Late 160 AC, Sunspear

The Commander of the Stormbreakers

The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms certainly looked the part, dressed in red and black, flowing, silvery hair with Blackfyre at his waist and the crown of the Conqueror on his brow. In the Tower of the Sun, the King sat upon the seat which bore the Martell spear. The one with the Rhoynish Sun stood empty, for here was where the Queen would have sat if they had one. But it was no urgent matter, Ser Oscar felt, for the King had heirs of his body. His brother, child that he was, would rule if anything unfortunate was to happen to him with Prince Viserys as his regent. The realm was no stranger to child kings. Not after King Aegon, the Dragonbane as they called him.

Ser Oscar for his part was slouched behind a pillar. He did not deign to present himself in the open. The King would make his announcements regardless of whether he could see Oscar or not. If Oscar was to stay in Dorne and help Aegon with these snakes, he'd have to observe them more and the King less. And so, Oscar stood in the shadow of a pillar in the room where the seat of Dornish power once lay.

He took a moment to examine the gathered assembly. In all their years ruling this Principality, the Martells were not ones to ever hold a gathering of such large crowds. As such, they had no seats for the vast numbers of the nobility which had gathered from all over the realm. All stood while the King alone sat. To his side, and just below the twin thrones, Aegon stood. His back was straight and an inscrutable expression played on his face. In contrast to the King's own extreme youth, Aegon played the role of the seasoned lord, experienced and able. Word of his victory over Ser Vorian Dayne had spread like wildfire and even Oscar had to admit that his squire had outdone himself in this regard.

A few feet further stood a crier who had just finished reading out the King's proclamations and was rolling up the parchment he had read from. No sooner did the announcements end when the entire hall erupted into a rush of whispers. The hall was a study in contrast. All of the Dornishmen, and women, stood off to one side. The lords of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms stood off to another side. In the middle, they left enough space to lay two longswords lengthwise. Oscar could not say if this was happenstance or by design.

A wave of lords, knights and lordlings rushed forward to speak with their King. Unlike the Iron Throne, which raised the King to heights no man could even reach on his own two legs, the Martell and Rhoynish thrones were simply placed on an elevated stone dais. Two knights of the Kingsguard, Oscar did not know which was which, stepped forward, hands on spears. Aegon, for his part, still stood in his position despite the throng around him. Each lord clamoured for the honour to speak with their liege first, Dornish and the rest alike.

But not all of those present in the hall went forth to speak with the King. Oscar first noticed Lord Lyonel Tyrell slinking around the large hall. He was hiding behind a pillar, same as Ser Oscar. When another man, most probably from the Reach, judging by his colours, came to him, both of them left the hall, taking care to stay in the shadows and not be seen. It was very curious, but Oscar had better things to do.

He spied a lord in the colours of House Dayne standing near the wall opposite to where Oscar himself stood, almost shrouded in the long silks which draped over the walls in place of tapestries. Oscar shook his head. These Dornish were more fond of silks and gold and all other fineries than they were of anything else. Oscar started to walk over to the Dayne. He thought he ought to unearth this man's feelings on the whole matter. Aegon had expected significant opposition and even rebellion from the man after all.

"Ser Oscar!"

Oscar could see someone approach from the corner of his eye. He turned to face the man. It was Rickon Stark. He had a smile on his face and looked glad to have found Oscar. Oscar did not share this enthusiasm but this was Lord Cregan's son. The Dayne could wait, Oscar thought.

"Young Lord Rickon!" Oscar smiled back and they clasped hands. "I had imagined that you would want to speak with the King."

"And try to get through that crowd?" Oscar and Rickon shared a laugh. "There is nothing I would say that cannot wait." Rickon shrugged. He drew his cloak around himself. His hand drifted down towards his waist, hoping to find the pommel of a sword that wasn't there. None of them gathered there in that hall wore arms save the King and his Kingsguard. The Dornish were notoriously perfidious, everyone knew. Besides that, it was bad form to allow people to bear arms when meeting the King. It certainly wasn't allowed back in King's Landing, Oscar knew, so there was no reason to not continue the same here.

