting for. But we also need to understand that as times change, we ourselves must shake off any unnecessary shackles that weigh us down."
Once Daveth pinned the badge, he stood tall and spoke with a voice full of authority and firmness.
"Lord Tyrion Lannister, I name you Hand of the King."
Moved to near-tears, Tyrion Lannister knelt to one knee and lowered his head. "I…" he choked; the Imp wasn't expecting this at all. "I hope I serve you well."
Daveth waved his hand, motioning his dwarfish uncle to stand. "I know you will, uncle. Now and always," he reassured him. "You've given me good counsel and you get the results I need when I ask it. Just promise me one thing."
Tyrion stood. "What's that?"
"Just leave military strategy to me, okay? I've seen you fight. Still terrible at it," his nephew joked, referring to the Imp's scar across his face.
"Ah-ha. No worries about that, I assure you."
"It's your political mind I need, and I'd prefer it intact."
With the ceremony over and done with, Daveth took a moment to make his leave to his bedchambers—eager to ready himself and his new family for the voyage to Dorne. Deep down he was rather anxious, venturing into uncharted territory—a land he had never been to before. But the thought of what was waiting for him there… it made the Young Stag tremble slightly.
"Wait for me, 'Cella," he quietly told himself, barely able to contain his excitement. "Wait for me. Your big brother is coming to see you soon. I promise."
At Maegor's Holdfast…
Queen Sansa Stark was fawning over her twin children; Lyonel and Cassana were barely a month old now, yet were growing in size too. She held a toy in each hand, playing with her children. Sansa watched with a warm smile on her face as both Lyonel and Cassana happily babbled and reached their hands up, grasping the figurines their mother held for them.
"Aww, such good children," she cooed. "Yes, my little ones. Papa got you presents, yes he did."
"*Ga-gaooh*" Lyonel and Cassana held their toys; the male twin chewed on the head of the wooden knight, drooling on it slightly.
"Ha-ha, what a silly boy you are," Sansa observed. "That's not for eating."
Leaning against the doorway of their bedroom, Daveth watched the scene in front of him. Almost a month had passed since he and Sansa welcomed their first children into the world, twins no less. Sansa had quickly grown into her new role as a mother in stride. She was very good at it. The Young Stag was new to parenting even if he had prior experience in helping raise his younger siblings in the past, but how to be a proper father still eluded him; he knew it wasn't right to blame his late father King Robert for being neglectful and absent during his childhood, though Daveth still tried his best.
His thoughts were distracted when Cassana threw one of her wooden dolls across the room, smacking her father on the head.
*CLONK!*
"Gah!" he flinched quietly.
Hearing such a faint protesting sound, Sansa turned around to see Daveth open one eye and held a hand to rub his forehead; the Wolf Queen puffed her cheeks and bit her tongue, trying desperately to hold back a laugh to no avail.
"Oh my," she chortled. "Dearest, you should probably pay more attention next time. You know how wily Cassana's been getting lately."
Daveth rolled his eyes. "Ha ha, very funny," he remarked sarcastically. "Our children listen to you, but take it upon themselves to throw things at me or spit up on me. Gods be good, sometimes it feels like they don't like me."
Sansa shook her head in amusement. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it sometimes. You make the funniest faces when Lyonel or Cassana act up. They're babies, love. It takes time and patience for them before they're actually capable of understanding what you say."
"I know, I know. But the way you do it makes parenthood look easy."
Daveth walked up behind Sansa, wrapping one arm around her waist and another around the neck, drawing her close until her back presses against his chest before resting his chin on her shoulder. The Wolf Queen was kind of surprised by the act, but didn't resist. Instead, Sansa warmed herself up—occasionally glancing between Daveth and the twins still in their crib.
"They're beautiful," Sansa implied.
"Just like you," Daveth replied.
Shaking her head, Sansa kissed Daveth's cheek. "Flatterer."
"I try."
Sansa brushed against her husband, never taking her eyes off her children. Lyonel and Cassana each gripped their mother's finger on each hand, being met with gentle brushes of her thumbs across their tiny hands.
"Sometimes I wonder how you do it," Daveth remarked.
"Such a question often goes without an answer," she answered. "It's… more instinctive, an emotional attachment to a new life we create."
"Never thought of you as being philosophical."
Sansa raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is a Queen not permitted to be philosophical?"
Daveth shook his head. "Have there been cases of exceptions?"
Both were moving to outwit each other, despite having known each other for four years and married for two. It was all fun and games; the back and forth banter. Daveth buried his face in Sansa's shoulder, exhaling slightly as his face turned serious.
"Dearest?" the Wolf Queen beckoned her husband, feeling his warm breath on her shoulder.
"I've made some arrangements for us to spend some time away from King's Landing," he told her. "Away from the politics, the fighting… all of it. Just the four of us."
Now Sansa was curious. "Away? Where are we going?" she asked.
"Dorne."
"Dearest, Dorne is the hottest region in Westeros even during times of winter," the Wolf Queen pointed out. "How will we keep the children cool enough? What if…?"
