Duesal: Cletus isn't really known for thinking with his brains, for sure.
Sage: At the very least she finds him attractive. The rest though, we don't know...
silent: Alla is 100% leeching information off of him.
Zolar: Well, we don't know that. The trail is led by Varys, which isn't a guarantee of trust on that front.
exillion: What? No one is breaking up anything.
ATP: No real reason for the Tyrells to want Cletus dead.
Guest: More or less. He has a lot of things to go through and not a lot of time to think.
Tony: Lots of comments, lots of stuff to go through and a lot has already been answered, so I'll go over the important points:
- One cannot inherit if he's already dead. Domeric died two years before canon happens. He cannot inherit the Dreadfort. It is not "getting Robb off the hook", it is just literally following canon.
- I have not developed Quentyn and Nymeria's relationship because I feel it would have been overbearing for the reader. Otherwise I had two more chapters of them developing feelings for each other than have not been released.
- You can easily guess what the contents of the notes are. There are callbacks and setups throughout the story. Things said in Chapter 2 will be important in Chapter 70.
- Tyrion never made it to the capital. After what happened in the Eyrie, he went down and got to Tywin, who had already dispatched Kevan to the capital. Therefore Tywin takes Tyrion with him and he gets captured. Cersei does harm Sansa but she takes her time in torturing her, meaning Kevan can save her and Tywin can sideline Cersei even earlier than canon. The Battle of Riverrun was not easy by any means, as shown by the sheer casualty numbers. Remember that Robb's force was so spent they could not take the Golden Tooth here.
- A lot of characters were never going to be major players and I've chosen to sideline them here. Case and point: The Lannisters. Jaime and Brienne had no real purpose or storyline with what I was preparing, therefore I chose to kill them off, with Brienne dying to save Renly and Jaime not having plot armor in his fight against Robb's guard. Similarly, with Jaime's death, Cersei is unhinged earlier, when Tywin is still alive, allowing him to better control and sideline her. Same thing with Roose. With little purpose, it was either that or make him a background character. Killing him off was a better option. Be it that they lived or died, their impact would have been minimal. The biggest butterflies occur with Tyrion being captured, which mean a different Daenerys at the end of it all.
Oberyn
The sound of swords clashing resonated through the courtyard. Slowly, but surely, Oberyn approached, seeing a dozen Dornishmen watching the fight that was going on in the middle, which captivated the entire audience.
Leaning on a pillar, Oberyn watched attentively as the two opponent's sparring swords clashed again and again.
One of the two duelists was a tall man, with dark hair, that towered over his opponent. The other, smaller, but no less deadly in his demeanour, had blonde-silver hair. It didn't take long for Oberyn to recognize both fighters. The tall man was Mors Manwoody, and the smaller figure was Edric Dayne, Quentyn's squire.
He approached a bit closer, seeing that both his daughter and nephew were watching the fight with keen attention, flanked by the large Yronwood boy. Not the one that had gone to catch himself a rose, the other one.
The Dayne boy defended himself well, that was true. Each blow Mors Manwoody tried to go for, Edric Dayne matched. However, he wondered when Quentyn's squire would take the initiative. For now, he was content with defending, but to make your adversary yield, you would need to attack.
No sooner had he thought this that Manwoody went for a lazy strike from top to bottom. The Dayne boy easily deflected it to the side, and was quicker in drawing his blade towards the Manwoody boy, caught unaware.
It took all the energy Mors had to block Edric's strike. Nonetheless, the Dayne boy didn't panic or abandon everything. Instead, he pressed on his initiative, unleashing a flurry of blows onto the poor heir to Kingsgrave, who quickly lost his footing.
Mors' steps were heavy, disjointed, just trying to hang on and win by brute forcing Edric to the ground. His opponent however, stood firm, his feet stuck in the ground like they had been enveloped in quicksand. Every step was quick, graceful and at no point did Oberyn see the Dayne boy falter.
He has some Arthur in him, Oberyn thought painfully.
Mors tried to regain the initiative, by trying to keep Edric locked in his flurry of attacks, waiting for an opportunity as the Dayne boy would be forced to tire. That opportunity presented itself soon enough. With Edric slowly changing the pace of his attacks, Mors took advantage of it to try and swing to the side.
