In Dorne…
Taking a private stroll through the Water Gardens, King Daveth I Baratheon had longed to steady his nerves and calm himself down in the wake of what could possibly be described as a breach of protocol if not a breach of trust. Earlier, one of his own Kingsguard Ariyana Dayne had admitted to spying on him on behalf of House Martell; despite Prince Doran's attempt of explanation, Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria Sand had pissed him off and caused him to storm out. The Young Stag knew he had to better control himself, but the thought of being deceived again was too much for him to handle.
Leaning against the wall, Daveth chose to do his breathing exercises: slow inhales through the nose, slow exhales out the mouth. Keeping two fingers pressed against his wrist, the Young Stag checked his pulse so it'd remain steady.
"The house that puts family first will always defeat the house that puts the whims and wishes of its sons and daughters first. A good man does everything in his power to better his family's position – regardless of his own selfish desires," a voice rang through his mind.
"No matter who you are, no matter how strong you are, sooner or later, you'll face circumstances beyond your control, my son. When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground."
Daveth shook his head, trying to rid himself of past ghosts—those no longer with him. Feeling himself tense up, he curled his left hand into a ball and smacked the side of the building.
"Seems what my wife said about you is true, after all. You are a good lad."
"No… no, Ned, I'm really not," he quietly told himself.
"Brother!" a feminine voice called out to him. "Brother, wait!"
Turning his head, Daveth saw his younger sister Myrcella chasing after him—her delicate hands lifting the front of her dress so as to not trip over herself. Following close alongside her was Prince Trystane Martell; both of them had departed from the meeting chambers and sought him out.
"Your Grace," Trystane panted.
Myrcella huffed and straightened her hair. "Brother, come back with us please."
"I asked to be left alone."
Both Trystane and Myrcella were briefly taken aback by Daveth's bluntness, but it was Myrcella who quickly recomposed herself.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but it's a request I will not obey," she told him. "The Queen has been very specific on what you've been gone through during these last few years. Because of that, I cannot in good conscience leave you alone."
"Oh? You think you understand exactly what I've been through?"
"Ever since Lannisport, yes. You're my brother, so of course I'd notice when something bothers you," she paused momentarily. "I also heard about what Joff did. The riots, all those innocent children…"
Daveth knew what Myrcella was referring to. "He paid for his crimes."
"What of the Greyjoys? You destroyed the Iron Islands."
Normally the Young Stag would find that particular mention of House Greyjoy to trigger harsh, unforgiving flashbacks of his troubled youth—but much to his surprise felt nothing at all. He wasn't fond of it, but neither did he back down.
"I don't deny it," he told her, "but not all the Greyjoys are gone. Yara is spending the rest of her days locked up at Deepwood Motte, and Theon… well, he had the courtesy of working against his father's wishes from the beginning."
"What did you do with him?"
"He bent the knee, swore an oath of fealty to the Iron Throne and is now a loyal bannerman of House Stark. I've named him Lord of the Iron Islands and Lord Reaper of Pyke."
"But the Iron Islands are—"
"The name alone suits our purposes far more than that useless barren wasteland. I gave the Greyjoys a second chance at redemption; they will not get a third."
"And mother?" she asked daringly.
Daveth felt his jaw clench a bit at the mention of their mother Queen Dowager Cersei Lannister. 'You are no son of mine' still stung him and had relived each experience of her treachery in his sleep over and over again before doing what needed to be done… albeit it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"You didn't see what she did, Myrcella," he told her. "Our mother… she's done things I was incapable of imagining."
"But why execute her?"
"You think I wanted that to happen? I never wished our mother ill, I never did! All I wanted was the truth. If she hadn't been so foolish as to demand a trial by seven in the first place, then she wouldn't have sealed her own fate. What's worse is the revelation knowing that she only used us all for her own egotistical agenda—a symbolism of the ego!" He calmed himself down. "I'm tired of it all, Myrcella. The lies, backstabbing… all whole lot of it. I'm tired of it all. It's all I've had to deal with for four years. Four years!"
Trystane said nothing, but listened.
"Fighting two wars back-to-back, outmaneuvering power-hungry sycophants at every corner… It's all I've ever done since you left home," he continued.
"Yet that doesn't mean you have to shoulder every burden by yourself!" Myrcella suggested.
