Chapter 24

~Tyrion Lannister~

Despite turning down the position, Tyrion felt that Lord von Carstein still wanted him as a steward. It was the most reasonable explanation for why he was being treated as he was.

It started with when he had been taken out to examine the road project. The dirt path that led from the Kingsroad to the Dreadfort was being upgraded to cobblestone and widened. Originally, the stone for the task was being taken from several mines until Torrhen saw a horse struggling to pull a full cart of supplies up one of the mountain paths, after that he had simply decided to dig the road through anything too steep. The skeletons had finished cutting down nearly fifty feet of rock at the time of Tyrion's visit, carving what was basically a giant trench through the hill, it was visible from miles away. It was one thing for a lord to invest in an expensive architectural project like upgrading his castle or perhaps a sept if he was religious, but do something so big for something as basic as a road, all to make travel easier for traders, it was odd.

Then there was the fact that Torrhen had directed Tyrion towards the maester who seemed to be managing at least half a dozen money making projects. Garth had lamented that he was spending so long working that he barely had any time to himself, to pursue personal research projects. A problem Tyrion was sympathetic to certainly, there were plenty of books he himself wanted to read and wouldn't have enjoyed being forced to read other books as a similar example, but that was the nature of being a maester, he had to serve his lord. Tyrion wasn't going to volunteer to help out and become the Dreadfort's steward, not when doing so was risking his education of magic.

And now the captain of the guard, Marten Cassel, had invited Tyrion to the great hall where Torrhen was holding court. The lord made a habit of doing so once every week, usually the day after his 'day of rest' when he locked himself away from the entire castle. He was available the rest of the week if an emergency came up, but otherwise he preferred to have all petitioners show up on the same day.

Tysha was off with Arya, who had seemed to finally realize that Lannisters were important nobles from the south. The pair were discussing dress ideas with the Dreadfort's tailor. Tyrion was mildly concerned about such an activity, he didn't have access to his family's money anymore, not unless Father answered the owl in a positive manner but Tyrion rather doubted that.

I'll prove him wrong, show that I'm not a disappointment to our house. It'll just take some time, is all.

"One of the Hedges is here, that's unexpected," Marten commented, drawing Tyrion from his thoughts.

"Hedge?"

The captain of the guard pointed across the hall at a young man in orange and green livery. The clothes weren't peasant quality but they were far below anything Tyrion would wear. What stood out however was the man had a black veil across the lower half of his face.

"I can't tell if that's Harry or Heff, the whole family started copying Lord von Carstein's habit of wearing a mask after he showed them how to make Carstein Syrup. Hedgerow can make far more of it than the Dreadfort given the- well, they're better suited for it."

Tyrion made a mental note to look more into that at another time. He had tried food made with Carstein Syrup and it had been delicious, the liquidy substance was sweet like sugar. That it could be made here, in the frozen North, was the interesting part. The sugar plant couldn't grow where it was cold, the only place in Westeros where it was farmed (to Tyrion's knowledge) was Dorne.

Then again, informing my family how to make Carstein Syrup when Lord von Carstein is going to teach me magic would be a rather stupid idea. We don't need the money but we do need his good will.

"Why do you think he's here?" Tyrion asked.

"I'm not sure. Hedgerow is on the far edge of the Dreadfort's holdings, he wouldn't have made the trip if it wasn't important but he also didn't request an immediate meeting upon his arrival here so it mustn't be too vital."

"Looks like he's the only noble here to see Lord von Carstein, we'll find out soon enough."

Marten shook his head. "He sees people based on how long they've been waiting and the Hedge only arrived yesterday. I know Rus and Bran have been wanting mediation about a cow for nearly the entire week."

"A cow?"

"The dispute doesn't have the same level of notability as the ones your father, as Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, has ruled on, no doubt. But it is important to the men bringing it and for all his faults, Lord von Carstein does care about the well-being and happiness of his subjects."

Tyrion's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "It's a brave man that disparages his lord in the lord's hall, surrounded as we are by people that would love to get the lord's favor."