"You look to be on edge" Oscar observed. The lad twitched in place though Oscar did not know if it was from anxiety or irritation.

"Hardly." Rickon Stark scoffed. "I'm no child." He then let out a little chuckle. It seemed nervous, but Oscar let it be. If the lad felt that he could handle himself, who was Oscar to judge? Rickon continued, heedless of Oscar's thoughts. "I have two daughters myself. I am no more a child than you are, Ser."

"And yet, the only image I have of you in my mind is you singing with your high voice for Lady Alysanne at your father's wedding." Oscar crossed his arms across his chest and smirked.

Rickon's ears turned pink, but kept a straight face. "So what if I did?" he asked, letting his cloak fall from his grip and drawing it around himself once more. "I wished to give them a gift and that was all I had in my power, when I was a child. You think it womanly for me to sing?" He looked defiant.

"Peace, lad," Oscar said. "I am not mocking you."

Rickon humphed. He let go of his cloak and hooked his thumbs into his belt. He looked around as if trying to spot someone in the crowd. "What's gotten you into such a tizzy?" Oscar asked. "You appear to be on the lookout for something. Or is it someone?" Oscar scratched his beard, observing the young Stark in front of him.

Rickon winced. "There is something which has been bothering me. I had hoped to speak with you about it, Ser," he began. He motioned Oscar to lean forward. Now, Oscar grew curious. Did Rickon Stark know something? Or did he have some secret? "Yesterday, after I left the prince," Rickon began and Oscar immediately lost all interest, "did he seem angry?" Rickon finished. He looked at Oscar intently.

For all that you say of not being a child, you still are one, Oscar thought. A slight grin played on his face.

"What? Angry at you?" Oscar asked Rickon. He nodded. "Of course, not! Why did you think he would be angry with you, Rickon? You've done nothing to anger the prince, far as I'm concerned," Oscar pointed out. Rickon winced once more.

Oscar looked around the hall while Rickon struggled for words. The room was slowly emptying. The crowd around the King had thinned as well, and the Kingsguard had even managed to herd the lesser lords and knights into forming a queue. After some searching, he found Dayne still in the hall, talking to some other Dornishman. Oscar breathed a sigh of relief. At least Dayne hadn't given him the slip. Then, Rickon spoke.

"It seemed to me that he might have taken offence at my words yesterday," Rickon said finally. He shrugged, looking like a particularly pitiful dog. Oscar ran a palm across his face.

"You mean the whole thing about the Pact of Ice and Fire?" Oscar asked. "What was it about, Stark? I only vaguely recall some marriage being promised."

Rickon sighed. "Prince Jacaerys, as you know, came to Winterfell at the onset of the Dance." Oscar nodded and replied. "Yes, I know all this, lad. He managed to convince your father to join the Blacks in the Dance."

"Ah, yes," Rickon agreed. "He convinced my father, alright. He promised that the Starks would have a Targaryen bride. Or rather, that I would have a Targaryen bride."

Oscar frowned. "But you are married," he pointed out.

"I am," Rickon replied. "Prince Jacaerys promised my father that his first born daughter would be sent as a page to Winterfell and stay until she was of age to be my bride. But as you know-"

"The prince died before he could sire any children," Oscar finished.

"Yes, and I am afraid that Prince Aegon took my presence in his rooms yesterday as a manner of my father reminding him of the Pact," Rickon replied. His face was pinched in irritation.

"But wasn't the pact for Prince Jacaerys's daughter?" Oscar asked.

Rickon nodded. He glanced about the hall once. Seeing that no one was eavesdropping, he spoke. "Truth be told, my father wishes for a Targaryen bride regardless."

"But whom would she marry, lad?" Oscar asked. It seemed that for all of Lord Cregan Stark's disinterest in the affairs of the realm, he still had some plans in motion. But was this endeavour purely Lord Cregan's? The Cregan Stark that Oscar knew did not involve himself in the affairs of anyone South of the Neck. It had taken the death of the Queen to finally stir him from his wintry lair. But men change and there was no reason why Lord Cregan would not. Still, one question remained. "And who would the bride be?" Ser Oscar asked.

