Chapter Sixteen: The Night Begins
A/N: Sorry this has taken so long! In all honesty, I was a bit scared how you guys would feel about this chapter. I'm getting a lot more book characters involved and expanding on plot lines, so I'm really nervous you won't like it. Please let me know what you think, I'd really appreciate feedback, whether it be good or bad. Also thanks for the heads up about last chapter! I totally skipped over that, sorry, I've edited it now. Nearly at 200 reviews, though! Thanks so much for your support!
Quentyn Martell knew that it was highly irregular for him to be called before his father on such short notice, which was why he believed something important must be happening. Doran Martell was a rather secretive man and preferred to keep to himself, although Quentyn was perhaps the child with which he had the most contact. He entered his father's rooms and was not surprised to see Doran sitting in his chair by himself. The Prince of Dorne looked up and gestured to the guards once his son strode in.
"Leave us."
Quentyn waited patiently as the guards made their exit. His father's hands were pulling nervously over the corners of a letter. He swept over and sat before Doran, watching his father put weights on each of the four corners. He could not see what the letter was about, but it was written in a hurried scrawl. Likely this was urgent news.
"I have received a letter from King's Landing." Doran smoothed his fingers over the parchment, looking across at his son. "One of our spies has informed me that Mella Baratheon has made her return to court."
Quentyn stifled his astonishment. The last they had heard from King's Landing was that the younger three of Robert and Cersei's children had been declared illegitimate by many, the result of an incestuous affair between the Queen and her twin brother. Mella, the oldest child and the apparent only legitimate heir, had fled north and been captured by Robb Stark…or so the rumours held.
"Does it say anything of her time in the north?" he inquired.
"Nothing." Doran sighed heavily. The truth the nature about Robb and Mella's relationship was imperative. If she was not the boy's captive then it indicated something far more troubling indeed. "However, I do have a plan in mind. We need Mella Baratheon in Dorne."
"What?" Quentyn sat up straighter. Myrcella was already in Dorne, betrothed to his younger brother Trystane. If his father intended to use Mella as leverage, he would find that he had quite enough already by using Myrcella. "Why?"
"I intend for you to marry her," Doran said bluntly, causing Quentyn to lean back in his chair. The Prince of Dorne waved a dismissive hand. "We can do without Myrcella's marriage to Trystane, but it would be wise to keep her here. A marriage to the legitimate heir to the throne will be greatly beneficial."
"How do you expect to go about such a proposal?" Quentyn asked doubtfully. He could not see Cersei agreeing to another Dornish match for her eldest child.
"Win her over and bring her south," Doran stated, his tone becoming somewhat grim. "Use force if necessary. We must have Mella Baratheon in Dorne, for without the legitimate heir, we have no claim over the throne as we once did."
Quentyn could tell that his father was thinking about Elia again. He wanted vengeance for what had happened to her. He doubted that Doran would wish harm to come to Mella, but with Robert's sole heir in Dorne, they would have a degree of control over Cersei and the rest of the Lannisters. Finally, the Martells would begin to achieve the revenge they had so long been denied.
Aegon Targaryen was feeling more invigorated than he had in a very long time. Since landing in Westeros, and with the help of the Golden Company, he had conquered Griffin's Roost. Consulting the map with Jon Connington, their next destination was Storm's End – the Baratheons' ancestral home. There had been much celebration due to the success at Griffin's Roost, but Aegon was thinking carefully. The Storm's End had him thinking about the Baratheons and their claimants to the throne.
Renly Baratheon was dead, having been killed by sorcery if the rumours were true. Stannis currently held Storm's End, with a large legion of forces composed both of his own men and those of Renly's who had joined him. Then there was the last and youngest – the alleged only true heir of Robert Baratheon, young Mella. She was a female and under the thumb of her mother, yet she had a power that even she didn't know she possessed: the ability to conceive legitimate heirs.
