TheSystem: Sorry this is book canon. No physics and gravity-defying ballstic harpoons.

Halfblood: The Reach is the crown, and the North is already at war with the crown. The Tyrells and Starks are already well at war by this point.

najex: Because I was too lazy to change the first one into Jon I, and I didn't stop afterwards. The AO3 chapter has it tagged as Jon I and II.

vastos: Alright maybe calm down just a little. Quentyn is planning to have his own dragons.

Kuman: Well, if honor works for certain situations, the situation where people seem to have seen monsters that are considered legends is a bit much. Let's say a hundred people swear they saw a T-Rex in Alaska, but none of them have photos, would you believe them? Same situation here, the Northern lords are pretty much in agreement that something is driving the wildlings south, but don't know what. The Others just seem to be a way of blaming something else.

ATP: He's still the oldest living Stark, and still the leader of the Northern host, therefore he has an example to set. While marrying a northern lady would be recieved with some jealousy by some lords, others would see it as a way of tying himself to the North. As for Val, it would make everyone angry. And Jon has to walk a fine line already, he can't afford to marry her.

Guest: I'm avoiding making size measurements for now mostly for the moment where Winter will actually see action. Varys knows that something is amiss, but won't really have time to confirm what is happening. At least, he knows that the story of the North being overrun by wildlings isn't the exact truth. Also note that at this point, Tywin has little: his military is almost entirely dependent on Reach support because of how badly he got beaten by Robb and Edmure. And nothing says politics better than families divided over how an issue needs to be done, and the Tyrells are no exception.

the others: Thanks!


Edric

Edric Dayne hurriedly put on the finishing touches to his garb for the royal wedding. As Quentyn had said, he needed to look impeccable, if only for appearances' sake. As Lord Dayne, he would be the second or third-highest standing member of the Dornish delegation, depending on who you asked.

Therefore, a wardrobe worthy of the name was completely in order. Purple was the sigil of his house, and purple was his dress. A cream white doublet engraved with lavender patterns over which he put a purple vest showing the star and sword of house Dayne on both sides. Intricate purple gloves inherited, her aunt Allyria had told him, from his own legendary uncle, Arthur.

He also had boots her aunt had also gifted him, embroidered with the sigil of house Dayne on the sides too. Not to mention elegant white pants and a beautiful golden belt. For Dornishmen, even during weddings, the tradition was to have ceremonial daggers attached. The Daynes were an exception to this, as they had small swords. Nothing too dangerous that you would carry to the battlefield. Such an honor was only reserved for the Sword of the Morning who reserved the right to wield Dawn.

No, Edric had an estoc with a purple pommel engraved with…the sigil and words of House Gardener! A war prize taken long ago when the Daynes had burnt down the Oakenseat of Highgarden, which belonged to his father and now belonged to him. He would have worn something else in order not to vex the Reachers, but Quentyn dissuaded him by saying it was a great idea to remind them of certain mistakes.

Finally, to round everything out, he wore a small necklace around his neck, which had the star of house Dayne carved in an amethyst at the center. Not excessive, but always good to remind everyone that the Daynes were a very wealthy house.

Quickly passing a hand through his hair, Edric ran out into the halls of the Red Keep. He was likely already late to the party. The second one, that is.

Because there had been a first one the day before, where the bride and groom had received gifts from a variety of people, the highlight of which was the gifting of a Valyrian steel blade from Tywin Lannister himself. Edric didn't bring anything, but Quentyn reassured him. Prince Oberyn gifted the boy-king something on behalf of all of Dorne. When Edric asked why Quentyn himself hadn't bought anything, he shrugged.

"I would have brought him a book of such rarity that the whole room would have gasped. But the little shit would have likely taken that pretty sword of his and hacked it to pieces."

It was then that Edric had his first taste of why they called King Joffrey "the ill-born". He seemed like a cruel boy, not hesitating to jape about that poor Stark girl's fate, or about other disgusting things Edric wished he hadn't overheard. Dornishmen were less sensible to some japes that others thought would be crossing three lines, but this was just being cruel for the sake of it.