"I do not know," Rickon said. "But my daughters are of an age with the King, and I would not mind a Stark bride and a Dragon groom to seal the Pact either." And that was why he chose to meet the Prince. Even a blind fool could see that Aegon held the King's ear, and it had apparently not taken Rickon very long to figure it out.

"I have heard talk of the King wishing to take his own sister as his bride, like the Old King Jaehaerys and the Conqueror before him," Oscar replied carefully. He was impressed. Rickon Stark seemed to certainly have more ambition that Old Lord Cregan. He wondered if his earlier estimates of this being entirely the elder Stark's plan was wrong. But then again, Rickon Stark also seemed to lack even the most base cunningness in his nature. This Stark bore watching.

As much as he loathed to admit, Oscar wondered if he had made a mistake in taking the Stark to meet Aegon a few hours prior. Aegon certainly held no ill-will towards the man but now Oscar wondered if he should. It was no crime, certainly, wishing to see your daughter be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but Oscar was wary of the lengths Rickon Stark might go to see that happen.

Rickon wilted. "I have heard the same, Ser, which is why I haven't approached the King regarding this matter." Oscar was not entirely satisfied.

"Is that why you met the Prince then?" he asked.

Rickon Stark was immediately outraged. "You misunderstand me, Ser." His voice was as cold as his Northern winters. For a brief second, Oscar wondered if he had overstepped. But just as quick as the anger had appeared, it left Rickon. He sighed and looked dejected.

"I only wished to meet the Prince, Ser," Rickon said, "to look at the man who is being called the Dragonknight. It was simple curiosity. Nothing more, nothing less." He drew his cloak around himself once more. Oscar for his part was near to sweating in his clothes, so he wondered how Rickon might feel in that cloak of his, wrapping it around himself so often. Rickon continued, heedless of Oscar's thoughts. "I hoped that your long friendship with my father would make us natural allies as well, but you seem to find everything I say or do suspicious." Rickon looked angry, though it was a cold anger and more directed towards himself than at Oscar.

Oscar was struck for a moment at how this Stark spoke with so much candour. He was reminded of Lord Cregan Stark then, ever honest and true and for his sake, Oscar would not speak of his suspicions about Rickon's motives with Aegon. He had to divert this conversation and end it, however. Dayne would not dally around waiting for him for all of eternity. Oscar glanced back quickly. Dayne was still standing near that far wall, speaking with some other Dornish lord. The King was also still surrounded by many lords and was still seated on the Martell throne.

"You must forgive me for my words, Rickon," Oscar said, with just as much candour as Rickon. "But my years in Essos have turned me into a paranoid creature by nature. A pit of adders, it is, and full of plotters, even for a person like me, serving in a Free Company. It was a necessity, for one can never be too careful in that place." There. Oscar was sure he appeared sincere enough to fool Rickon.

Rickon shook his head. He seemed mollified by Oscar's words. "Well, I suppose I am not without my faults either." He smiled ruefully. "Here I am, so far down South, I'm sure no Stark has ever been before, to try and put a crown on my daughter's brow and I cannot even find it in me to speak with the King about it."

Oscar simply put a hand on the younger man's shoulder and squeezed it. He grinned. "The first step in getting better is figuring out our faults," Oscar said. He tried not to grimace. What was he doing, trying to give this man advice in making his daughter the Queen? He quickly spoke of other, more important matters. "How long do you plan to stay down South?"

Rickon shrugged. "I do not have any urgent need to get back to Winterfell. I know the North like the back of my hand, Ser, and it is as stable as it can be." Rickon put a hand on his chin, deep in thought. "I would stay with the King, of course, and follow him to King's Landing." Oscar nodded. Perhaps he would keep an eye on this Stark. He did not seem dangerous, but the most dangerous ones rarely were. The silence between them stretched on for a long moment before Rickon Stark spoke. "I do hope you will excuse me now, Ser," Rickon continued. "I have other business to attend to."

Oscar stepped aside. "Certainly, my lord. I dare say we will be seeing more of each other over the course of the next few days." He was of the same mind as the Stark. He had his own business to attend to.

Rickon smiled. "I hope so as well." And he drew his cloak around himself once more and stalked away. Oscar followed him with his eye until the Stark left the hall.