Edric didn't let himself get fooled. The blades met once again, and Oberyn thought that the blunted steel would shatter in a thousand pieces. They stayed locked for a few moments, before both fighters went back to their aggressive stances.
Mors, desperate to not let Edric try his flurry of strikes again, rushed forwards with his sword, trying to close the distance with the Dayne squire once more. However, this time, Edric saw clearly what Mors was trying to do.
Without even a second thought, Edric matched the challenge, and slowly twisted to the left, whereas Mors was preparing to strike to the right. Putting his body in opposition and holding firm, Edric stopped Mors' rush in its tracks, making the black-haired man tumble to the ground.
Mors had a hard time getting back on his feet, which made it all the easier for Edric to finish him off. Two blows were enough for him to disarm Mors, as he pointed his blunted sword towards the man's throat.
"Do you yield?" Edric asked.
"I yield." Mors nodded. "Good fight, Dayne."
"You too, Manwoody." Edric removed his helmet and nodded back, his faced drenched with sweat.
Putting his sword away, the Dayne squire immediately rushed to Quentyn, who was waiting on the side with a small smile.
"Impressive, Ned." Quentyn nodded to him.
"Thank you!" Edric grinned from ear to ear. "I feel like I'm getting better every day!"
"We're lucky to have some of the best fighters in Dorne here." Quentyn let out, watching the other knights prepare their swords for their own fight.
"Perhaps you ought to spar against me." Oberyn finally let out, with Quentyn, Edric, Nym and Archibald's eyes turning to him. "It would be a pleasure to spar against another Dayne."
"Y…you...?" the Dayne boy stammered. "My prince…it would…"
"Now, now, Lord Dayne." Oberyn smiled at him. "No need to be worried, just a friendly spar would do. Prince Quentyn can attest to that."
Edric's dark blue eyes darted to Quentyn. Nymeria on the other hand was covering her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
"I wouldn't exactly call them friendly spars." Quentyn frowned. "They were more of humiliation sessions."
"But you got better, did you not?" Oberyn laughed. "I'd say they were quite fruitful!"
Quentyn stared at him blankly, sighing as he did so, arms crossed as if he were expecting some kind of joke to end.
"I was serious!" Oberyn protested. "Your footwork got better, and you've made improvements with your spear."
"That wasn't exactly thanks to you." Quentyn shot a knowing sideways glance to his daughter, who for her part had stopped laughing in a corner and was playing with a dagger in her hands.
"Oh yes." Nym chuckled. "A lot better."
"Then you may not oppose to spar later, nephew?" Oberyn asked. "A spear in hand, a sword, a hammer, perhaps? Anything you like."
"Perhaps." Quentyn nodded. "But not today. Nym and I have training to do."
"Training?" Oberyn asked. "Another spear lesson?"
"Daggers as a matter of fact." Nym chuckled, pulling out three more from her robe. "It's the aim we have to work on."
Quentyn shook his head and turned his attention back to Lord Dayne.
"Well done, Ned." He congratulated him. "Now rush to your rooms and take a bath, you need it."
The Dayne boy nodded vigorously and ran past, almost forgetting to go remove his armour, before the big Yronwood reminded him to do so.
"You've got a talented squire." Oberyn remarked.
"That I do." Quentyn nodded. "More talented than I am, methinks."
"Perhaps not yet, but close enough." Oberyn conceded. "He reminds him of his uncle at his age."
Quentyn's face darkened.
"You knew Ser Arthur?" Quentyn questioned.
"Quite well." Oberyn nodded. "We met several times, Elia liked him a lot, we used to be sparring partners when we were young. He was better than me, of course. Admittedly, Arthur was better than everyone."
"We've got time, then." Quentyn sighed. "Ned isn't better than everyone."
"Well, he's certainly better than a man ten years older and towering two heads above him." Oberyn smiled. "And Mors Manwoody isn't exactly the type to not know how to hold a sword."
"You think he can be the next Sword of the morning?" Quentyn asked, barely surprised.
"I think that if he continues to improve, it's a strong possibility."
"You may be right." Quentyn acknowledged. "It's past time I had him knighted."