"Not brave," Marten disagreed. "Merely well informed. For the first two years of Lord von Carstein's rule I was his castellan. I learned a great deal about him in that time, including what he does and does not care about. If someone were to inform him that I said he had flaws, he would simply agree with the statement."

Castellan to captain of the guard? That's a large step downward. "I did not realize a castellan was needed, who holds the position now?"

"No one. As a sellsword, Lord von Carstein did not have any experience in ruling so I only held the position while he was learning how to complete his duties. Once he and I were confident in his knowledge and judgment, I stepped down."

"I trust you were rewarded well for your service?"

"I received a large sum of coin at the end. Larger than I thought I deserved but I had just gotten married and my wife insisted I accept the money."

"She sounds like a very wise woman," Tyrion complimented honestly. Refusing gifts from your liege lord wouldn't only create problems, maybe not immediately so, but they would be there eventually.

"If Alysanne was any more careful about spending money I'd call her miserly." Marten shrugged. "However, I am content with my current situation. I have a loving wife, her children are well behaved, and the people of the Dreadfort and my lord respect the work I do. What more could a man want?"

Even more money? A prestigious title? A keep of your own? Magic? Tyrion kept his thoughts to himself though, because they were approached by the Hedge Marten had mentioned earlier.

"Ser Marten, a pleasure to you this fine morn."

"Ah. Hello Harry. Everything all right in Hedgerow?"

"Things go splendidly in Hedgerow. With the money we've made from Carstein Syrup my father thought to add an addition onto our home, until Heff asked why we lived in a manse instead of a keep or tower."

"Given the remote location, I would assume the cost of moving that much stone and the lack of need for such a defensive structure," Marten said.

"To tell it true, we don't know the reason. It was several generations after the Hedges were ennobled before anyone learned to read," Harry admitted. "So if anyone wrote down information about our house during that time, it would be here in the Dreadfort rather than back at Hedgerow - but that's not important. The point is, Father decided to begin the process of building a proper keep. But we don't have a maester so he sent me here to ask for assistance from yours. Also to negotiate with Lord von Carstein for shipments of stone."

"Isn't most of the stone being mined already set to be used for the road?" Tyrion asked, causing Harry to jump in surprise.

Did he dismiss me as unimportant when he approached or did he actually not see me? And which one of those two possibilities would be worse?

"A dwarf! I've never seen one before."

There's skeletons walking around outside but I'm the unusual thing here.

Marten stepped between them. "Allow me to introduce Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. Tyrion, this is Harry Hedge, son and heir of Hugh Hedge the Lord of Hedgerow."

"La-Lannister?" Harry didn't just stutter when saying the name, his voice cracked so high Tyrion's throat practically itched in sympathy.

Tyrion's mind had no such sympathy however. "Oh, you've heard of my family? Was it because of the song? I admit I grew sick of Rains of Castamere growing up, what with it being about my father meant I heard it far too often, but now that I'm in the North I find myself missing it."

"That - um, I. . . apologies. I need to go prepare what I will say to Lord von Carstein. It was good meeting you Tyrion, good seeing you again Marten."

Tyrion couldn't keep the grin off his face as the man quickly walked away.

~Jaime Lannister~

For the first time since he became a Kingsguard, Jaime sought out the Master of Whispers. He didn't like the eunuch, and he knew he wasn't alone in that opinion, but he was out of options. His brother was missing.

And it's my fault.

Letting Tyrion comfort the girl while he had chased after the brigands had seemed the best course of action at the time. And once Jaime had slain the outlaws and gone to the inn to check up on his brother and discovered that Tyrion was upstairs bedding the waif, well Jaime had felt pretty good. He'd gotten to act chivalrously and his brother got to discover the joys of sex. Not wanting to interrupt the pair, he had spent the evening drinking. Unfortunately, Jaime had drank too much and had overslept, meaning the two slipped out of the inn the next morning, missing him completely.