Thankfully, Margaery Tyrell seemed like a wonderful lady, made to be queen. He even saw that she had managed to soothe the boy-king's temper somewhat, which the boy had difficulties in controlling. It was then that he realized it was hard to blame Quentyn for not wanting to even approach the boy.

Quickly running down the halls, Edric could see that he wasn't the only one late for the wedding ceremony.

"Hello, Ned." Prince Quentyn nodded. "You know the exit is the other way, right?"

"Oh." Edric suddenly opened his eyes in disbelief, glancing behind him for a second. "I didn't…"

"Well, now you know." Nymeria Sand replied with a small grin. "You look good, Dayne."

"Erm…you too, my lady." Edric blushed.

Indeed, both prince Quentyn and lady Nymeria were clad in colors befitting a prince and a princess. Of course, prince Quentyn represented his house well. His outfit was one of gold, red, and orange, with a long-sleeved orange shirt decorated with the arms of House Martell and a variety of other decorations in the Rhoynar style, with a short-sleeved red vest on top, with spear-like patterns on the sides and sun-shaped buttons.

His pants were yellow-gold, while he wore an orange belt on which were two ceremonial daggers in golden hilts with several sapphires embedded, and a small ceremonial sword on his right side, also vividly decorated with a golden pommel representing snakes lacing around two adjacent suns.

Unlike Edric, though, Quentyn did not wear any jewellery of any sort, preferring to just have his wavy hair combed towards his left side, opposite his scar.

Lady Nymeria was quite the opposite. Clad in jewels of all kinds, with two rings, diamond earrings, a golden head chain with a large golden ruby in the centre, two golden snake-shaped bracelets on either of her arms and a few jewels interlaced with her beautifully and intricately done braid which ran almost down to her bosom.

As for her dress, she had an interesting choice: a short-sleeved lilac dress with golden embroidery covering the upper part from her shoulders to her breasts, with snakes sliding around several spears, joining a sun at the middle. As her robe descended, Edric could see that it became sheer towards the bottom, revealing her legs which also had golden bracelets around them, and several straps around her thighs, from which were attached several blades, although he couldn't tell if they were ceremonial or actual ones. One thing was for sure, they were also richly decorated.

Her nails were also painted gold, while her full lips were almost painted wine-red.

The couple was as radiant as the burning sun of Dorne, which was probably the intention.

"Something wrong, Ned?" Quentyn asked.

"No, no…" Edric shook his head. "Just…never seen either of you like this. You really look amazing."

Quentyn almost blushed while Nymeria just sent him a sly smile.

"Any reason for the tardiness, Dayne?" Lady Nymeria asked as she placed herself between the prince and he, almost guiding their steps through the keep towards the courtyard below.

"I couldn't sleep." Edric shamefully admitted. "It's my first wedding, let alone royal wedding! And I've been under pressure because of my standing as Lord of Starfall…"

"It's going to be fine." Quentyn tapped him on the shoulder.

"I take it you also woke up late?" Edric asked.

"Uh, actually…" Quentyn blushed slightly. "I think we woke up on time."

Lady Nymeria's lips curved into a smile.

"Yes." She nodded. "Breakfast was a little long, though."

"Breakfast?" Edric's eyes widened. "With seventy-seven courses coming for the royal feast?"

"It was just a little drink." Lady Nymeria waved him off. "If anything, it made me hungrier."

Her eyes trailed to Quentyn, who for himself, seemed to be greatly uncomfortable. It seemed Lady Nymeria was taking small pleasure in torturing her cousin, but what for? Breakfast was breakfast if they wanted a little drink before going to the Sept of Baelor…Edric would have done the same if he had anything in his rooms!

It's then that Edric suddenly noticed movement in Quentyn's right vest pocket.

"Is that…" his eyes widened.

"Oh, yes." Quentyn nervously laughed. "Achilles comes and goes as he pleases, although he's a little shy at the moment. But still, he'll be attending the wedding."

"Are you sure pets are allowed?" Edric asked.

"The boy-king has his dogs…" Lady Nymeria scowled.

Edric didn't bother pushing the issue further, and the three of them managed to reach the courtyard, where a number of other Dornishmen were waiting for them.

"Nephew, daughter, lord Dayne!" Prince Oberyn taunted with a smile. "We didn't know you would be late of all people!"