"The path laid before you will always remain a constant struggle, and every day you will face obstacles. Yes, you may stumble or even stray from the path… but there are still people out there who care for you; who want to help you."
'Oh, Lord Arryn…' Daveth's face somewhat softened.
Detecting her eldest brother's mental exhaustion and the stress of the world weighing him down, Myrcella approached and embraced Daveth in a nurturing hug. The Young Stag stiffened, but relented at his sister's touch. Trystane felt a sense of sibling comfort, much to his envy considering his mother left Dorne without providing a sibling for him to become acquainted with.
"Well, well… isn't this precious?" a rough voice called out.
Breaking the concentration, Daveth immediately looked over his shoulder and pushed Myrcella away from him. Turning around, the Young Stag noticed fifteen individuals donning the Dornish attire with a pack of dogs. Sensing danger, Daveth stepped in front of Myrcella and placed a protective arm across between them.
"Neither of these men are from Dorne," Trystane observed.
"No, they're not," Myrcella agreed.
The leader unveiled the golden balaclava off of his face, revealing his identity. A scar along his right face, bushy beard and dark brown (albeit slightly greying) hair smoothed back, the Young Stag recognized him from the Second Greyjoy Rebellion as well as the distinct medallion embroidered beneath his disguise.
"A red man upside-down on an x-shaped white cross over a black field," he observed. "The flayed man of House Bolton. Always was a bit too gruesome for my taste."
"Very observant of you, Oathkeeper," he bitterly grimaced, his yellow teeth clenched.
Daveth looked serious. "Locke."
"Surprised to see me?"
Trystane looked at the King. "Your Grace, you know this man?" he asked.
The Young Stag nodded. "He was one of Lord Roose Bolton's men-at-arms. During the Second Greyjoy Rebellion, he unfortunately disgraced himself when he and his men terrorized Winterfell's denizens and tried to lie about it. Last I heard he was rotting in some bygone cell beneath the Dreadfort."
"I lost everything because of you!" Locke snarled angrily. "Now everyone in the North wants my head!"
"You have only yourself to blame for your own misgivings. I know it, as does the entire North. You stand alone, Locke." He narrowed his eyes. "But it wasn't Lord Bolton who set you free, wasn't it? No, he's much too smart to risk anything that might jeopardize his house's standing. The dogs, how your men stink… I'm guessing that Ramsay not only released you from confinement but sent you here to stir up trouble, didn't he?"
Locke said nothing, but further furrowed his brows as the hounds began snarling. Myrcella backed away, more frightened of the animals bearing their teeth at them. Trystane Martell, however, gripped his rapier—ready to defend his betrothed.
"Who is this Ramsay?" he asked. "I've never heard of him."
"A bastard of the North, hence the surname Snow," Daveth explained. "He might appear to be cooperative on the outside, but one glance and you'll realize he's on a whole different level of psychotic sadism. Flaying people alive, torturing them, hunting them for sport after setting his hounds loose… He makes no secret of it all and takes great pleasure of inflicting pain onto others. Think of the worst moral tendencies you could possibly imagine."
Locke unsheathed his sword, as did his men. The dogs growled as Daveth stood his ground even as they slowly made their approach.
"Trystane," he whispered to him, "take my sister back inside. Warn your father. Go."
Trystane shook his head. "Not leaving you alone, Your Grace," he declined. "These assassins invaded Dorne so they're also House Martell's problem."
"Now is not the time for tomfoolery."
"You're not going anywhere," Locke declared. "And you," he turns to Myrcella, "you're coming with us, Princess."
Myrcella backed away again and felt herself pressing against the wall behind her. That was the last straw for the Young Stag. Unveiling a hidden dagger from his sleeve, Daveth stared down the Bastard's Boys and their hounds despite the danger.
"Come at my sister and I'll make the Rains of Castamere look like child's play," he warned threateningly.
"I will not be left with nothing again, Oathkeeper! Kill them all!"
"I've warned you."
"Rip him, girls!" Ben Bones ordered his dogs. "Rip him! Rip him!"
*"Woof! Woof! Woof!"*
One by one, the dogs lunged forth. Surprisingly none of them managed to get close enough as two of the Bastard's girls were cut down by the timely arrival of the Kingsguard Ser Lucius Blackmyre and Ser Jaime Lannister.
"Oh no, you don't!" Ser Jaime exclaimed.