By the time he had tracked them down, they had gotten married and were living in the girl's crofting hut. Tyrion had seemed so happy from what he had overheard that Jaime hadn't wanted to disturb their isolation. He was content to leave them to their peace, hopeful that Father would be pleased that Tyrion had disappeared.

But then the septon that had performed the marriage showed up at Casterly Rock, begging forgiveness. It was one thing for Father to ignore something he didn't like if it stayed hidden, but with the septon publicly calling attention to it, he had to act. So he had ordered Jaime to retrieve Tyrion but when Jaime and the guards arrived, the house was deserted. There had been tracks southbound but once they joined a road the trail had been lost. Jaime had ordered the men to continue their search while he had gone back to Father. It had been rather obvious Tywin Lannister was not very disheartened to learn about the possible death of his son, no, what he cared about was that this implied another house was moving against them.

So Jaime had reluctantly returned to King's Landing while his Father continued the investigation into Tyrion's disappearance, with the focus being more on who was responsible than actually returning Tyrion and his wife safely.

I wish I could remember her name. It feels wrong to pray for her safety when I don't know what to call her.

Not that Jaime was particularly religious but this was about the safety of his goodsister and his brother. He had to do something on the long trip down the Gold Road and there was only so many times he could spar with the trees.

He had wanted to stay and help but he was a member of the Kingsguard and he had duties he couldn't ignore. They still didn't have full membership, Godry Farring receiving the white cloak was the only reason Jaime had been allowed to take a brief vacation and return to the Westerlands to visit his family. Barristan and Robert were both particular about who they'd allow in the Kingsguard, a decision Jaime normally agreed with but damn if it wasn't troublesome. It had been three years since the Rebellion ended and they only recently got their sixth member.

Jaime finally arrived at the door to Varys' chambers. Finding this location had nearly been a quest in and of itself, not because it was especially difficult to get to, it wasn't. It was because the vast majority of people didn't actually know where Varys slept at night. Obviously he had a room somewhere in the Red Keep, but everyone Jaime asked was clueless about its actual location. The only reason he had found it was because a servant Jaime had never met before had approached him unprompted and explained where to go.

Which means he likely knows I'm looking for him, Jaime thought as he knocked on the door.

"Come in, Ser Jaime."

"How did you know it was me?" he asked after he had stepped inside. The room was incredibly bare. It technically could serve as a sitting room for guests in that there were three chairs (one of which held Varys) and a desk against the wall, but that was it. No books or decorations adorned the shelves, no rug covered the stone floor. There was a hearthfire in the corner through which Jaime could see two other rooms, which matched up to the two doors, likely the bedroom and the privy.

"A eunuch has few friends, a spider even less. Very few nobles that have sought out my chambers since I came to the Red Keep."

"Very well," Jaime grumbled as he came to stand behind one of the chairs. "I don't suppose you know why I'm here?"

Varys shook his head. "Know? That I do not. But I can guess."

"I imagine your guesses are more accurate than most people's facts."

Varys tittered but didn't disagree. "Your brother is missing."

Jaime gripped the back of the chair in his hands, squeezing until his knuckles were white. "Do your little birds know anything? Do you?"

"I do. Though for once it wasn't my little birds that informed me."

"Then who?"

The Master of Whispers stood up and moved to the desk and then pulled up a draw and withdrew a sheet of parchment. "While you were on the road, a raven from your father beat you here. Pycelle was supposed to deliver it to you but I fear old age claws at his mind, it may be several days before he remembers the task. Luckily, I had this copy made."

"Do you make a habit of copying private letters?" Jaime asked as he snatched it from Varys' hand.

"I wouldn't be a very good Master of Whispers if I didn't."

Rather than answer, Jaime quickly read the letter. According to Father, Tyrion hadn't been satisfied with sullying the Lannister name by marrying a whore- She's a whore? I didn't pay her, did Tyrion? -and had fled the Westerlands, traveling all the way to the Dreadfort in the North, to live with an upjumped sellsword on Jaime's recommendation- What? When did I do that? -Father was demanding a prompt and thorough explanation from Jaime or else he would disown Tyrion.