Oscar shook his head. All these years away from the Seven Kingdoms made him forget why he left. He did better with an enemy in front of him than with a plotter behind him. He looked around the hall which had emptied by now. Even the King left, and Aegon with him. The large chamber felt cavernous now, only very small clumps of people standing out like tufts of grass in a desert. Oscar noticed Ser Jon Harte at the door, most likely waiting for him at Aegon's command. Oscar scoffed. He needn't fear anything happening in the Martell's stronghold at the heart of Dorne. If anything untowards were to happen to even a single person the Dornish would be obviously blamed. There was no place safer for him than this right this instant, save maybe Riverrun.

Regardless, he spared Jon a nod. He got a nod in return. Or what seemed like that. The door was so far away and to his shame, Oscar's eyesight wasn't what it used to be. He looked around the hall. A hiss of frustration escaped his lips. Dayne was nowhere to be found. Oscar cursed. Just then, he heard footsteps echoing in the near empty hall behind him and turned around.

A portly man wearing rich, red silks was walking towards him, sporting a friendly smile. He had a jowly face and a wispy beard which did nothing to hide the man's many chins. He was clearly Dornish, as his olive skin attested. Oscar looked behind himself, hoping that the man was walking towards someone else. No such luck. He sighed. One Dornishman would have to do where the other didn't. The man reached Oscar.

"Greetings, Ser. The man's tone was ingratiating in a vexing way. He bowed deeply to Oscar. Oscar bowed only as shallowly as he could get away with while he rolled his eyes. There was always someone in the conquered people who would try to bow and scrape his way back into power. The man continued. "I am Doran Qorgyle, Lord of Sandstone." The man reached out and Oscar clasped his hand. No reason to needlessly offend him. Qorgyle seemed to be friendly anyway.

"And I am-"

"Oh, I know, Ser," Qorgyle spoke. Oscar grew vexed at being interrupted but let the man continue. "Who here does not know Ser Oscar Tully, a hero in the Dance of the Dragons and the Commander of the Stormbreakers?" Qorgyle's smile was simpering. Oscar sighed. He ought to leave this man and look for Dayne, but who knows where the man had disappeared off to.

"It is an honour to meet you, my lord," Oscar said. After all the damned magisters Oscar had to deal with in Essos, effecting a veneer of friendliness was second nature. He lowered his head in the barest semblance of a bow.

"I had thought to come and speak with you earlier, Ser," Qorgyle said. "But you were speaking with the Lord Stark and so I waited."

"He is not the lord, only the heir," Oscar said. "But that is another matter. You say you wanted to speak with me. Well, here I am."

"I had heard of your deeds long before this unpleasant affair, of course," Qorgyle said. Oscar felt his irritation spike. He had dealt with too many bootlickers and toadies to even tolerate one of them. "And of course, when I learned that our bold Prince Aegon had squired under you, I had to meet you and take your measure by myself."

"I see that the Prince's reputation precedes him," Oscar observed. Qorgyle's face seemed to light up.

"Oh, yes!" He clasped his hands in front of his chest, a display more fit to swooning maidens than an ageing lord. "My son was quite taken with him. He would have quite loved it if he had been taken by the Prince as his squire."

"The Prince already has a squire, my lord," Oscar said carefully. Perhaps something could be salvaged from this. If he recalled correctly, Qorgyle's son was the Sword of the Morning's own squire. He would have an idea of what Dayne might do.

"The Prince could take two squires. No one would begrudge him that," Qorgyle said. Oscar was about to interject but Qorgyle did not let him. "Either way, that is not what I desire. I had hoped you would take my son as your squire."

"Indeed?" Oscar asked. He crossed his arms across his chest. Taking this boy as his squire would do him no favours. By all accounts, the lad was not young enough to be a squire once more. On the other hand, he had been the squire of Ser Vorian Dayne. And perhaps, it would mean much in the longer term and be a way to cool the Dornish tensions.

"Do not doubt his convictions or his talent, Ser." Qorgyle waved a fat finger in his face. Oscar wanted to twist it away. "My son was the squire of the Sword of the Morning. Besides, that is not all I have to offer."