"A small misunderstanding, uncle." Prince Quentyn replied. "But we are here."

"Bah." Myles Manwoody scoffed, atop his horse. "Dornish customs are such that arriving on time to an event is an exceptional occurrence. I doubt it will be an issue."

"This isn't Dorne." Tremond Gargalen quickly pointed out.

"If you two could stop arguing, we'd already be on our way!" Perros Blackmont and his brisk attitude countered.

The two older lords huffed and led their sand steeds forward, urging them towards the Sept of Baelor, following the royal convoy heading straight there.

On the way, he couldn't help but notice Cletus' absence.

"Where is Cletus?" he asked Quentyn, rushing to his side.

"He was with Alla again." Quentyn shrugged. "He will join us later."

Edric thought no more of it and tried keeping his mind on making sure his horse didn't run over one of the poor souls that had come to witness the convoy.

It was a grandiose ceremony, apparently. The massive sept was packed with every single lord of the Reach and the Westerlands, it seemed. All the free Lannisters were there: Lord Tywin, Lord Kevan, and his son Ser Lancel, who was, if rumors were to be believed, in the running for Lady Sansa Stark's hand, but also the Queen mother herself, Cersei Lannister!

The Queen looked like she had seen better days. She was indeed with her family, but her face was pale, almost sickly, and her rich robes paled in comparison to that of her father and uncle. Not to mention that she was flanked by armed guards in red, who she eyed with a mixture of fear and contempt.

Strange, Edric thought.

He was put in the third row, along with all the Dornishmen save prince Oberyn, who was saved a seat in the second row.

True to his word, Cletus did join them later, babbling a couple of excuses before taking his place alongside Edric, who was himself placed alongside Quentyn.

The rest of the ceremony went by with astonishing quickness. Edric didn't see much of it, mostly because of the insanely tall man standing in front of him, a westerlander knight, by all accounts., but he did catch glimpses.

He glimpsed the Queen for a brief moment, as he did the king. He heard the mumbling of the high septon, and only knew at what point of the ceremony they were when King Joffrey almost yelled "With this kiss, I pledge my love!"

Those were the only comprehensible words he understood. There was applause, a lot of movement, and the white cloaks of the kingsguard rushing past him. He knew it was over, then, and the party made their way back outside and the stinking air of the capital.

"Can't wait to be back to the Keep." Quentyn sighed. "This took hours."

"Northerners aren't the most expeditive, especially when it comes to royal weddings." Cletus sighed. "Even at Yronwood, they're shorter than this."

"Exceptional circumstances coupled to the fact that no one gives a shit about this mummer's show…" Jynessa Blackmont, clad in her yellow dress, let out heartily.

That earned a small laugh from everyone.

Of course, it wasn't completely over. There still were hundreds of people waiting to offer their congratulations to the newlyweds. Thankfully, Quentyn clasped him on the shoulder and whispered.

"If you don't want to, you're not obligated to. I can just as well go and present them in your name…"

"T…thank you." Edric nodded back.

Quentyn winked at him and stood in line, leaving Edric to wait with a couple of Dornishmen. Thankfully, the new king's patience was fickle, and everyone soon saddled back up to the castle, where Edric hoped there would finally be a moment's respite.

To his surprise, there were a few moments! Guests were allowed back to their rooms to bring a change of clothes if they so wished, and Edric took this opportunity to take a quick nap. Quentyn came back to pick him up along with his cousin and two other Dornishmen: Arron Qorgyle, Gulian's brother, and Samwell Vaith, Daeron Vaith's brother.

Both quickly left, though, after having a quick discussion with Quentyn.

The three of them then made their way outside, and into the castle gardens.

"Wasn't the feast supposed to take place in the throne room?" Edric asked.

"Apparently the Tyrells preferred it to be outside, so that the keep may not be overcrowded, and that the fresh air from the sea brings some much-needed refreshment." Quentyn replied.

"Finally, a good idea." The sand snake chuckled.

"There had to be one eventually…" Quentyn started, before being startled. "Your grace!"

There, in front of the three of them, stood Margaery Tyrell, or rather, Margaery Baratheon. She was wearing ivory silk and Myrish lace. Her dress was richly decorated with floral patterns strewn with pearls, with a hundred golden roses rising on her sleeves and skirts. She also wore a simple circlet for a crown, and had jewels adorning her entire body.