"I. . . I feel like I'm missing something," Jaime said as he reread the letter. "Are you sure this is an accurate copy?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because it makes no sense. I never told Tyrion to run away to Torrhen."

"A lot of people have taken an interest in Lord von Carstein. It was inevitable, given the king's attention towards Lady Stark and her decision to live at the Dreadfort. But that it is happening now, and from so many different locations, is noteworthy."

Jaime affixed the eunuch with a confused look. "I'm not sure I see the connection between what I said and what you said."

"You're assuming Tyrion was honest in the words he wrote to your father," Varys said with a sigh. "My little birds inform me that White Harbor has not seen such a flurry of activity since the Rebellion. Several of the Martells have left Dorne and are making their way towards the Dreadfort. And now because of your brother's words, your father's gaze turns northward. Something is going on in the North and Lord von Carstein seems to be at the center of it."

"I suppose. . ."

Varys adopted a soothing smile. "Do not think I am accusing your friend of misdeeds. There is likely a very good reason for everything. I just hear so few songs from his holdings that it is hard to separate fact from fiction."

"I should write to Torrhen, asking him for an explanation for everything," Jaime decided. "I must go see Pycelle."

"Actually, one of Lord von Carstein's birds arrived two days ago, the king has not yet finished a reply to Lady Stark so I'm sure you can add a message of your own. The owls do fly faster than ravens, after all."

~Oberyn Martell~

"The air hurts my face," his daughter complained. "Why does the air hurt my face?"

Oberyn laughed. "There is a reason why the Starks were originally called the Kings of Winter. The North is a cold, cold land."

The pair were standing on the aft-most possible section of the ship without getting in the way of any of the rigging. Tyene had wanted to look at White Harbor as they sailed in, to compare its appearance to the stops they had made on the journey.

Tarth had been beautiful and serene which had made their next stop, Dragonstone, stand out all the more by contrast. The volcanic island had been damp and dreary, with a noticeable stench rising out of the dirt of the island anytime the wind stopped. Lord Stannis and his immediate family had been in King's Landing at the time but that hadn't stopped the castellan, an Estermont cousin of Stannis' that Oberyn hadn't bothered remembering the name of, from feasting the entire Dornish delegation. And it had been good food too, with several dishes being authentically Dornish which, while not a surprise given that the Lady of Dragonstone was a Blackmont, was no doubt expensive to make given the cost of importing the necessary ingredients. Lord Tarth hadn't gone that far, only feasting Oberyn and his family. But then House Baratheon had more coin to spend than House Tarth and the group was over one fifty strong, being split across three different ships. Such a large escort would normally not be necessary but Oberyn was accompanied by Mellario and Arianne and they necessitated additional protection plus part of the reason for this trip was to draw attention to the whole thing.

Gulltown had been an interesting stop, being Tyene and Arianne's first visit to what could properly be considered a city. The girls had been overwhelmed at the number of people when they had gotten off the boat, the press of so many bodies as everyone went about their day. Not to mention the availability of so many things to purchase. It was fortunate that Mellario had limited how much coin the cousins were allowed to take off the boats otherwise they might have come back with twice their weight in purchases. They had still bought a wide array of items (including warmer clothes at Oberyn's insistence) but it wasn't as much as it could have been.
Oberyn had been hosted by two different houses, the Graftons which ruled the city, and a cadet branch of the Arryns, both of which had been rather blatant in their interest in setting up a trade deal of some kind but he had been able to avoid committing to anything by playing up his reputation as the irresponsible sibling of the Martells. He had to turn down invitations from four other houses that resided in the city, citing that he had a schedule to keep and needed to continue northward.

And now they were nearly there.

Well, almost nearly there. White Harbor to the Dreadfort is apparently almost as far as Gulltown to White Harbor. The North is too big.

"Just think of how much worse off you'd be if you were still wearing your 'warm' outfit from home."