Lucius bashed another dog's head with his spiked mace. "Get back, you animals!" he proclaimed.
Daveth smiled confidently. "Your timing is impeccable," he remarked.
"Considering the noise your 'guests' were making, we knew there was trouble afoot," Jaime retorted.
"You shouldn't have gone off alone, Your Grace," Lucius scolded.
"We'll talk about it later. Here they come!"
Locke, Ben Bones, Yellow Dick, Damon Dance-for-Me, Luton, Sour Alyn, Skinner and Grunt all charged forth with their weapons drawn and unleashed their hounds for the next rush. Outnumbered, Daveth and the Kingsguard fought them off as best as they possibly could. Trystane tried to unsheathe his rapier, but was backhanded across the face by Locke, knocking him out.
"No!" Myrcella cried out.
"Stupid boy," he grumbled.
Lucius and Jaime fended off the hounds to fell Luton and Yellow Dick before returning their attention back to the dogs. The animals' jaws and teeth snapped within inches of the armor, ignoring the occasional kicks and backhands. Daveth, meanwhile, slashed his dagger at the Bastard's girls snouts but they were just as vicious as they were tenacious when promised fresh meet. One dog lunged upwards and snapped its jaws shut around the Young Stag's left arm.
*CRUNCH!*
"Gnaah!" Daveth hollered, the hound's teeth digging deep into his forearm and ripping at him.
Lucius turned to see the scene as two more hounds circled around the King, each trying to pull him down. "Protect the King!" he hollered.
Fighting to keep his balance, Daveth shook his arm to get the dog off of him but the vicious animal would not release its grip. Ser Lucuis arrived with mace in hand to smack two of them away from the King's legs before the Young Stag gripped his dagger and drove it deep near the base of animal's skull—ignoring the hounds quick yelp and twisted the blade, causing the Bastard's girl to release its grip.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Damon Dance-for-Me rushed to Myrcella with sword in hand. "You're coming with me," he said gripping the Princess by the wrist.
Myrcella struggled against his grip. "I don't want to! Let go of me!"
"I'm not asking," he pointed the tip of his blade at the young girl's throat.
"UNHAND HER THIS INSTANT!" Jaime screamed angrily, driving his blade through Damon Dance-for-Me's back before gripping the assassin's sword arm and threw him to the ground, thrusting his blade downward through the nape of his neck.
"Uncle!" Myrcella cried out, pointing to her brother.
Jaime looked as Daveth held his mangled left arm; his sleeve was soaked in blood, yet the Young Stag continued to fight. Locke looked rather smug.
"Not so confident now, aren't you, Oathkeeper?" he taunted.
Daveth glanced from side to side, noticing the dogs closing in on him and Locke's men attempting to separate Lucius and Jaime from Myrcella who cradled an unconscious Trystane.
"Haven't you learned by now?" he countered. "Victory in battle is not won through superior numbers."
"Please! Look at you! There's more of us than there is of you! You've lost!"
"Not quite!" a voice called out.
*WHOP-EESH!*
Before Locke could respond, a whip wraps around his wrist. Daveth, Lucius, Jaime and Myrcella glanced up to see reinforcements arriving. Locke fought against the whip.
"The fuck are you?" he demanded.
A tall muscular Dornishwoman, armed with a spear, pierced her blade through Sour Alyn and knocked him to the ground.
"I am Obara Sand, daughter of Oberyn Martell," she announced. "I fight for Dorne! Who do you fight for?"
"Fucking bitch!" he hollered before the whip on his wrist untangled before it slapped him across the face.
*WHOP-EESH!*
Nymeria Sand scored another direct hit as her half-sister Tyene Sand parried her twin blades and cut Ben Bones' arm before impaling one of them through the eye.
"Your method of fighting gets rather sloppy whenever you're angry," Nymeria pointed out. "That makes you more susceptible to making more mistakes and exposing your own weak points."
Locke felt a sting across his cheek as Olyvar Frey—carrying a huge leather baggage around his shoulder—rushed into the fray, crossing swords with Grunt before tossing him aside and rushing towards Daveth.
"Your Grace!" he called out. "Thank the Gods we made it here in time!"
Daveth, still lifting his mauled left arm up, was pleased. "I was wondering what took you so long."
"We got a bit sidetracked, but that traveling merchant who brought us here helped us identify these treasonous scumbags. Once we figured it out, we came rushing back as fast as we could!"
