osterreicher: No, they know the Lannisters are sinking, that's why it makes it easier for them to hijack their position. As for the North and Ironborn, they really couldn't have known...

Tom: Arianne is definitely not planning on killing Willas.

Natman: Well yes, a Quentyn Martell-focused story is going to be pro-Dorne.

Guest1: Jon feels more like a Stark than a Targaryen. If Aegon or Daenerys asks for him to submit, there's a good chance he will tell them to go to hell.

tsourgh: If you think it's boring, drop the story. You won't be missed.

Guest2: Robb didn't bend the knee for Sansa AND Arya while having Jaime, and he didn't have a dragon.

Guest3: There's a lot of candidates for the Stormlands: Shireen, Edric, Floris...a big mess.

Guest4: They make a big deal of it not because the Tyrells won, but because they've been reduced to a possible situation of powerlesness with a possible situation of being glorified hostages. With them hostages, it doesn't matter if Dorne still has a military strength. As for Euron, he's certainly going to be a bother with a bit of reduced strength (Victarion gone, Ironborn evicted from the North), but it's still Euron...

Guest5: You are absolutely correct and it has been fixed.

Basker: Thanks! Yeah, lots of small hints in every chapter, I think at this point you can have a decent enough outline of what is going to happen.


Nymeria

Dawn broke slowly over King's Landing, still in mourning after the death of the king of the Seven Kingdoms. However, it was already the third time that Nymeria poured water over her face, trying to keep her composure.

Stay strong, stay strong.

The words echoed inside her head. Staying strong was easy for five-and-twenty years of her life, but today?

Today she felt her hands shake for the first time, her teeth clenched while she tried to focus on the small looking glass in front of her.

She had tried to get some sleep that night, but the thoughts of her father at the mercy of Archibald Yronwood's blade just wouldn't leave her mind. She'd stared at the walls and ceiling of the room, wrapped in the bedsheets and Quentyn's arms, her head crooked into his neck, saying nothing.

A quick look towards him after a moment had shown that he'd fallen asleep.

Therefore, she stayed awake with her thoughts, trying her best not to let a tear escape or for her palms to sweat too much.

Eventually, her thoughts were too heavy for her eyelids, and she slowly found herself giving into a slumber. But that torpor did not mean peace.

She had a nightmare that night, a horrid nightmare.

Her father had died at the hands of the Mountain, savagely killed after being taken by surprise just like Ser Archibald had done. Then she saw herself, with Tyene, demanding rightful vengeance and being imprisoned in Sunspear. She saw herself go to the capital, fury in her heart, only to end up in the Sept of Baelor, and for green flames to appear around her.

She woke up with a cold sweat, heart pumping and tears flowing.

Quentyn caressed her, saying that it was only a bad dream, but everything she'd experienced was so vivid, she still shook from it later.

She passed water over her face once, then twice, without success.

Here she was, trying again.

"Are you alright?" Quentyn's voice came from behind her, his hand settling gently on her shoulder.

"I…I'm fine," she admitted. "I feel better."

Quentyn looked at her with an eyebrow raised, and put a hand through her hair, tossing the fringe of it backwards and cleaning the small droplets of water from her forehead.

She gulped and finally let out,"He will win, right?"

Never had she thought that she'd utter those words. Usually, she had thought her father to be invincible, the greatest fighter on the planet. That he would easily kill any man walking this continent. But now…now her confidence had been shattered to pieces. She wasn't sure of anything, anymore.

"He will." Quentyn nodded back. "He has to."

Nymeria nodded back and pressed her lips against his. Gently, softly.

"Promise me that we'll make it out fine," she almost ordered, breaking the embrace.

"We will." Quentyn nodded again, hugging her tight. "Whatever happens, we will make it."

Nymeria clutched him tightly. She wanted to believe it. She needed to.

Quentyn helped her dress, picking jewellery and other mundanities, while she tried her best not to think about the upcoming event.

While helping her do her braid, Quentyn let out,"You should go see him."

Nymeria didn't react, but her eyes did freeze for a moment.

"They won't let me." She shook her head.

"Before the trial, when he's putting on his armor," he replied. "Perhaps…perhaps he needs encouragement, from you…"

Nymeria bit her lip, but didn't say anything, her mind drifting again.

"I'll think about it," she finally answered.

However, Quentyn's words did carry truth to them. They always did.

She found herself looking for her father, and true enough, she did find him before the trial, donning his pristine armor, all the while helped by four other Dornishmen.

"Nym!" he exclaimed, with a smile. "Quentyn isn't with you?"

"No." She shook her head. "He's waiting for me, up there."

"Have you come to wish me luck?" he smiled back.

"Father," Nymeria snapped, her gaze fixated on him. "Please."

Her father's jovial face disappeared, and he asked for the other Dornishmen to leave for a few moments. Soon enough, there were only the two of them in the armory.

"What is it, my sweet?" her father asked.

"I…I don't want you to die," she admitted.

"And I won't!" He laughed in a hearty tone. "Clegane is a beast, but he is not invincible. His mass will be his downfall. Do not worry, I do not plan on dying today."

"Father," Nymeria continued, sternly. "I don't think you understand."

"Understand what?"

"I don't care about our vengeance."

"What?"

"I don't care about it if it means that it has to snatch the people I love from me."

"Nym, there is nothing to worry about." Her father put a hand on her shoulder.

"Father, I know you wish for Clegane to confess, and I wish it too." Nymeria exhaled deeply. "But what I care about most is you. With you gone, who will I have? Certainly not mother, and yes, Quentyn and Aliandra will be there, but…what of my own kin? No parents, no grandparents…"

Her father looked at her before hugging her tightly. She answered the hug, bringing him close…so close that she didn't want to break the hug, to keep him next to her and prevent him from going out on this folly.