"Prince Quentyn." She nodded back.

"Shouldn't you be…with your husband?" he asked.

"Oh, my husband is busy at the moment, I had hoped to take a moment of your time before the feast starts." The new Queen replied.

"Of course." Quentyn nodded back before introducing both Edric and Lady Nymeria. "This is Lady Nymeria Sand, my cousin, and Lord Edric Dayne, of Starfall."

"A pleasure to meet you both." Queen Margaery smiled widely. "I fear I have not had time to meet all of you. The last couple days have been quite the mess."

She extended her hand forward. Edric quickly understood and bowed to kiss it. The sand snake, on the other hand, was doing her best not to frown, but she wasn't smiling, either.

"The Queen mother isn't at the feast?" Quentyn asked, having noticed that the Lannister table was devoid of her presence.

"I'm afraid Queen dowager Cersei has been taken ill." Queen Margaery feigned sadness at that.

Lady Nymeria scoffed while Edric just nodded in understanding.

"The Dornish host seems to be complete, but a few members are missing?" Queen Margaery then asked.

"Ser Gerris took his leave a few days ago." Quentyn nodded. "His wife has been sick, and he worries for her. I have ordered him to Sunspear with a small guard."

"Oh." The Queen looked slightly surprised. "Do send him my wishes, then."

"I shan't forget." Quentyn nodded back.

"And…" the Tyrell queen turned to Edric next. "Lord Dayne, is that it?"

"Yes, your grace." Edric bowed.

The queen turned to Quentyn and back to him.

"You've been sending us reinforcements, I hear?" she asked.

"Your grace?" Edric feigned ignorance.

"Eight thousand men in the Prince's Pass…" the Queen sighed.

"I've given no such order." Edric did his best not to burst out laughing.

"I've had you there, didn't I?" Quentyn smiled slightly, while Lady Nymeria was on the verge of laughing.

"Yes." Queen Margaery nodded painfully. "Can't believe I fell for this trick."

"You have to admit it was smart." Quentyn countered.

"When did you suspect?" Queen Margaery avoided.

"Since the first." Lady Nymeria scoffed. "Reachers and Dornishmen don't get along."

"I hear Reacher ladies have a soft spot for Dornishmen." The Tyrell queen turned to Edric, who turned bright red.

That part, at least, was true. But Edric still wasn't sure because he was just handsome, he was a Dornishman or that, in Quentyn's words, he looked as close to a Targaryen as one could be, that both Rowan girls had jumped into his bed at Bitterbridge. He could hardly remember their names, too…Calla and Nelia, was it? Although he forgot which was which…

In any case, this had earned him no favors from lord Rowan, quite the opposite. The old man had claimed that he had dishonored both of them, forgetting that it was his daughters that came to him! Of course, a green boy, Edric was not going to refuse such an offer. But this hardly was the norm for all of Dorne. He knew Cletus had some success with Reacher ladies, lord Caswell's daughter chief of all, but the others just did it out of spite or insult.

"Sorry." The snake spat out. Edric could almost see the venom pouring out of her mouth, and he was prepared to see fangs spitting out at any moment. "Tyrells and Dornishmen don't get along."

The Queen saw that she was pushing her luck, and didn't try to even point out that she and Quentyn were getting along just fine. Edric would have seen Nymeria probably break, then. Thankfully, this did not happen. Instead, Margaery just sighed.

"You cannot blame me for trying." She shook her head.

"I blame you for making my friend believe in something that isn't real." Quentyn's smile turned into a frown, all the while he controlled his pocket by shoving it downwards repeatedly, stopping his frog from jumping out.

"Well." Margaery sighed. "If it's any consolation, Alla volunteered to do it because she thought your friend was, in her words, very pretty."

"Hardly." Quentyn scoffed. "Because you won't have to deal with his broken heart."

"A Tyrell breaking a Dornish heart would be a first…" Nymeria Sand muttered.

Queen Margaery's smile fell slightly but caught herself.

"I must be going. It was a pleasure meeting you both, Lady Sand and Lord Dayne." The Queen put an accent on the sand part, earning another scowl from the sand snake.