"Would you want to do it yourself?" Oberyn asked. "You've certainly helped shape the boy. When he came to Dorne, I was quite surprised myself that you took him under your service. He was quite distant, intimidated even. Like the Dornish culture wasn't really his own, like he didn't want to be there…"
"He reminded me of someone I knew…" Quentyn ran a hand through his hair.
"I can't say you haven't done him a favor." Oberyn patted his nephew's shoulder. "He's grown confident, his skill at arms has increased tenfold…I think you knighting him would only be justice."
"I'd ask him who he wants to be knighted by." Quentyn simply replied. "You're a legend in Dorne. I think I would not have him denied the possibility if it existed."
"And I would gladly accept. Knighting a sword of the morning is a feat few can boast." Oberyn nodded back. "But I would advise him to have you knight him instead still."
"You honor me, uncle." Quentyn nodded simply, without a smile.
"Now father, if there is nothing else…" Nymeria was almost itching for him to be gone, twirling her daggers in her hands.
"Just one more thing." Oberyn mused. "What's the big Yronwood going to do? I'd wish to see what he's capable of."
"I'm trying to get him to learn to use things that aren't a hammer." Quentyn pointed out.
"That's true." Archibald nodded. "Don't know why. I'm a lot better with a hammer. It's really all you need. Cave a chest in. Smash a face. Destroy a ribcage."
"I think we get the idea, big man." Nym shoved an elbow in his stomach.
"Yes, and your victims have time to spew their guts out onto the floor a dozen times." Quentyn punched him in the shoulder, clearly a head above him. "I'm trying to get you to do things differently and discreetly."
"Discreet, him?" Oberyn scoffed. "We'd hear him coming from Sunspear if he was in Planky Town!"
"Very funny." Quentyn frowned.
"Your friend seemed to like it." Nym pointed to Archibald, who was trying his best not to burst out in laughter.
"Just differently is a start. Switching from a hammer to a greatsword perhaps." Quentyn continued without paying much attention to Archibald who was trying his hardest not to grin.
"Mhm." Oberyn sounded unconvinced. "Well, then, I shall leave you to whatever designs you are planning. I have a council meeting to attend."
"A council meeting?" Quentyn asked, his curiosity peaked. "What in the seven hells for?"
"The wedding, I expect." Oberyn shrugged. "It is supposed to take place in a moon's time after all. Did Lady Margaery not tell you?"
"She did." Quentyn nodded without much reaction.
"Well, the Reachers certainly have a wild number of rumors concerning you two…" Oberyn could see that Nymeria had started to frown.
"I thought a man like you didn't listen to rumors." Quentyn retorted.
"Sometimes rumors have a part of truth…" Oberyn mused in response.
"Speaking of rumors, I must ask something of you, uncle." Quentyn pressed.
"Oh?" Oberyn looked surprised. "Do tell."
"If at the council, there is talk of Dayne forces coming to reinforce Lord Fowler in the Prince's Pass, let me know." He asked with a malicious eye.
Oberyn could hardly contain his surprise. He knew his brother had deployed two hosts. One in the Boneway with forces from Yronwood, Wyl, the Tor and Ghost Hill; and another at the Prince's Pass with forces from Blackmont, Skyreach, Hellholt and Godsgrace. But no mention of the Daynes.
"Where did you get this from?" Oberyn asked. "Did Lord Dayne order such a deployment?"
"Eight thousand men." Quentyn smiled sheepishly.
"Starfall doesn't have eight th…oh." Oberyn suddenly stopped, realizing his nephew's schemes. "Smart boy."
"What can I say, uncle? Sometimes it's better to be sure…" he smiled innocently.
"Right…" Oberyn didn't know whether to be impressed or surprised by his nephew's little trick. "I shall give you my answer when the council finishes. I trust I can find you here?"
"We won't budge for a while." Nymeria nodded. "There isn't much to do here, and we're fine staying away from the Reachers and close to our own bannermen."
Oberyn nodded at that, waving all three of them a small goodbye.
Indeed, with the multiplication of incidents between the Reachers and the Dornishmen, the Lannisters were trying harder and harder to separate the two factions. Oberyn could almost laugh. The flowers were the last of his worries! But bad blood between certain houses leads to a lot of friction, especially with so many Dornishmen around, and so many pretty Reacher girls coming for the wedding…
Bah! Oberyn washed those thoughts away. For now, there were more pressing issues. Namely first and foremost: who tried to poison his nephew, and nearly his own daughter by the same occasion!