Oberyn wasn't quite sure why his daughter had been so stubborn about her clothes from Dorne being sufficient. Pride in her homeland? Bravado that the cold would not bother her? A competition with Arianne? He was just happy she had obeyed him in Gulltown. Smugness at being a well informed parent wasn't worth the risk of his child developing frostbite.

"I made that myself," Tyene pouted. "I thought it was thick enough."

"You could redesign now that you know what to expect from the climate, I'm sure."

"I'm not sure how without sacrificing the appearance." She frowned. "How do any women attract men in this weather? It must be hard to look good bundled up in furs."

"You're ten, you don't need to worry about that yet."

"I must make a good impression on anyone I meet, particularly anyone tied to House von Carstein," Tyene said in a tone that indicated she had memorized the phrase. "Uncle Doran was very firm on that. That includes dressing the part."

However much Oberyn agreed that this was the best path forward for Tyene, for their House, for Dorne, he still lamented that his daughter was being used for political games. He hated Doran and himself for putting her through this, it felt like they were robbing her of part of her childhood. But at least she's had a childhood, Aegon was not so fortunate.

"Your uncle is mostly correct. But with how many years have passed and only communicating via messenger, he has apparently forgotten a rather noticeable piece of information about Torrhen. Namely that he is very informal."

"So what should I do?"

"You should take your cues from Lord von Carstein. If he insists on his title and last name, use that. If he wants you to call him Torrhen, use that. Do not expect what you were taught back home to be applicable here, there is a lot you will have to learn from him, and I don't just mean magic. He is the Lord of the Dreadfort, he will run his holdings how he wants, you will need to adjust to how he does things."

"Yes Father."

"That's my girl." Oberyn was tempted to give her a pat on the head but he refrained from doing so. While she didn't mind such displays of affection in private she was beginning to resist any treatment she viewed as childish when other people could see her. So he instead stood next to her as they watched the city grow larger and larger as they approached.

Despite being smaller in size, White Harbor seemed busier than Gulltown. There were more ships anchored and floating in the harbor, more people moving around on the shore line, just more. Once the ship approached the docks the pair were forced to leave their perch as the sailors needed access to some of the ropes on the bow.

When they made it off the boat and onto the pier Oberyn was mildly surprised they already had an escort waiting for them. While he and Doran had decided against letting any Houses know ahead of time that they were coming, that way people would be left guessing as to their destination and purpose, Oberyn would make a show of introducing himself once the ship had made berth. This was a first for the trip.

Dornish ships are rare but not unheard of in White Harbor. We do some trade with Torrhen, even put him in touch with that armorer in King's Landing, Tobren Mott or whatever his name was. Plus, Manfrey came through here with all those prisoners for the Wall a year ago. He glanced up at the sun and spear on the flag flapping on the mast behind him. Though I suppose a ship bearing the Martell sigil is more unusual.

The group waiting for them was made up of Manderly guards, all sporting freshly cleaned armor and holding tridents, with the one exception being the large man in the front. His hairline had retreated halfway across his head and his mouth was hidden behind an enormously bushy mustache. He was breathing heavily, no doubt as a result of having to hurry down to the docks to beat the ship here. "Greetings, I am Ser Wylis Manderly, heir of Lord Wymen Manderly, Lord of White Harbor. We were not expecting guests from House Martell otherwise we would have made sure to have a more proper welcome prepared for you. Whom do I have the honor of meeting?"

So formal, let's see if he keeps his composure. Oberyn grinned widely, showing off his teeth. "Why I am Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, younger brother of Prince Doran Nymeros Martell. With me is my daughter, Tyene Sand, my goodsister, Lady Mellario, Princess Consort of Dorne, and her daughter, Arianne Nymeros Martell, heiress of Sunspear." Each of the ladies gave a short curtsey when they were named.

Oberyn was disappointed at the reaction he received. Wylis was well taught because other than a widening of his eyes, the man gave away no indication of his shock at receiving such notable guests.

