Petyr: I organized a vote to see which pairing people would prefer. They voted Margaery, and I said that I would try my best to make it happen. Officially, it is. However, I cannot guarantee that I will manage to bring these two together, or that it will be a happy marriage.

osterreicher: Renly has a lot of things going for him, but his underestimation of how far Stannis was going to go for his crown did him in. That and not striking the Lannisters immediately after the Battle of the Camps.

TMI: For Nymeria's marriage prospects, doubtful. Marrying a bastard brings no real alliance and no real dowry. However, Nymeria's situation would be slightly different with her being Oberyn's daughter. There is still a good chance that she'd get a landed knight's hand, or that of a minor house. But no big house would take that gamble.

Dased: Choice made out of love not reason. He isn't going to marry her, he isn't stupid, but he certainly will keep her close.

iacopo: Quentyn is only letting Nym know because he thinks he trusts her enough to not completely reject what will happen to Renly. However, butterflies have already flown...

Slycerr: The good thing with Dorne is paramours are widely accepted. And even in other parts of Westeros, you have the famous saying "one to wed and one to bed", which one character says in canon (Bronn or Tyrion? Unsure.). The question will be if Quentyn is willing to come into an agreement with his wife or how that agreement is structured.

ATP: Tywin's army is in a...different situation than canon.

Guest: Crownlands are dirt-poor. Probably the second-weakest area of the Kingdoms after the Iron Islands.

Catelyn

The northern party was about a day or so out of Bitterbridge, she had heard Ser Wendel say. And Catelyn would hope that they'd finally make it.

It had been less than a moon since they'd left Riverrun, her and her escort of thirty northmen and riverlanders, but it felt like years had passed.

She no longer recognized her son or her brother. Long gone were the days where both were just children. Now they had become men, and warriors in their own right, and she would have to accept it.

She had barely recognized Edmure when they had reached the Twins, but his brother had worn a stern face, and was already scarred, his arm having been bandaged. It had seemed like the Frey war had occurred at the worst possible moment.

Yet they had to press south, towards Riverrun, and the Lannisters were waiting for them. She didn't bear witness to the battle that followed, but she did see the aftermath, and it was disastrous.

Robb and Edmure had claimed victory, and Robb's bannermen had been quick to crown him king for it. But how many had died? A third of their host? Half? So many good men lost…but Riverrun had been saved. She couldn't say as much for many keeps in the Riverlands, or their lords.

The Darrys had been exterminated to the last. The Vances had been culled, Jonos Bracken lost an eye, Rickard Karstark was now lacking two sons, Halys Hornwood was missing a leg, Jason Mallister an ear. And they could count themselves lucky, for many more had not lived. Maege Mormont, Robett Glover, Roose Bolton, Robin Flint, Tytos Blackwood, Medger Cerwyn, Jared Frey, Clement Piper, Cregan Karstark, Helman Tallhart and many more.

Their enemies had been bloodied as well. Many had been captured including Quenten Banefort, Garth Greenfield, Tytos Brax, Forley Prester and a dozen other westermen. At least they had captured the imp of Casterly Rock, but that was a meagre prize as Ser Jaime Lannister wasn't so lucky, and she was told that the kingsguard was cut down by Rickard Karstark himself after he saw his sons Eddard and Torrhen killed before him, with Gawen Westerling, Andros Brax, Steffon Swyft, Roland Crakehall, Leo Lefford, Terrence Kenning, Melwyn Sarsfield and Damon Serrett following him to the grave in the muddied fields around Riverrun.

However, the Lannister host had retreated in good order towards Harrenhal, and Tywin Lannister along with it. Even she knew that storming the cursed castle with the forces they now had was impossible. They would need an ally.

And so, she was sent south, to Renly Baratheon. To a lord she only knew when he was a boy of no more than six or seven namedays. But Robb had insisted, otherwise he'd had have sent for the Greatjon. She knew he would be ill-suited to treat with a man such as Renly, and as such, she accepted.

Yet the days felt long, and her knees and hands felt weak. The scars from the valyrian steel dagger that had tried to end her son's life hadn't completely healed, and the war raging around her had probably shattered her. She wanted to weep, to cry, to rest.

But she could not allow herself to be weak. Not when her daughters needed her. And so, she pushed forwards.