He had looked at the beverage his daughter had brought to him, and voiced his concerns. Harming a prince of Dorne like this…it was unheard of and incredibly risky. It didn't seem like something Tywin Lannister would do.
No.
When Tywin Lannister had someone killed, it wasn't through poison. He would make it known that it was him, or at least have it done brutally or coldly. An assassin with a blade? Yes, that he could believe. Poison? That seemed almost too soft for the man Tywin Lannister was. If he wanted Quentyn dead, there could be no doubt that it was him.
The Tyrells then? But what would the Tyrells have to stand to gain from this? Sure, Arianne was now all but betrothed to Willas Tyrell, but she had been publicly disinherited, and should harm happen to Quentyn, there is actually a good chance that his claim might pass on to Aliandra instead of Trystane! Something he doubted would happen, but could be possible. And if the crown came to Trystane, then Myrcella Baratheon would be her consort, bringing it back to the Lannisters again…
And Margaery Tyrell seemed to like Quentyn well enough, such that if they had their differences before, they certainly were friends now. Although one had to be careful with being friends of the Tyrells, he could attest to that. But indeed, since they had an agreement, why waste it all away by having Quentyn killed… Although, Oberyn had to admit there were peculiar roads leading back to the Tyrells.
Cletus Yronwood told him that Varys had told him that the Reachers were planning an attempt on Quentyn's life. Then there's the fact that the wine itself was Arbor red, something Oberyn knew the Reachers liked to drink in large quantities, the Westerlanders preferring other Reacher wines, but not that type. And finally, there was the serving girl who went to deliver the wine in the first place, saying that a man clad in Tyrell colours had come to her saying to bring that wine up there and that she had not noted anything wrong with the flagon when she had carried it up the stairs leading to Quentyn's rooms.
Although this seemed to paint quite a pretty picture for the Tyrells being to blame, Oberyn didn't want to trust the Spider. His allegiance was too fickle, he only needed to be reminded of the days of the Mad King for that. And then it was the other set of circumstances, it almost seemed too clean. That's why he shared his doubts at the previous council meeting. Let the Lannisters and Tyrells see where their investigation takes them and what happens.
Oberyn, therefore, walked into the Small council chambers with a hint of curiosity. He was the last to arrive, of course. He was certainly curious, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take any opportunity to be a nuisance. He would piss on the Small council table if it ticked anyone off.
There were seven people in the room. The first, who dominated the assembly, was of course Lord Tywin Lannister, in his resplendent red coat bearing the arms of the golden lion. Tywin Lannister, Warden of the Westerlands, Lord of Casterly Rock, and Regent for Joffrey Baratheon, the little shit, who didn't even bother showing up to any Small council meetings.
It showed how much - on this case, how little - power Joffrey held.
However, there were only two other of Tywin's creatures in the room. The old grand maester Pycelle, and Lord Tywin's own brother and chief lackey, Ser Kevan, master of laws.
Ironically, they were both to Tywin's left. To the right were the Tyrells and their dogs. Mace Tyrell, Hand of the king, the puff and plump Lord of Highgarden, whose naming as Hand was quite a farce, since Tywin Lannister effectively was both Regent and Hand. Next to him were Lord Paxter Redwyne, master of ships, and Lord Mathis Rowan, master of coin.
Oberyn was surprised that the little rat Petyr Baelish had been removed from that position, but all the better. After all, Oberyn didn't like him much. And to complete this assembly, on Tywin's left but further back, almost in the shadows, the mysterious Lord Varys, master of whisperers. He would complement their numbers as master of…master of something. He wouldn't be sitting on the council if there wasn't a position for him, no? Oh well.
Oberyn noted that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Mandon Moore, was absent. It's true that the Valeman commanded little respect, and had little regard for the affairs of the realm anyways. And after the dismissal of Ser Barristan and the death of the Kingslayer, the Kingsguard looked more like an assembly of sellswords and cut-throats than anything else: Ser Mandon Moore, Sandor Clegane, Ser Meryn Trant, Ser Boros Blount, Ser Alyn Stackspear. For fuck's sake…at least Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Balon Swann were good, honorable, and knew how to use a sword. Almost a wonder how they got into this mess considering their company.