"I'm sure my father will be as happy as I am to host you all. Will the ladies require a carriage or do they wish for horses?"

Given that they were in thick dresses, Oberyn already knew the answer. "A carriage if you would. Also, I must remain here until the other two ships are moored. I'll not leave all fifty odd men of mine unaware of my plans."

"Your family seems to make a habit of showing up to White Harbor with rather large retinues," Wylis said neutrally.

"But of course!" Oberyn gestured at Mellario in Arianne. "There are no women more precious to my brother than these two. He insisted that we not only bring numerous men-at-arms for protection but multiple knights as well."

"My wonderful wife has gifted me with two lovely daughters. I know well the desire to protect one's family. However, it is that exact desire that makes me wonder why Prince Doran would permit the women of his family to be so far from home." Wylis' eyes were soft when he spoke of his family but by the time he finished speaking his gaze was as hard as any man Oberyn had met.

Interesting. Does he disapprove of Doran's behavior, thinking a father shouldn't risk his family? Or is it that he knows a proper father wouldn't do such and so knows something suspicious is going on?

"For the same reason all women must eventually leave their homes," Mellario said, speaking for the first time. "Marriage. While I love and trust Oberyn in most things, when it comes to my daughter I insist on taking part in the betrothal discussion myself."

"Ah, it seems I judged too quickly. That is indeed a legitimate reason for you to travel so far." The large knight gave a sideways glance at Arianne but held his tongue. Oberyn and Mellario were content to leave Wylis uninformed but the girl in question seemed to have noticed his look.

"I don't know how things are done in the North but in Dorne men and women are expected to meet before a betrothal is finalized to make sure they don't hate each other," Arianne said petulantly.

"A very wise decision, my lady," Wylis said in a soothing tone. "Now, if you'll excuse me I must go confer with a groom about making sure the carriage is worthy of carrying princesses of Dorne."

Oberyn hid a grin as Arianne fell for the obvious flattery, his niece nodding along while Wylis walked off to talk to his men. No matter how eager she is to grow up, she still has much to learn.

"My Prince." Turning around, Oberyn located the speaker. Ser Castiel Dalt, the Knight of Lemonwood, father of one of Arianne's good friends, was walking down the gangplank. "It looks as though the Hellholt Hellion and Lady Meria will be docking soon. Do you have any orders you wish for me to relay?"

"I'm not sure yet," Oberyn admitted. "My family and I will be hosted by the Manderlys and while they haven't extended the invitation to everyone else yet, it still might come. They do, after all, control one of the five cities of Westeros, they've got the money to feast us all."

Castiel looked at the sky in the direction of the sun. "I can order the men to stay on the ships till nightfall, that should be enough time for both you and Lord Manderly to get a feel for each other. I imagine he'll reach a decision by then on how generous he wants to be with his largess."

"A wise suggestion. I'll send a runner down with news regardless of what happens. For guards I'll take Mors, Ralf, Jack, and Don."

Snapping a quick salute, Castiel hurried off to get the requested men from below deck. The guards got off the boat and onto the dock the same time as the carriage arrived. Soon enough, the women were in their ride while the men were on the horses and the entire group was heading into the city.

Oberyn took in his surroundings. The cobbled streets were surprisingly wide, certainly wider than Gulltown or Oldtown, which made the seemingly large number of people all the more puzzling.

Does the harbor just employ more people than the one in Gulltown so it merely appears busier?

White Harbor also felt clean, cleaner than any city he had been in before. Oberyn guessed that the wide streets, combined with so many of the buildings being made from white stone, was responsible for that impression. Though the lack of stench probably helps as well. There were the typical scents normally associated with a group of large people, sweat, leather, various foods, occasional perfumes, but one thing there wasn't was the smell of shit. They must have an impressive sewer system here.