There is no one else that I could trust with this mission.

Robb's words echoed inside of her head. Not a boy, a king.

A king who had thrown her counsel away and sent the Greyjoy heir back to his father. A king who had tried to send her back to the Twins or Seagard. But a king that she could not hate. He would always be little Robb to her, and gods knew that she needed to hang on to these memories.

And when the banners of Renly's camp finally came into view, she breathed a sigh of relief.

A knight of a small house whose sigil was adorned with bluejays came to them and guided the little party to the tents, who lined up in the hundreds.

Catelyn had never seen such a sight. Hundreds of banners were floating in the air. Renly's crowned stag of course, but it was accompanied with Caron's nightingales, Penroses' quills, Estermont's turtle, Tarly's huntsman, Hightower's flaming tower, Rowan's golden tree and most peculiar of all, on the edges of camp, a few tents bearing ominous sigils surrounding a lone tent with the sun and spear of the Martells.

There had been rumours that the Dornishmen would flock to Renly's side, but only a dozen tents flying Dornish sigils had surprised her, when it was said that Dorne could call on more than fifty thousand men.

She had not seen them at the melee either. Instead meeting many of the Reachers, and of course, Renly Baratheon and his wife Margaery Tyrell.

Renly was just like Robert in his youth; handsome, fierce and charismatic, no wonder the Stormlords followed him so eagerly. His wife on the other hand, was younger than him, but no less pretty with her soft eyes and long, brown, hair. She was the one that brought the Reachers to his cause, they and their eighty-thousand men.

They had talked little, and Catelyn couldn't say that she was particularly impressed by the young would-be king. However, his hospitality was beyond what she could hope for. Her tent was located just outside of Bitterbridge's castle, and was not only spacious, but well decorated and stocked.

However, she had little time in enjoying the luxuries of such a space, for she had to quickly change into clothes more befitting for a King's feast, which would be thrown inside of Lord Caswell's walls. Accompanying her, she could see that Wendel Manderly, Lucas Blackwood, Perwyn Frey, Daryn Hornwood and the other lordlings were relieved to finally get a break from the fighting and enjoy themselves for a night.

Catelyn could understand that, but while her daughters were still captives in the capital, she could not even enjoy herself, or get her fill of the famed bounty of Highgarden, which had evidently been left untouched as course after course of meals, more extravagant than the other, poured into the dining hall.

Only conversation had distracted her from her grief. She was sat next to Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove, whom she already knew from the days of the Rebellion. A kind man, as he had inquired after the health of her kin. The other man she was sat next to was Ser Jon Fossoway. He was more jovial and traded jests with her, but she wasn't much in the mood for any of this.

It was a young man with the sigil of a dolphin that came to rescue her. House Lowther, she remembered.

"Are you alright, my lady?" he inquired, while Catelyn felt her head spin. "Do you need some air?"

"I would much like this, yes." She confessed. "I am sorry, my lords, the travels have worn me down."

The men looked at each other and shared a look of confusion. However, she had already made up her mind and left them.

"Would you like to walk with me, my lady?" the young knight asked. "You don't seem to be completely well."

"If it is not too much of a bother, ser." She replied, looking at the young man a little closer.

He was shorter than her. Not by much, but enough for Catelyn to look nearly directly into his eyes. She couldn't tell much of the man, other than he had dark hair and a large scar cutting through his face.

"It isn't, my lady." He replied courteously. "It is not every day that you get to talk to someone that isn't of the Reach around here."

Catelyn only nodded slightly, getting away from the whole commotion of the feast and stepping outside, gathering her spirits for a moment, the young man waiting beside her.

They went up the battlements, looking straight at the hundreds of tents lined up under the walls of the castle, stretching on for leagues as the fires illuminated the banks of the Mander.

"How many men does Lord Renly have here?" she finally had the courage to ask.

"Eighty, mayhaps one hundred thousand, my lady." The man replied without a second thought. "Mostly Reachmen, but many Stormlanders too."

"No Dornishmen?" she asked, recalling the banners she had seen floating in the wind earlier that day.

The man rose an eyebrow.