"What do you know of Mella Baratheon?" Aegon inquired when Jon entered the command tent. He looked weary and older than ever, although it made sense considering that he had led the recent attack. He appeared slightly surprised by the question, looking over the map where Aegon had placed a dragon marker over Griffin's Roost, and traced their path north towards Storm's End.
"She is seventeen years old and apparently Robert and Cersei's only trueborn child," Jon stated, raising his eyebrows at the query. "Why you ask, your Grace?"
"Because," Aegon took a deep breath, already knowing that Jon was going to chastise him for his decision. "I intend to make her my bride."
"What?" Jon's eyebrows flew up, and he immediately set about pacing the tent. "I don't understand why you would come to such a conclusion. You would be much better off wedding your aunt Daenerys. She has three dragons with her…"
"We don't even know that Daenerys will return to Westeros," Aegon argued, folding his arms over his chest. He had inherited his father's powerful build, and sometimes Jon thought he looked so much like Rhaegar that it hurt. "Taking the Baratheon girl as my wife would mean that our child's claim is legitimate no matter which house people support."
Jon's brow was furrowed and Aegon could tell that while his mentor did not approve of such a choice, he could understand the logic behind such a decision. Of course, Aegon had no desire for the Baratheon girl. He had not even met her, but sometimes sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good.
"How do you propose to do that?" Jon inquired, watching Aegon carefully. The boy had been taught many things, but how to gain a potential wife was not one of them.
"I threaten what is valuable to her," Aegon remarked, raking a hand through his silver hair. "Her family."
It was not often that Tyrion was visited by a member of his own family, much less Mella Baratheon. The girl had only recently returned to court and by what the whispers said, she was on thin ice with both Cersei and Joffrey after confronting her mother about the truth of the illegitimacy claims. Mella was foolish if she thought that Cersei was going to admit to such rumours, whether they were true or not. Tyrion was still uncertain what to believe, although he did have his suspicions.
"Niece," Tyrion greeted, watching as Mella stalked through his door in a swirl of crimson skirts. There had been a celebration that night due to the arrival of several important Dornish visitors, including the Prince's eldest son Quentyn. Tyrion found this a little baffling despite Quentyn's claims he wanted to learn more about culture in the capital. Mella seated herself heavily, folding her arms over her chest and looking for all the world like Cersei did when she was sulking. Tyrion sighed heavily and closed the door behind her.
"What can I do for you, Mella? I'm not exactly a busy man now that Tywin has taken over the position as Hand of the King, so I think you'll find I have time for whatever business brings you here."
"Quentyn Martell has taken an interest in me," Mella stated brusquely, seeing no point in procrastination. The young Dornish man had immediately taken a shine to her, offering her refills of wine and talking to her about the most inane things. While he had been rather awkward at times, there had been no doubt in Mella's mind that Quentyn was trying to charm her. Alarm bells had sounded through the haze of alcohol, and she had politely excused herself from the feast.
Quentyn and his companions claimed to be in King's Landing to learn more about Westerosi culture in places other than Dorne, but Mella was not certain that she thought this was true. Could not schoolbooks and historians teach them enough, or was learning about it firsthand truly such a pressing matter? She leaned back in her chair as Tyrion took a seat opposite her.
"Well, of course he was," Tyrion replied in a tone that suggested she was foolish to think otherwise. "You are a beautiful young woman, Mella, you should be aware that you will attract the attention of many powerful men."
"I've had enough flattery for one night." Mella frowned across at her uncle, and Tyrion noted how much she had changed. Mella had always been rather spirited, but she had been taught to hold her tongue and behave like a lady. Now, with her hair just past her shoulders and her temper rarely in check, it seemed that Mella Baratheon was much changed from her ventures in the north with Robb Stark.
"I suppose you're expecting I can tell you what he wants." Tyrion sighed heavily. It was nice to be thought of as intelligent by someone, but then again, he had always gotten along better with Mella than other siblings of hers such as Joffrey. "It is strange, the Dornish venturing to King's Landing. Since Elia's death, we haven't had a very stable relationship with them. However, since I had Myrcella betrothed to Trystane – which your dear mother was not impressed about – perhaps they're becoming warmer towards us."