"Prince Oberyn." Lord Tywin noted with his usual cold voice. "You're late."
"Ah, I am a busy man, Lord Tywin." Oberyn smirked and took a seat opposite him.
"So are we all." Ser Kevan noted. "We must always be on time here. The affairs of the realm can hardly wait."
"Oh, is that so?" Prince Oberyn. "Then care to say why his grace the king isn't here?"
"The king has urgent business to discuss." Mace Tyrell cut in, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, which was too small for him.
"I see." Oberyn nodded, crossing his feet as if he were attending a play. Actually scratch, that. He was much more respectful when attending a play. "So, what are we here to discuss? The wedding, I suppose, like last time? How many dancers and singers to bring? How many courses to serve? The cost of it all?"
"Not exactly." Lord Tywin seethed slightly. "We are here to discuss the future movements our new alliance will make with regards to the Riverlands and the North."
"I wish you good luck." Oberyn tilted in his seat.
"Are our Dornish allies not willing to come to help us get rid of the last of the rebels?" Mathis Rowan inquired. "It wouldn't surprise me as…"
"Mathis." Mace Tyrell frowned.
Lord Rowan's face went red, but he stopped his speech before it could get anywhere risky.
"Our forces have been placed on high alert in the Boneway, but they were only placed there in case the Stormlands attacked us." Oberyn toyed with another lie. "It will take months for our forces to even be ready for battle."
"What about the eight thousand men Lord Dayne has sent to the Prince's Pass?" Mace Tyrell grinned from ear to ear. "They could instead cross it, get to Ashford or Bitterbridge, and then join our forces at Harrenhal!"
"I know nothing of such movements." Oberyn made sure to feign ignorance. It seems Quentyn's plan had worked; a little fish caught the worm. "Lord Fowler only has two thousand men stationed to guard the pass, while Lord Dayne hasn't levied any forces."
"My sources are very well placed, prince Oberyn." Mace Tyrell's eyes narrowed.
"So well placed they're aware movements even I, brother to Prince Doran Martell, am unaware of?" Oberyn chuckled. "Come now, Lord Hand, you must get better sources."
"You Dornishmen lie like…" Mathis Rowan shot up.
"MATHIS!" Mace Tyrell immediately reacted. "Sit down."
"Sorry, Lord Mace, I…" Lord Rowan was slightly sweating now.
"Yes, yes…see that you control your emotions, drink a cup of wine…" Mace Tyrell offered.
"Speaking of wine…" Oberyn dangled the poisoning incident in front of their heads.
"A most regrettable incident." Lord Tywin stated bluntly. "An investigation is underway, of course. We shall keep you immediately informed when we have new information."
"See that this investigation of yours is a little more efficient than the one you did into Elia and her children's death." Oberyn hissed, his eyes narrowing. "Six-and-ten years later, I am still waiting for answers and justice. I'm not a very patient man, Lord Regent."
"If it is justice you desire, you shall have it! Lorch has been properly…" Tywin started to spill his poison but Oberyn got a dagger out and slammed it into the table, interrupting what the Old Lion was about to say.
"Don't take me for a fool, Lord Tywin." Oberyn darkened his gaze. "You'll find I'm not willing to dance at your convenience."
"Be careful, Prince Oberyn." Lord Tywin's eyes met his. "You'll find that my own patience has its limits as well."
"In any case." Ser Kevan tried to calm everyone down. "Our Dornish friends won't be able to help us with the upcoming battle against the Tullys. Just bringing their forces to the capital would take months, that we don't have."
"With every month that passes, Lord Edmure is reinforcing his defences, growing his army, and perhaps even letting the Northmen reinforce him." Paxter Redwyne stroked his auburn beard.
"Speaking of the Northmen, do we have any news?" Lord Tywin asked.
All eyes turned to Varys now, the master of whisperers sitting in the shadows, silently.
"I fear that my little birds have sung nothing about the North since the last time we have talked, Lord Regent." Varys shook his head. "Robb Stark is dead, and his crown went to his bastard brother, Jon Snow. Since then, we have had no news other than rumors that the wildlings have perhaps breached the wall."