"No." He replied. "The Dornish have come to negotiate an alliance with King Renly, and have not committed any troops. They mostly keep to themselves after a few incidents with some Oakheart and Peake knights. No one has died yet, thank the gods, but it might soon. An Oakheart knight already got his arm broken because he tried to take on a man twice his size and weight, and a knight of house Peake lost an ear after thinking taking on three very drunk dornishmen was a clever idea.

Add onto that, the fact that Dornishmen are what they are, flirtatious as they can be, and we've had a couple incidents with some of the Reacher ladies and servants already. Which has not been made easier with Lord Dayne allegedly sleeping with two of Lord Rowan's daughters and Lord Rowan claiming, prideful that he is, blood recompense or marriage or gods only know what he'll invent on the morrow; or the incidents between the Yronwoods and the Costayne ladies; or four Dornish knights having reportedly spent the night with other men, which included…highborn company.

In short, they've been trying to lay low for a few days."

"I do not understand why Lord Renly needs them." Catelyn scoffed. "The Dornish are a bunch of small, short-tempered, arrogant, lying, lecherous, wanton, deceiving people, with no sense of honor."

"Well, I'd say that is true of us except the small part." the man chuckled. "You'd be surprised at how many of us are actually tall. My uncle is a head taller than both of us, for example, and a lot of my household guard are taller too."

Catelyn stood confused for a time, until the man came into the moonlight. Her face went white, then red with shame as she saw the man's skin stay dark even under the light. His skin was olive, and the sigil he bore was not the silver dolphin of house Lowther, but a blue dolphin of a house she had not recognized, and that sigil was not embroidered but painted.

"I am so sorry, ser…" she stammered.

"Prince, if you please." He smiled.

"Prince, but your…" she started, before the man cut her off.

"A doublet that was loaned to me by a man of House Isles." He confided. "My other one is still wet and drying at our tent, and unfortunately only my sword bears the colours of my house. And you know about Dornishmen and how picky the Reachers can be about carrying anything sharper than a nail to a feast…"

"Who are you?" she asked, still reeling from the shock that she had insulted this man's entire people just moments earlier.

"Prince Quentyn Martell, at your service." The man half-bowed.

Catelyn felt as she was about to faint. How could she have been so stupid? The man had olive skin and spoke with an unmistakable Dornish accent. Was she really that tired? She needed a seat.

"Do not fret, my lady." He tried to comfort her while she sat down on a small rampart's edge. "I have heard a lot worse in these recent times. And I didn't mean to cause you any distress."

"No, I am sorry, my prince." She stammered. "I should be the one apologizing. I was rude and that is unforgivable of me."

"It is understandable, my lady." He continued, sitting down next to her. "Your husband was unjustly killed recently, your son who was but a boy a few weeks ago is now a King, and your daughters are still hostages in the capital. I can understand that you are distressed."

"I…I…" she meant to speak, but no words came out. How did he know…

"Speaking of your husband, I must bring my heartfelt condolences." He said, his tone sincere. "I did not know him personally, but I did exchange a few letters with him, he did seem like a good man."

"You wrote to my husband?" she asked, surprised. Ned hadn't told her of any correspondence with the young prince.

"Yes, it was mostly trivial. Trade agreements and the like. Nothing serious." He nodded. "In Dorne…the Starks are not very well-respected since the Rebellion. In truth, not a lot of houses are. To us, they are still one of those responsible for Elia's death and those of thousands on the Trident."

"They didn't have a choice."

"I agree, my lady." He nodded. "What should your husband have done? Give his head to the Mad King? I cannot fault him for having risen in revolt. Anyone would have. My feud is with the Lannisters and their dogs, they are the only ones who need to pay."

"It seems we both have the same goal…"

"And it seems you now know the pain we felt when Elia and her children were unjustly murdered and we received no justice." He spoke softly. "I find it ironic, but you and I are not much different."

"Have you lost your wife, my prince?" she asked, defiantly, "Your father? Your mother? Are your daughters held hostage in your enemies' hands? I mean no disrespect, my prince, but you and I are very different."

"I have not lost my wife, for I do not have any, my lady." He pointed out. "I have a woman that I love, and thank the gods, I have not lost her. My father…he decided to sell me to the Yronwoods when I was a boy barely old enough to walk for a mistake his brother made, and then did not talk to me unless he needed something. My mother…"

The young prince wiped a lone tear from his face.