"Good lad. I'll be sure you're all rewarded for this."
Feeling his chances at revenge slipping away, Locke let loose. "JUST FUCKIN' KILL 'EM ALL!"
Dogs ran in every direction, snapping their jaws at whoever crossed their path. Obara twirled her spear around to keep the dogs at bay; Tyene and Olyvar worked together in unison to keep other hounds away from Trystane and Myrcella. Nearby, the sound of rapid footsteps approaching became more and more apparent as Daveth felt another dog sinking its teeth onto his shoulder.
"Nnagh! Stupid dog!" he cursed, charging backwards to slam the Bastard's girl into the wall.
The animal yelped, but refused to release its grip. Slamming the beast repeatedly against the wall again and again, Daveth felt its jaws tighten before driving his dagger into its skull—withdrawing quickly as the Bastard's girl finally released and slumped to the ground. His shoulder and left arm were bleeding, staining his attire.
"Your Grace! Are you all right?" Olyvar called out.
"Does it look like I'm all right?!" he retorted.
Reaching into his bag while kicking a dog away, Olyvar pulled out Stormbringer.
"Your Grace! Catch!"
Tossing Stormbringer into the air, Olyvar watched as Daveth reached out with his right arm to grasp his Valyrian steel sword's handle. Truly feeling as he if was ready for a fight, the Young Stag swung his blade—fending off three dogs before noticing Locke storming after Myrcella and Jaime in a blinding, frustrating fury.
Like a lion stalking its prey, Daveth gave chase—leaping towards Locke, brought his left arm around Locke's neck and throwing him to the ground, never minding he himself stumbled as well. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder and arm, adrenaline rushing through his body, Daveth regained his balance… his gaze focused on Locke, like a predator stalking its prey.
"Brother!" Myrcella cried out.
"STAY AWAY FROM MY SISTER, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he roared.
Locke got back to his feet and moved to defend himself from Daveth's onslaught; the Young Stag utilized one hand to rain down blow after blow. Locke kicked the Young Stag away before pressing the attack, steel clashing against one another before two dogs barked and snapped at his heels.
Daveth turned to fend them off, but Locke shoulder tackled the Young Stag against the nearest wall; viciously pounding at his mauled left forearm and shoulder. Daveth gritted his teeth and grabbed him, spinning him around before kneeing him and head-butting him.
"Fucking stag brat!" Locke cursed.
All Daveth saw was red after the stunt Locke just tried to pull, but blinked to normality once the footmen's stomping approached. Swarming in from all corners, a group of Dornish guards appeared and surrounded the assailants. A few of them managed to finish off the remaining Bastard's girls, each cussing the vicious nature of the hounds. Locke watched as the leader stepped forth, revealing Prince Doran's Norovoshi captain of the guard Aero Hotah approached with halberd in hand.
"Drop your weapons!" he bellowed.
Realizing that he was now all alone, Locke hollered. Daveth, meanwhile, despite his wounds on the left arm and shoulder, smirked in a smug manner.
"Not so confident now, aren't you, Locke?" he repeated his taunts. "Do not complain. You brought this on yourself. Take a good look: there are more of us than there is of you. You have lost."
Lashing out his frustrations, Locke turned towards Aero—but before he could get out a single swing of his sword, Aero spun his halberd and brought it down on Locke's neck, nearly decapitating him in the process. As blood spurt out, Aero got his halberd unstuck and watched as Locke slumped to the ground lifeless.
"Hmph! Not even a decent challenge," he scoffed. Aero approached Daveth, noticing a bloodied dagger, bloodied Stormbringer and of course, the Young Stag's bleeding mauled injuries. "For a half-lion, half-stag… you actually fight pretty well when your back's against the wall."
Obara, Nymeria, Tyene Sand and Olyvar Frey approached.
"Your Grace, we need to get those wounds of yours looked at," Olyvar pointed out. "The Martells should have a maester. Maybe he'll patch you up."
Daveth glanced at the unconscious Trystane. "Be sure to treat him first," he pointed at him. "And escort Princess Myrcella Baratheon back inside."
'Just like what Robert did with Barristan after the Battle of the Trident,' Lucius reminisced.
A dozen Dornish guards helped lift up Trystane, who mumbled something as he slowly regained consciousness. Myrcella looked between her betrothed and her brother.