"Good." Ser Kevan smiled. "That should draw them away from the Riverlands."
"Quite." Lord Tywin acquiesced. "Lord Mace will lead our army and…"
"If I may, Lord Regent. I have a proposition to make." Mace Tyrell cut in. "I think that I shall be much more useful to his grace in the capital. Naming an acting hand would deprive you of my very wise and very just council."
"Regrettable, but you are an experienced battle commander." Lord Tywin cut in.
"Yes, yes, quite…" Mace nodded. "But I think that such a command should fall on my son, Garlan. He is a great warrior, and it is time he earns his spurs in battle, as I did."
Oberyn scoffed. That he sure did, if feasting under the walls of Storm's End counted as earning his spurs, he was the most experienced man of all. At least Randyll Tarly could boast a victory, and Forrest Oakheart could have boasted to have led the Reachmen at the trident, if he had not fallen there along with other Reachmen, leaving lady Arwyn a widow. His hatred for the Dornish was not unknown, but still, he fought side by side with them, and he lay his life along with them.
What did Mace have to show for his troubles? A few stomach aches from eating too much-stuffed pig at the bottom of the walls of Storm's End?
"Ser Garlan will lead more than forty thousand Reachmen after the wedding. We will crush the Tully boy whose forces have surely depleted and we shall take back the Riverlands in the name of King Joffrey Baratheon!" Mace boasted.
Oberyn smiled slightly. To be sure, the fat man of Highgarden wasn't as dumb as some people thought. A Tyrell would still lead the armies and he would stay in the capital, preventing a cornered Lord Tywin from evicting him as Hand and getting some control back over the capital.
"And how will you get Lord Edmure to give battle?" Ser Kevan asked dryly.
"He will put the Riverlands to the torch." Lord Tywin said, inflexible. "I shall give you five thousand men led by the Hound to sally with you, and set the rest of the Riverlands ablaze."
"It didn't go well the first time," Oberyn noted, half-smiling.
"The first time, the knights of the Reach weren't here!" Mace puffed. "We shall take every castle between Harrenhal and Riverrun, and force Lord Tully to come to meet us lest his bannermen abandon him to try and retake their keeps on their own, or protect their lands."
Oberyn noted that he made no mention of burning or pillaging anything. At least Mace Tyrell still entertains the notion of Reacher chivalry, but Oberyn knew that Tywin would leave little choice to Mace in that matter.
"They shall be crushed by numbers." Lord Mathis proudly announced.
"Riverrun can still hold." Lord Tywin grimaced. "But alone and without support, they will have to bend the knee. In addition, I shall reward any lord that swears fealty to the crown, this should drain a few more supporters from the Tully cause. We will worry about the North later on, once we have a clearer picture. But in the winter, and with wildlings on their doorstep…come spring they will be crawling back to us, begging for our forgiveness."
After you took Ned Stark's head and scarred his eldest daughter? I highly doubt it.
"You are sure that your son is the best idea for a command in the field such as this?" Ser Kevan tried to push once more. "It would be better to have an experienced commander…"
"Nonsense!" Mace waved him off. "You shall find that Ser Garlan is an incredibly capable warrior and leader, and he will prove it for you once and for all."
Lord Tywin knows he is cornered. He can't dismiss Mace Tyrell or outright order him to take charge of the troops. Flattery didn't get them very far…
"In this case, it is settled." The Old Lion reluctantly frowned. "Ser Garlan shall lead the contingent to Harrenhal, where he will link with the Westerlanders still there and the Hound's five thousand men. Together they will force Lord Edmure to battle and crush him and his host.
Very well, you are dismissed, my lords. I believe we have many preparations to go over for the wedding."
Everyone silently nodded, with Oberyn stepping out with a great smile on his face. Let them and the Tullys fight it out, it will only weaken them. They will have to take Riverrun, and such a castle take is not an easy affair. Then there will be Seagard, the Twins, and the North…perfect to distract the attention of the Old Lion.
And his precious wedding? Oh, Oberyn couldn't wait till he saw what the Tyrells and him had in store for him there. His vengeance was now right within his grasp…he could almost touch it.
Soon, Elia. You will be avenged, I promise you. Very soon.