"Have a lovely day, your grace." Quentyn nodded. "And good luck in the future."

The Queen spared a sideways glance at him, nodded slightly, and left.

"If she said another word, I'll likely have strangled her." Lady Nymeria seethed, clutching Quentyn's arm in anger.

"You were more patient than I thought." Quentyn acted surprised.

"Very funny, love." She bumped her elbow into his side. "You underestimate me."

"Mhmm." Quentyn retorted. "Like I did when…"

Not wanting to get caught up in a conversation that he obviously knew the inevitable issue of, that is, Edric having to suffer through a kiss that would last a good minute before they eventually acknowledged his existence again, he just scurried away while attempting to find some friendlier companions.

A short conversation with Mors Manwoody on the subject of their duel from the other day, then another with a knight sworn to house Allyrion, probably a cadet branch, there was no shortage of Dornishmen to talk to.

Including his own bannermen! Aunt Allyria had seen to it that house Dayne was well represented: Morgan and Harry Grace, Rhea Dayne, Cyrus Ventou, Halyn Woods and Ynys Izoa were all in attendance.

Of course, Edric did his best to speak with each of them. Ser Morgan Grace was an old man, of almost sixty namedays, while his son was in his thirties, also married. Ser Halyn Woods was as close to a bull as one would get, being almost the same size as Arch, while in comparaison, Ynys Izoa, lady Gwyneth's sister, was shorter than Edric himself.

Cyrus Ventou was a young knight of five-and-twenty namedays, who inherited his father's lands when he fell at the Trident. A young spirit, with long, dark, hair, who was unfortunately not that good with a weapon in hand.

"At least my mind is sharp." Ser Cyrus had shrugged. "It cuts deeper than a blade."

Rhea Dayne was a woman of five-and-thirty namedays, who had come with her husband, Ser Jon Blackmont, a cousin of lady Larra, also present. She had beautiful blonde hair and purple eyes, but she wasn't a Dayne of Starfall, for he bore the sigil of the burning Oak tree with scimitar. Indeed, the Daynes of the Amethyst had been granted this seat after Ser Gerold Dayne, brother to Lord Davos Dayne, had won a great victory outside Highgarden which allowed the Dornish forces to sack Highgarden and burn the Oakenseat. As thanks, Lord Davos gave his younger brother a keep guarding the Torentine approaches.

Rhea Dayne had good spirit and knew how to defend herself well, the daggers strapped to her waist were proof of this. As for Jon Blackmont, Edric knew better than to cross the man.

Yet, the most splendid surprise was the heir to the Tor, Myria Jordayne. She came up to him in a ravishing golden dress, which was short-sleeved and had a v-neck plunging further than it had any right to be. Similarly to Lady Nymeria's one, it revealed a lot in the bottom, allowing her dark olive skin to shine through, revealing golden jewels underneath.

"Beautiful dress, isn't it?" Myria smiled at him.

Edric wanted to punch himself for staring that long. But it was true that the Jordayne heir was drop-dead gorgeous.

"Don't make such a face." Myria laughed. "You're not the first one to stare languishly."

"I'm sorry, Lady Myria…"

"Don't make excuses, Lord Dayne." She winked. "You know, if it weren't for these prude northerners, I wouldn't have had these embroideries made on the upper half of my dress. They're quite pretty, of course, but they add a lot of weight."

And reveal less. Edric stopped himself from adding. He knew the propensity of Salty Dornishwomen to wear dresses bordering on the scandalous for Dornish standards, so he could hardly imagine the reactions here in King's Landing.

"Call me Ned." Edric urged her. "I don't really feel like a lord, if I'm honest."

"Nonsense, you're one just by looking at you." Myria smiled. "You look like a Targaryen prince!"

"You're too kind, my lady." Edric blushed.

"Myria between us, Ned."

"Myria." Edric nodded. "Enjoying the festivities?"

"Not as much as I'd like to." She confessed. "The city's smell is horrendous, most of the guests are boring, and we've been stuck here doing nothing for so long, I can't even remember why we're supposed to be here!"

"That makes two of us." Edric scoffed.