"My mother isn't dead, but she very well could be. I do not have any memories of her, for my father and her had their differences after I was sent to Yronwood. She left not long after my youngest brother was born, and I never saw her after my sixth nameday. She returned to the Free Cities, where she is today."

"I'm sorry." Catelyn instinctively said. "I know how it feels to grow without a mother. I lost my mother around the age when you lost yours."

"As for my siblings…well I had not seen my little brother until a few months ago. And my sister…well it's complicated." He shook his head. "I fear our family is not as tightly knit as yours, my lady, but although I have no daughters or family members in my enemies' hands, I do have cousins whom I will never get to know, for they have been slain and butchered nearly five-and-ten years ago."

"The princess Rhaenys and little prince Aegon." She nodded sombrely. "And princess Elia. It was nightmarish. I could not believe that they would have harmed a little girl and her mother. And my husband…he was troubled by it. He would refuse to speak of it, for he saw their bodies, and I think it marked him."

Indeed, when news had come about what had happened to the children and princess Elia, she had been horrified along with everyone else. However, if time had wiped that memory from her, it surely had not wiped it from the Dornish, and who could blame them?

She remembered the Darrys and the burnt villages in the Riverlands. Truly, the world would be better off without the likes of Gregor Clegane.

"And we are both here, sent by people more powerful than us – related I might add – to try and conclude an impossible alliance with Renly Baratheon to try and get him to crush the Lannisters." He shook his head. "We both want justice for our loved ones, but somehow I think it will be long till we get it.

But we must do our duty for our mutual houses, no?"

"We must." She said simply.

"I would wager than you would rather be in Winterfell, surrounded by your children and reading them stories." He smiled. "I would also like to be on the beaches near the Water Gardens, my arms around the woman I love, with the waves rushing to tickle my feet, but here we are."

"Here we are." Catelyn nodded.

There was some truth to what the prince was saying. She would much rather be at Winterfell. But she couldn't. Not while her son was fighting a war. Not while her son needed her still. Not when her daughters were still under the lion's clutches.

"Would you like to cry, my lady?" he asked, almost bluntly.

"Cry?"

"I have observed you and I feel like you are holding something back." The scarred prince said. "It will give you no shame to cry. Crying does not make you weak, my lady. It means that you have feeling, like any of us."

"And what good would crying do, my prince?" she shrugged. "I will spend my tears when I will have my daughters back."

"As you wish, my lady." The prince quickly dropped the issue.

"Do you think Lord Renly will ever make a move on the Lannisters?" she asked, trying to move on.

After all, since the Dornish prince had been here longer than her, he surely had more information than her in regards to their situation.

"My lady, I have been here for eight days and all I saw was King Renly's host having done nothing but feast and host tourneys and melees. It will be a disaster when war finally comes to them."

"War will make them old." She sighed.

"War will make them dead." The prince scoffed. "I have not been impressed by the men fighting in the melee, I will tell you that much. The Stormlanders have some abilities but the Reachmen come in and think that war is exactly like the songs they sing."

"They are knights of the summer…" she started.

"…and Winter is coming." The prince finished. "As the Starks love reminding us. The thing is…they're unfortunately usually right. Winter will come for them, and when it does…I pity them."

"Winter comes sooner than we'd all like." She found the heart to say. "Even you, my prince."

"Hopefully my hot Dornish blood can keep winter away for a little while longer." He half-joked. "But for King Renly's men, I would agree that it shall come sooner than he thinks, for I fear that we are the only two people in this castle that take Renly's older brother as a threat."

"You mean Lord Renly doesn't see Stannis as a threat?"

"He thinks King Stannis wouldn't make a good king and therefore he would not take up arms against him." The prince shook his head. "He is going to have a big disappointment coming his way. If a boy who decides to release the only thing keeping Balon Greyjoy from attacking the Seven Kingdoms, then anyone can declare themselves king."

"Careful, Prince Quentyn." Catelyn's eyes narrowed at the insult.

"My apologies, it was not meant to be degrading." He shook his head. "But your son, although he has won a great victory at Riverrun, decided to squander away a valuable hostage. I wouldn't like to be smallfolk around the Northern shore. Balon Greyjoy is a resentful man, and he will go after house Stark."