"Don't worry. I'll be all right," he told her. "Go on. I'll catch up."
Myrcella escorted Trystane back inside, with the Sand Snakes keeping a close watch on them. Once out of sight, Aero Hotah looked at Olyvar.
"You took the weapons out of the storage," he told him.
Olyvar nodded. "I know I shouldn't have. Your roof, your rules. But… I had to protect the King. I'm his squire. It's my responsibility."
"Admirable," Lucius noted, "but that's the duty of the Kingsguard, child."
"Still, I'm sure this'll be a slight oversight that can be overlooked just this one time," Jaime mentioned. "We did, after all, helped keep those assassins off Prince Doran's son and His Grace in the process."
Aero looked unconvinced. "That'll be up to the Prince himself to decide. Inside now."
Wrapping Daveth's arm around his shoulder, Jaime glanced at his nephew as they proceeded to walk back inside one of the Water Gardens' main apartments near the Spear Tower.
"It never ends with you, doesn't it?" he asked.
Daveth shook his head, ignoring the burning stinging sensation in his left arm and shoulder. "I'm afraid it never does, uncle. Some peace and quiet would've been nice at least once in a while."
"Sadly not all of us can afford that luxury."
"That they cannot." He decided to change the subject. "You did well back there. With Myrcella."
Jaime blinked, yet shook his head as he recalled his earlier outburst. "UNHAND HER THIS INSTANT!" He shook his head again. 'Don't even think about it! Remember, she's your niece… not your daughter.'
"I know what you're thinking," Daveth interrupted his thoughts.
Jaime was getting wearier and shook his nephew's arm slightly, causing him to hiss.
"Oooh, you are going to pay for that one!"
"Promises, promises," he chuckled.
Jokes aside, both sought out House Martell's maester, Caleotte, and hoped he'd be decent enough to stitch the Young Stag's injuries sustained… and send a report back to King's Landing about the failed assassination attempt.
Chapter End
Author's Note: Well, an assassination attempt has been carried out and Daveth Baratheon is bound to sustain more scars. Probably they'll be uglier than the ones he already has now. The earlier interaction with Myrcella indicates how much she's grown, carrying with her Cersei Lannister's beauty but none of her meanness and the famous Lannister cunning. A kind, gentle heart, Myrcella reassures her eldest brother that he doesn't have to do anything alone; an old habit he's found hard to break. And it may have been quick, but Aero Hotah got in on some of the action—one swing, one kill. But what reward do you guys think Daveth should give his rescuers? Thoughts? Let me know.
History and lore of Daveth Baratheon:
"Hi, I'm Henry Cavill and I play Daveth Baratheon.
When we first meet Daveth in season one, we kinda get a bit an insight of his relationship with his parents and what drives him to be the kind of young man he came to be known as, which of course we know as the Oathkeeper. He's the firstborn son and heir of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. We know that he has two younger brothers Joffrey and Tommen, and a sister Myrcella."
As Season 8 approaches, we'll soon be getting a bit of a sneak peek about the history of Daveth Baratheon; one where other actors and actresses have already gave in an HBO interview. Again, it's only a sample so expect a bit more as we further progress into the story.
Silent Wolf Singer: Damn, this guy cant get a break can he. Always on guard, and enemies in the shadow.
RHatch89: Awesome job as always :)
―Thanks.
mpowers045: The Assassination attempt has been failed, huzah!
marco794: i think olyvar frey should be knighted, the kid went above and beyond the duties of a squire
Hear My Fury: Okay! After that, I now have a theory for what will happen with Ramsay. He will kill Roose after finding out Locke failed in Dorne, gather the houses in the North for rebellion, most likely, Karstarks, Whitehills, Ryswells, Dustins. Umbers may join if Greatjon dies his son Smalljon succeeds him and Jon lets the wildlings in. Glovers will not join because Greyjoys and Robb let Theon go so they'll take this as a slight. The other houses will join, minus Manderlys if you give the same weak excuse the writers did and Lord Manderly 'didn't want anymore of his people dying.' But I have hope that Stannis will help the Starks given that he has 28,000 men and the Boltons have what 5,000? It will be similar to Battle of the Bastards except it's against rebel Northerners instead of taking back Winterfell. Though I hope you don't go by show Stannis and have him burn Shireen. Anyway, great chapter, looking forward to the next.
ZabuzasGirl: I love it!
―Thanks.