"I thought so." Myria frowned. "The other men and women say that we're here because of Prince Doran, and that prince Quentyn was very reluctant to come."

"You're well informed."

"He told me himself." Myria shrugged. "Nevertheless, I think changes are coming."

"I hope so too." Edric nodded. "Are you at least enjoying the wedding?"

"A bit dull for my tastes but at least the food is somewhat decent. Wish they had some proper wine instead of this Reacher piss, though."

"I've got wine in my rooms. Pure Torentine gold!" Edric laughed. "My aunt Allyria sent some to me for my nameday. I've kept it in my rooms because it's a fine vintage."

"Really?" Myria bit her lip. "Mind if I join you for a sip afterward?"

"I'd be delighted." Edric nodded back.

Myria smirked and left him for the Dornish table, likely seeing that the first courses were being served.

The Dornish table was placed opposite that of the Tyrells, but still within a reasonable distance of the married couple's so much that Edric could still hear what was going on there. There were exceptions to this rule, though.

Prince Oberyn was at the married couple's table, between his paramour Ellaria and the oaf of Highgarden, Mace Tyrell. Aron Santagar, who had been in the capital for years now, shared a table with other men of various houses, which he likely called friends. As for Cletus Yronwood, he was at the Reacher table! Alongside his pretty Tyrell of course, and a knight of house Ambrose who looked like he was ready to shove his fist into Cletus' face.

Edric, for his part, was well-placed on the Dornish table. Quentyn, as the most important member, was seated in the middle. He was flanked by his bastard cousin on the left, while Edric, in his capacities as Lord Dayne, stood at his right. Besides the sand snake was Dagos Manwoody, while Edric ate in the company of Larra Blackmont.

The courses came and went, and Edric wondered how he would be able to down seventy-seven of them.

"Surely there cannot be that much!" Edric let out.

"You'd be surprised." Larra Blackmont's dark eyes met his. "Traditions like these are essential for the Royal Wedding, and the Tyrells and Lannisters both spent plenty of gold."

"I'd have spent all of this on making this city's stench bearable!" Ryon Allyrion, his olive skin starting to take a redder color under the sun and sat to Larra Blackmont's left, let out.

"It's been stinking ever since the days of the young Dragon, and possibly even before that point." Larra shook her head. "I doubt we'll see any improvement soon. The Tyrells and Lannisters are content with giving out bread and wine, and the smallfolk are satisfied."

Edric nodded. He had seen the care the Tyrells put into their image, having soup and bread distributed at every street corner in King's Landing. And with the Royal Wedding celebrations, no doubt that the Tyrells also had more things planned that the smallfolk may celebrate too.

"Let's count our blessings." Larra Blackmont sighed, redoing the braid holding her dark hair together and throwing it on her left shoulder. "They haven't played the Rains of Castamere in about an hour."

"How much longer can they hold, do you think?" Dagos Manwoody cut in while serving himself another piece of mutton. "I'm willing to bet not another hour."

"The lions know only one song and they repeat it over and over again." Lady Nymeria scowled. "I wish I could just shove their pretty song up their arses for once. We've been sitting here doing nothing, it's about time…"

A hand came to rest on her forearm, instantly calming her down.

"Patience, love." Quentyn sighed. "Only a few more days."

The snake looked at him and nodded.

"Let's hope you're right." She let out.

The toasts then came, with the boy-king lifting a cup to his wife, Queen Margaery Tyrell. And although Edric wished he could drink, Myria was right, the Reacher wine was piss. Like many at the Dornish table, they would settle for water for now.

"I bet they didn't even think about buying Dornish red…" Larra silently raged.

"Or it was a deliberate insult…" Quentyn shrugged, his frog croaking in his vest pouch.

The prince sighed, took a few leftovers from his plate, and shoved it into his pocket, hoping that would stop his pet from croaking.

"Why did you have to bring it along?" Edric asked, the frog almost recognizing the insult and wordlessly turning his large eyes towards him

"I told you, he comes as he pleases and…oh shit, my uncle is going to give another one of his special speeches…" Quentyn folded his hands into his head.

Indeed, prince Oberyn had risen up and brought on the attention of the table, with King Joffrey and Queen Margaery, but also Lord Tywin, Lord Mace, and a few other guests, most notably Lady Sansa, stuck between Ser Lancel and a Tyrell cousin he did not recognize.