"Don't worry, Sansa. I wouldn't have made the decision likely without considering what-if scenarios. We'll keep Lyonel and Cassana cool and hydrated. I promise."
"I know you think you're doing what's best, but I still worry as their mother."
"And I as their father. We'll be escorted by our household guards and three Kingsguard."
Sansa sighed in resignation. "I sure hope you know what you're doing."
'You're not the only one thinking that,' the Young Stag pondered. "Other than the heat, I've heard from Ariyana that Dorne is quite tropical this time of year."
"You ever have been to Dorne?"
"No. This is a first for me. You?"
"Dearest, how long have you known me?" she retorted. "You know I've never left Winterfell before I came to King's Landing when we were promised to each another."
"I stand corrected then."
Silence filled the room. Sansa had her fair share of concerns regarding Dorne; she wanted to spend more time with her family, but still held thought about the well-being of her children. Daveth broke the silence again.
"Myrcella will be waiting for us there," he mentioned.
"Your sister?" Sansa remembered. "She's still betrothed to the Martell Prince, yes?"
"She is. She's rather anxious to meet Lyonel and Cassana, you know."
"Then I suppose she'll get her wish soon enough."
Daveth knew that was only part of the main reason, but chose not to press further—considering he planned on meeting face-to-face with Prince Doran Martell to discuss peace terms; hopefully old wounds could be healed, but he wouldn't go that far until the negotiations actually begin when they arrive.
"When do we leave?" Sansa asked.
"Three days," Daveth answered.
"I'll have Shae and Brella pack our belongings and whatever necessities we'll need for the trip."
"And I'll oversee the security arrangements."
Turning to face her husband, Sansa kissed Daveth on the lips and left the room to seek out her handmaidens, leaving the Young Stag alone with the kids. He looked at the twins who looked up at him curiously. Picking up both children in his arms, Daveth looked at his son and daughter.
"You are going to behave yourselves, are you?"
"*Cough, cough!*"
His face froze in terror before shuddering in disgust, feeling white liquid on his shoulder before trickling down his dark velvet attire. Daveth held his breath and tried not to gag, taking a moment to pat each of his children on the back to burp them.
"*Belch!*"
Hearing the sounds from Lyonel and Cassana, Daveth returned his twins to their crib. His face still showed disgust as the stench of baby spit up found their way into his nostrils. Prince Lyonel and Princess Cassana giggled at their father's facial expression, one that the King himself noticed right away.
"Yeah, I was kind of expecting you two would do that to me…"
What the Oathkeeper wouldn't understand, however, that as his family began making the necessary preparations for departure to Dorne, an unseen threat lurked in the northern shadows; one that was slowly making their descent downwards.
Chapter End
Author's Note: Let Season 5 commence! Another chapter concluded, one including two more appointments to the Small Council. A new Master of Coin and a new Hand of the King. What are your opinions on Daveth choosing to appoint Mace Tyrell to oversee the royal treasury whilst Tyrion Lannister applies his skill at governance to work as Hand of the King when most of the royal House Baratheon of King's Landing makes preparations to sail for Dorne? Was it fairly balanced between the two? And what do you guys expect to see when the stag meets the viper? Let me know.
AnthonyR89: while granted, there aren't really many palatable choices left, making Tyrion hand might piss off the other noble houses, with the last two Hands being Lannisters, and the one before that a Stark, making them all relatives of Daveth's. Stannis is out due to him going rogue (not to mention him also being related, much like an estermont), but there are other choices available. Randall Tarly, or a Royce, for example.
also, Mace is an idiot. would have been better off with someone like Manderly taking over as Master of Coin. or even a Hightower, if you wanted it to be a noble from the Reach.
Silent Wolf Singer: I just love the twins. Being mischievous without realizing it.
C.E.W: Mace Tyrell being Master of Coin, well Mace may be a poor military man but maybe he is better at politics a little. As for Tyrion being Hand of the King, I think he will do better than most would as he has Tywin's instincts for politics and unlike knows that there has to be a balance between ruling fear and with mercy. Also now that Tywin is gone, Tyrion is now free to pursue his relationship with Shae and Cersei won't be there to ruin it. As for the meeting with the Martells, well that might be a bit complex. Doran will be civil as usual and greet Daveth and his family formally, and Daveth can prove to him that people don't call him the Oathkeeper for nothing. Oberyn and Ellaria definity positive, although the Sand Snakes might be questioning although they might be grateful to Daveth for saving Oberyn's life especially the youngest four. Trystane, well not so sure as Daveth will be wondering about the man, his sister is supposed to marry. Myrcella will be glad to see although might be a bit complex with the death of Cersei on Daveth's order.
Hear My Fury: Please for the love of God, do not let anything happen to those babies! Although with Daveth and Sansa going to Dorne as well as Locke and his men, it's gonna turn pretty bad for the Boltons if Locke is caught. Roose if you want to preserve your house you will give Daveth Ramsay.
LunaEvanna Longbottom: I feel like Cassana is going to grow up like Arya.