"Do you think that's what it could be?" Mella inquired almost hopefully. To her, it was quite the mystery. She doubted Quentyn was simply flirting with her in the effort of showing her some kindness.
"To be honest? No." Tyrion leaned back in his chair and poured himself a goblet of wine. He offered Mella some, but she wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I believe that Quentyn Martell intends to court you."
"Why is that?" Mella asked, frowning in thought. Her sister was already in the south, betrothed to Trystane – and she was all of seventeen and betrothed to nobody, while even Joffrey was to marry. It seemed that perhaps even Tommen would marry before her. The idea made her cringe in humiliation. "It makes no sense for Quentyn to court me when our siblings are already to be married within a few years."
"Yes, but Myrcella is only twelve," Tyrion reminded Mella, taking another deep gulp from his wine. The arrival of the Dornish perturbed him also, as did Quentyn's interest in Mella. He had no doubt that this stemmed from the spreading rumours that she was Robert's only legitimate child. "She and Trystane will not wed for another few years yet. However, you are a woman grown, and such measures as complicated betrothals would not need to take place. Quentyn could marry you immediately if you both so chose."
Mella caught her breath. "Do you think that is his intention? To marry me?"
"I hope so," Tyrion said grimly, setting down his goblet with a thud. "Because otherwise, I fear his motives may be something far more sinister."
Robb had his time to grieve. He had thrown things, smashed things, beat at things until his fists bled. He had cried, more times than he liked to count. How could Theon have done such a thing? They were practically brothers, raised together. Yet now, he had taken Winterfell and murdered Bran and Rickon. Catelyn succumbed to her grief alone, and Arya had been snappy and volatile, unwilling to admit just how much she was hurting.
Yet now, Robb was expected to become King in the North once more. His time to mourn was over, and he was meant to be strong. He was meant to bear this burden upon his shoulders and become even more determined to finish what he had started. Yet sitting outside his tent and looking over the camp, Robb just wanted to go to Winterfell, to a time and place where none of this had ever happened.
"You miss her."
Robb hadn't even realised that he wasn't focusing until he heard Arya's voice, and it snapped him back to reality. She was right, of course. Too perceptive for a girl of nearly twelve, as she seemed to realise that Robb was staring into space thinking of Mella Baratheon and her sudden departure rather than focusing on what was right in front of him. He noticed she was sharpening a small knife against a rock and frowned.
"Where did you get that?"
"None of your business," Arya replied, but there was little venom in her tone. She regarded her older brother carefully. "Do you love her?"
Their family had been rent apart by the Lannisters and he was trying to pick up the pieces. Yet Mella was holding him back in ways he never thought he could be held back. How could he remain true to the Frey girl he was meant to marry when he was so desperately in love with another?
"Yes, I do," Robb admitted heavily, raking a hand through his hair. It should be his father he discussed such issues with, or even Jon. Yet here he was, talking to his little sister about love and what it meant to him. "But I can't. Not when I'm to marry a Frey girl, it wouldn't be fair on her."
"You're not the only one." Arya scowled deeply. "I have to marry a Frey boy when I am of age, so if you're going to complain, then so am I."
Robb couldn't help but laugh. Arya made him feel so much lighter without meaning to. It was good to have her around the camp, even if she didn't really understand the complicated relationship that he had with Mella. He often wondered about her, knowing that she had recently turned seventeen. Was she ever planning to return north? There had been no sign of Sansa, so how could he know that she was keeping her vow? Yet he trusted her, even if there wasn't full reason to trust her.
Love was a beautiful thing, Robb could see that. Yet there were many other things about love he'd never thought about before. Wasn't it love that had almost destroyed Westeros before, Rhaegar Targaryen's love for Lyanna? Love was remarkable, yet it was also a chaotic force. There was as much evil in it as there was good…and Robb felt with his sinking heart that a match for love was not going to be in his future.