"Your grace, it seems to me like our Reacher friends here have forgotten what real wine tastes like!" Prince Oberyn raised his cup. "Therefore, I bring you our best Dornish red! This will water down the piss we've been drinking for some time!"

"Well it's about time…" Larra Blackmont silently let out.

The barrels came out, and it seemed that the boy-king enjoyed the Dornish red more than the Reacher wines served. Another meaningless win for Dorne, Edric sighed, looking at his half-finished plate of chicken and herbs.

He didn't think he'd have the courage to finish it, to be fair. The wedding was almost as sickening as the meat. And the mood was sour amongst all Dornishmen, Quentyn chief amongst them. It seemed that although he wasn't seething publicly like his lover, his rage ran just as deep, his fists clenched and teeth continuously biting the edge of his cheeks.

Of course, the others were all having a great time. Wine flowed on the Westerlander table, the Reachers were all blabbering about gods knew what, while Cletus was certainly having fun, laughing with his Tyrell lover. The newlywed table was just as merry, only Lady Sansa not smiling. A pie was cut, although Edric paid no attention to the birds flying out of it. He was more concerned with returning to his rooms and drowning his pain in Torentine gold with a beautiful dark-olive-skinned girl who would certainly lighten up his mood a little.

Suddenly, everything fell silent, before a few panicked cries filled the air.

Edric frowned to see what was going on at the main table, raising his head from his plate. It seems like the king was choking. Had he choked on his pie, the idiot? Serves him well, a few slaps on his back should do him some good.

Indeed, Ser Garlan stepped up to slap him on the back, hard.

However, the king kept coughing, making other sounds, like he was desperately trying to breathe, as if the air had been sucked around him. Panicked cries came from all over the garden, asking for water, for a maester, for anything. The High Septon prayed loudly, while a commotion formed in the Kingsguard. Everyone rushed towards a different direction. Some to leave, some to get closer.

Edric was amidst the latter, almost morbidly fascinated by the colors the boy's face were taking. Purple, then almost black...gods what a horrible way to die. Queen Margaery was trying not to look, her face crooked inside her grandmother's robes, while King Joffrey died on the dais, in the middle of the guests looking over him with morbid curiosity.

Besides him, Quentyn was trying extremely hard to contain a smile, leaving his frog to jump out of its pouch while doing so.

"Now that…is better than in…" he cut himself, seeing that Edric was listening.

"Serves the boy right." Quentyn instead sighed. "I won't shed any tears over him."

Edric only nodded, confused at Quentyn's first statements. Prince Oberyn, on the other hand, had not moved from his seat.

"Well, Dornish red isn't for everyone." He almost mockingly scoffed, finishing his own glass.

All heads turned to him, and a huge frown set across Mace Tyrell's face.

"Kingsguard." Mace calmly stated. "Arrest Prince Oberyn. Immediately."

There was a moment of silence, then of disbelief. Quentyn's eyes immediately went wide, as did Lady Nymeria's.

"What?" Quentyn let out. "No!"

Then in a small voice, almost a whisper: "That's not how it's supposed to go…"

Prince Oberyn on the other hand, just shrugged.

"Why am I under arrest?" he asked. "For a poor joke?"

"For murdering your king." Mace stated bluntly.

Tywin didn't even oppose the move and made a quick nod, with all Kingsguard surrounding the prince, who had not moved a muscle.

"That does make more sense." Prince Oberyn shrugged, not even denying the accusations and instead finishing his cup of wine!

Edric didn't believe his eyes, his eyes riveting to a now red-faced Quentyn, fists clenched and on the verge of bursting out in anger, while goldcloaks slowly surrounded the Dornish table. Lady Nymeria immediately held him back.

"No, love." She warned him. "They're seven, and we don't have weapons good enough to cut our way through."

"It's not them I want." He snapped. "Right now, uncle Oberyn should be happy there's seven kingsguard around him, because otherwise, I'd be the one having his head!"

With all the commotion, Edric was the only one to notice that Lady Sansa had disappeared from the main table, and saw a small lock of auburn hair running down an alley amidst the gardens.