Curiosity piqued, Oscar lifted an eyebrow. "And what might you be able to offer me?"

"Not just you, Ser, but to the Prince as well," Qorgyle said. He leaned forward, as if about to impart a great secret upon Oscar. Despite his prior irritation, Oscar leaned forward as well. This could be important.

"I'm sure you know of this already, Ser," Qorgyle began. He licked his lips and looked around, seeing if anyone else might have been overhearing them. The setting sun cast sharp shadows on his face, shrouding it in darkness. For the first time since seeing this fat lord, Oscar felt apprehension stir up in his gut. But as soon as it came, it left. Qorgyle spoke, "The smallfolk here in Dorne have turned out to be a stubborn bunch. Unlike you and me, they do not know when to realize that they have been beaten by their betters. Even now, many have not put down their arms and bands of them are roving about the Greenblood, the Vaith and the Torrentine, making proclamations of independence."

Oscar scoffed. "Smallfolk are no match for knights and castle forged steel."

"But they know the land better than anyone of your knights, Ser," Qorgyle said. He shook his head. "Even now, you might have heard of how Prince's Aegon's party was harried by bands of smallfolk. They struck at night when the camp was asleep and slunk off into the desert."

Oscar did not hear anything of that sort happening to Aegon and his men on the way to Sunspear, but he did not let that show on his face. Aegon was a proud lad and vain too. He would not want Oscar to think less of him and so news of these incidents must be scarce. No highborn lord would want to acknowledge that he'd been waylaid by peasants when marching with an army. "And how does that tie in with what you have to say?" Oscar asked.

Qorgyle'e eyes flitted around, looking for unseen eavesdroppers. He tarried for a while, opening his mouth and closing it again. He had something to say, Oscar knew, something he wished to offer. Was he growing loath to speak now that he had whetted Oscar's curiosity? "Speak, my lord," Oscar said in a firm voice. "You have something to say, it is clear."

Qorgyle cleared his throat. He opened his mouth but only a squeak came out. Oscar found himself growing disgusted. This was all that the Dornishmen amounted to? Cowards and weaklings who could not even string words to finish what they started. Qorgyle cleared his throat once more and spoke.

"I would help you, and by extension the prince, Ser," Qorgyle said. "I am from Dorne as are my men. I offer my services at the prince's disposal."

"Any other lord is bound to do the same," Oscar replied.

"But would they?" Qorgyle asked sharply. A certain amount of base cunning showed itself in his face. "Wyl and Blackmont would be passive in support, if not overtly hostile. They are paying reparations, after all. They would be slow to help. As for Dayne, he will sit in Starfall, brooding over his brother's death." This was news to Oscar. He had not known that the reigning lord of Starfall was Ser Vorian's brother.

"Even so, the rest-"

"Will not help, Ser," Qorgyle said, speaking over Oscar yet again. "You do not know them like I do. They would hold the embers of shame in their hearts for a long time."

"Shame?" Oscar asked. "What do they have to be ashamed of?"

"The sting of defeat is ever bitter but I believe the same as you, Ser," Qorgyle said, quick to please. "It would be better for Dorne to be a part of the realm, my grandfather counselled Princess Aliandra Martell once. For that crime of speaking the truth, he was exiled to Ghaston Grey." Qorgyle fists were clenched and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I shall speak with the Prince about this matter," Oscar promised. That was all he could do for now.

"And my son?" Qorgyle asked.

"He will be taken care of," Oscar replied. A squire was a shallow price for Qorgyle's help. If only the other Dornish could also be dealt with as easily. "You need not worry about that matter."

Qorgyle seemed to sigh in relief. "In that case, Ser, I shall take my leave."

"As shall I," Oscar said and nodded. He turned away from the man and started walking towards the doors of the cavernous chamber. Ser Jon Harte still stood in wait for him. Together they left the chamber.

Behind them, as the shadows of the nearly set sun danced in the now empty hall, a sinister smile played on Doran Qorgyle's face.

A/N: And thus, the conquest of Dorne is complete. We will have one chapter in King's Landing as Aegon goes to meet his wife and has a confrontation with his father bout certain unaddressed issues. Anyway, that's for the next chapter.

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