They continued deeper into the city, with the ground slowly curving upwards. Oberyn could make out the seat of House Manderly further up the hill in the distance, the uncreatively named New Castle. Then again, we Martells rule from the Old Palace and the Iron Throne is located in the Red Keep. It seems a great many people cannot think of interesting names for things. So lost in his thoughts that they arrived at their destination seemingly before Oberyn knew it.

Swinging himself off the horse, Oberyn looked across the yard at a large group of guards arrayed in a circle, two men in the center were sparring. One had shoulder length wavy brown hair and a very firm jawline. The other had short hair that was either very light brown or very dark blond, and it was coiffed upwards. Both men were quite attractive though no sooner had Oberyn had the thought than the second one took a fist to the face from the first and went down to the ground.

"Godsdamn fuck Jaremy, I know this is a swordfight but that doesn't mean you can ignore my other arm. Get your head out of the clouds and give your balls a tug, teatfucker."

One of the watching men hurried forward and began helping the guard up off the ground, "Hey fuck you Danny. You're not the master-at-arms, just the guy he said to train us because he's busy. You know we haven't even been here a month, lay off a bit."

"Fuck you, Timmy. It's so miserable to be around you failures the Septons consider it time served for any penance I might need."

"Fuck you, Danny," the defeated guard, Jaremy, said.

"Fuck you, Jaremy. Your mother's so wet when she's with me you'd think I'm a child of the forest and I used the hammer of the waters on her."

"Fuck you, Danny," Timmy said.

"Fuck you, Timmy. Your mother's cunt stinks so bad the stench could knock a crow off a corpse wagon. Tell her to stay away from me until she sees a maester."

"Fuck you, Danny!" Jaremy yelled.

"Fuck you, Jaremy. Your mother wants my cock so bad I thought she was a representative of the Iron Bank and it owed them coin."

"Fuck you, Danny!" Timmy shouted.

"Fuck you, Timmy. Your mother is so ugly she's got the kind of face only a fist could love. Tell her next time she sneaks into my bed to put out the torch first or that's what'll happen."

"FUCK YOU, DANNY!" Both of the guards screamed.

"Whatever. I gotta go drop a Bren in the privy."

"Can you please stop using my name in place of shit?" one of the men still standing in the circle asked in a sad tone.

"Stop being shit in sparring and I'll consider it. Now everyone run laps around the yard until I come back."

While insults being thrown around in the sparring yard was nothing new and the master-at-arms-assistant acting as a hateable figure that the recruits could focus their efforts on overcoming was a legitimate training tactic, that wasn't why Oberyn had been watching. It was a comment one of the men had made, that they hadn't been there a full month yet. While it was possible the guard had just meant him and his friend, Oberyn didn't think so, not from the way the various men had acted, they were all too passive, too scared, too green. But Oberyn quickly counted the men as they all jogged past him, there were two and thirty of them, that many new recruits was unusual.

Did a sickness hit the city recently? Or is something else going on?

"Prince Oberyn?" Ser Wylis called from where he was helping the women out of the carriage.

"My apologies, I was lost in thought." I'll have to track down that not-master-at-arms tonight, see if I can loosen his tongue about what's happening. . . or loosen it for other more entertaining reasons.

They were escorted into the New Castle and through a series of hallways before coming into the great hall. Oberyn was impressed with the craftsmanship of the room, the walls, floor, and ceiling were made of wooden planks notched together and decorated with sea creatures. On the opposite side of the room from which they entered was a large throne and seated upon it was an equally large man. I thought Wylis was fat but he's slender compared to his father. I worry for the health of the Manderly horses, their backs must ache after carrying him.

Introductions were carried out and guest right extended. Wylis escorted the women and the Martell guards off to the rooms they'd be staying in, leaving Oberyn alone with the Lord of the White Harbor other than the occasional servant scurrying around the room, cleaning or doing whatever job it was they held.

"It is not often I am graced with such auspicious guests, and from so far away too." Wymen's pale blue eyes seemed to twinkle in the light. "Or rather, I didn't used to be. It was barely a year ago that we received the most unusual group of ships from Dorne. So many men, being sent to the Wall."