"I did tell him not to send our ward…"

"But the King's word is law?" he sighed. "A first of many blunders. Luckily, your son isn't the only one making them. By waiting here instead of crushing the Lannisters when they are down, I fear that King Renly is making a much bigger one than King Robb's."

"I still hope that they will both see reason."

"I fear that it might be too late for that, my lady." He shook his head. "Whatever brotherly bonds there once were, they are gone now."

"Brothers are…" Catelyn started before she was instantly cut off by a woman's voice.

"There you are!" the woman shouted.

It was a young woman, too. Her hair was dark and formed a single braid reaching far down her back, and her skin was lighter than the prince's, but still darker than her own.

"I've been looking for you, love, there are…" the girl stopped when she locked eyes with her. "Oh, forgive me, lady Stark. I didn't see you had charmed my cousin."

Cousin? Was this one of Prince Oberyn's daughters?

"Ah, Lady Stark." The scarred prince nodded. "My cousin, Lady Nymeria Sand."

A bastard. Catelyn wanted to sneer, but couldn't. After all, it was well-known that the Dornish treated their bastards differently than the rest of the kingdoms, and that Prince Oberyn had even become enamoured with one. Any insult she would throw here, she would likely regret.

"Well met, my lady." She instead nodded, the young girl shaking her hand quite vigorously.

"Was I interrupting something, love?" she asked as the prince rose from the seat he had previously occupied.

"We were talking with Lady Stark about the war." He replied simply. "We talked about this."

"I see." She replied. "I am sorry for your loss, my lady. Another crime to add on the Lannister's list. I only hope you need not wait five-and-ten years or even more to get justice."

She spat out the last words like they were poison.

"I hope you find your justice, my lady." She nodded. "And congratulate your son on his great victory! The lions have run with their tail between their legs, and thanks to him the Kingslayer is dead."

He is, but at what cost? So many men that will not live to see their homes again. So many mothers that will not see their sons. So many sons and daughters that will weep their fathers…

"Thank you." She only nodded. "I shall tell him."

Before the Dornish bastard had time to say anything else, another presence made itself known in the long hallways of Bitterbridge, and it was not a voice she would have wagered on hearing.

"Prince Quentyn!" the voice boomed. "Are you trying to seduce Lady Catelyn to your bed? Didn't anyone tell you that honorable ladies such as Lady Stark will not fall for your Dornish charms?"

Of course, it was Renly Baratheon that had tried to make this jest. One of poor taste, she might add.

"I fear Lady Stark is a wolf indeed." The scarred prince replied. "I did not think it for a second, your grace. We were talking about our families."

"Well, I hope you don't mind if I steal her from you, prince Quentyn?"

"Of course not, your grace." He shook his head. "If my lady consents, of course."

"I would be honored." Catelyn immediately stood up.

It would give her an excuse not to talk to the bastard much longer, and as much as prince Quentyn's company was appreciated, he was still a Dornishman, and she couldn't bring herself to trust them enough to believe every word he had said.

"Your grace." The prince added. "Do you not have a sworn guard with you?"

"If I cannot walk freely in Lord Caswell's castle, where can I?" he laughed.

The prince's face remained stern.

"You'd be surprised how deep Tywin Lannister's pockets run."

Lord Renly's face went from smiling to a slight frown.

"I shall keep it in mind."

The prince nodded and turned to his cousin. Although, as Catelyn made to leave, he saw the prince and her cousin kiss…on the lips…passionately.

Seeing her nearly dumbfounded, Lord Renly laughed and clasped her shoulder quite roughly.

"Don't worry about it, Lady Catelyn. These two are as Dornish as could be."

It took a moment for her to collect her emotions from what she had seen, but in the end, she only shook her head. Dornishmen remained a mystery to her, and it seemed that they embraced the insults the realm was throwing at them. Yet the conversation she had with the young prince felt different. Although the Dornish were strangers, she felt a little more drawn to them. And mostly, there was an opportunity. If Robb was the ones to give them justice, could they convince Dorne to join forces to crush the Lannisters?

It was the King that saved her from her thoughts, as she shook her head and readied herself for another long discussion.

"Now, my lady. Would you know perchance if Ser Barristan…"