"My brother emptied the prison cells across all of Dorne, even Ghaston Grey. Better they serve the realm than take up space and cost us coin."

Not that Dorne was truly without prisoners now. Oberyn was sure several nobles had held back certain persons for a variety of reasons, politics being the most likely one.

"Yes, that is what your cousin said when I asked about it. Understandable. And as a Northman I will never object to more men at the Wall. But now you're here. You and your family. I find myself. . . surprised."

"It is true that in the past the North and Dorne have had little to do with one another. But I did assist one of your fellow bannerman in the saving of your liege lord's sister after that same man saved not only my own sister but my niece as well. It is only reasonable that the futures of our kingdoms would be intertwined after events like that."

"Ah, you are speaking of Torrhen von Carstein."

Oberyn nodded. "Indeed. My family buys his moonshine, it's a unique drink. Plus he has agreed to foster my daughter, which is part of the reason for this trip."

Wyman froze, only for just a moment but it was enough for Oberyn to notice. "A Prince of Dorne sending his daughter across all of Westeros to foster with a man that hasn't even been a noble for a decade. People will think you have taken leave of your senses. . . or that you're being blackmailed."

"She is a Sand, other than the distance involved it isn't that odd. If anything this could be viewed as House Martell rewarding him for his service to us" Oberyn said with a shrug. "But I'm aware how much Torrhen values trade, as ruler of the North's only city you must have interacted with him quite a bit and gotten to know him fairly well. I'm sure you're aware of the real reason I'm sending Tyene to the Dreadfort."

"I'm dead sure that I do not."

"Quit with the ghastly lie, spirited men such as ourselves have no need for such behavior."

The two stared at one another. There was an undercurrent to this conversation that Oberyn knew he needed to figure out, the Lord of White Harbor was clearly probing for information, looking to discover something, Oberyn just had no idea what it was.

Mayhaps he's not an ally of Torrhen's. But why? I know the von Carstein lands produce sugar, that alone should provide enough coin to make all the other lords desperate to be friendly. Unless Manderly is jealous of the success? But no lord in his right mind would try to move against Torrhen, he's written us about the changes he's made to his lands. Having the dead acting as guards and laborers should be an apt demonstration of his power to anyone and everyone. The fact that more Northerners aren't lining up to suck Torrhen's cock amazes me, don't they want his power?

"Regardless," Oberyn said, deciding on a slight change in topic, "Tyene isn't the only reason for the trip to this lovely land. The other, as Mellario mentioned to your son, is that we're hoping to set up a betrothal for Arianne."

The big man sat up straighter in his chair. "An unusual decision, I think, to search for a Prince Consort outside of Dorne. Not many men would be willing to be publicly subservient to their wife like that."

Oberyn shook his head. "That isn't actually a requirement. Provided her husband is of sufficient standing or brings enough benefits to House Martell, my brother could be persuaded to pass Arianne over."

"You seek one of the Starks." The phrasing and tone implied it was a statement but for some reason Oberyn got the feeling Wymen was asking a question.

"One of the boys is family. . . somewhat. Either one would be a good match for my niece." Oberyn wasn't even lying. If they were unable to convince Torrhen to marry Arianne, having her become the wife of the next ruler of Winterfell was a good back up plan as it would keep her near the Dreadfort and hopefully able to influence the vampire. Failing that, bringing Jon to Dorne as the next Prince Consort would give House Martell exclusive control of the remaining Targaryen blood in Westeros.

"You are most fortunate in that case because Lord Stark is currently traveling here. He should arrive within a fortnight."

"That is quite serendipitous," Oberyn observed with a raise of one eyebrow. "What's caused him to leave Winterfell?"

"As Warden of the North Lord Stark has duties to see to the defense of the realm, this is one such occasion."

"Wildlings?"

"A disloyal vassal. Beyond that I will not speak of it until Lord Stark is here and permits both your knowledge and involvement."

I definitely need to spend some time with that almost-master-at-arms tonight.