"I have to do this," her father said, slowly breaking the embrace.

"I know." Nymeria nodded back while holding back tears. "But I want you to stay alive. Do you understand, father?"

"I promise," he replied.

"Swear it on mother." Nymeira countered.

She could feel her father grown uneasy, his eyes wandering around the room, before settling on her again.

"I swear it on your mother, I will live to see another day," he answered.

Nymeria swallowed her spit and nodded weakly.

"Now, go," her father ordered. "Quentyn must be worried."

She dropped her head and made her way to leave, slowly walking to the door to the armory, beckoning the four Dornish knights back in. Before she could leave, she heard her father say something in the distance:

"Oh, I almost forgot."

Turning her head back towards the doorway, she saw him pick up a helmet from the floor and slowly put it on.

Slowly, her heart started beating normally once more.

She ran up the stairs towards the pavilion that had been set up on the outside, facing the sea, where the fight would take place.

Everyone of import was there. Tywin Lannister in the middle, of course, flanked by Mace Tyrell and Margaery Tyrell on one side, and Kevan Lannister and Cersei Lannister on the other. Once again, the Queen Mother had been dragged out of her rooms, and was flanked by a kingsguard who was conspicuously close to her.

The Dornish, as usual, had been placed aside, towards the east side of the pavilion, overlooking the pit. Quentyn sat there, an empty seat to his right, his frog sitting in the shade on the edge of the balcony, while Ellaria and Edric were on his left.

Nymeria quickly ran up to the small Dornish balcony and sat down next to her cousin.

Apart from Ned and Ellaria, there weren't a lot of Dornishmen present: Myria Jordayne, Archibald and Cletus Yronwood, Larra Blackmont and Rhea Dayne were the most prominent.

The younger Yronwood was in a corner, trying his best to make himself as small as possible, no doubt still thinking about how the Tyrells played him.

The reason why there were so few Dornishmen, was because Quentyn had been sending them home by small groups, and there were only fifty or so from the original three hundred in the capital.

Tonight, whatever the outcome of the trial, they would all be gone, whether the Tyrells and Lannisters willed it or not. Of course, they had not been informed.

Slowly, Nymeria tried to make herself comfortable in her chair, and brought her hand towards Quentyn's, who immediately took it.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"Fine," she replied with a dint of confidence, something that had been lacking. She turned to him then, with a small smile. "He will win."

Quentyn looked surprised, and nodded grimly.

"Let's hope you're right."

A trumpet sounded, and the two fighters appeared, coming at opposite ends. Ellaria rushed down the stairs, and whispered something into her father's ear. Quentyn's eyes were riveted on the two…or was it on the helmet her father was wearing?

Nymeria's eyes were more riveted on her father's opponent. The Mountain certainly hadn't stolen his moniker. He stood taller than any man she'd ever seen, and suddenly her confidence dropped sharply. He stood at least two feet taller than anyone here!

His shield was likely as large as Nymeria herself, a monstrous thing made of oak and rimmed with black iron, with the Clegane hounds painted on the front.

Her heart sank at the prospect of her father having to fight that monster. Slowly, her grip tightened on Quentyn's hand, while Ellaria took back her place amongst the Dornishmen.

Another trumpet sounded, and both fighters took their place. It seems the Dornish, although they had been separated from the others, had the best seats, since Nymeria was sure she could hear both combatants breathing.

Slowly, inexorably, her father and the Mountain closed in on each other. When they were within but ten yards of each other, her father stopped.

"Did they tell you who I am?" he asked.

"Some dead man," the Mountain's guttural voice came out.

"I am Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne," her father said, keeping his sight on the beast. "Princess Elia was my sister."

"Who?"asked Clegane.

Her father didn't answer with words. Instead, he thrust his spear forwards, but the beast dodged it easily, instead heaving his greatsword forward, trying to cut the spear in two. Her father danced around it expertly, jabbing at the Mountain's armor, cutting it.

"Princess Elia Martell of Dorne," her father's voice boomed. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children. And today…well today you are a lucky man."

"Did you come here to talk or to fight?"

"I came here to hear you confess," her father replied. "However, it seems plans may have changed."

Suddenly, the Mountain roared and thrust forward with his greatsword. Of course, he missed, and her father managed to take another jab at him.

Nymeria's hand continued holding Quentyn's, her palms sweating while she struggled to keep her composure with every thrust of Clegane's sword. However, her father kept dancing and taunting, and with every taunt, the Mountain grew irritated.

Clegane was losing balance…and he was losing blood. Her father had spotted the weak points in between the gaps, in the armpits and around the waist and knees. The beast was bleeding.

Put him down, father!

But he continued his charade.

"You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."

Yes, we know. We all know, kill him!

"You do not wish to confess?" her father asked defiantly. "Your partner, the pig-faced Lorch did. He said he killed Rhaenys and you took care of Elia. He even said who asked for you to commit this monstrosity."

Then, suddenly, he thrust his spear at the base of Clegane's right knee.

The beast let out a blood-curdling scream, both his shield and greatsword dropping from his hands. Her father gave him no chance to react, he took out the spear, then thrust in his other knee. The beast had fallen.

A smile started to draw on her features, something that was shared by everyone in the Dornish party…except Quentyn. His was more a face of shock.

"Lorch died screaming. You will too!" Her father shouted, thrusting his spear between the gaps of Clegane's armor, in his arms.

The beast was now but a pathetic writhing mess, and her father had yet to deal the last blow.

"Confess!" her father roared at the top of his head. "Confess and I will let you die!"

The beast roared, trying to get to his greatsword, lunging up at her father. However, he saw it coming and instead shoved his spear right into Clegane's stomach, going right through his mail.

Immediately, her father took Clegane's greatsword, and sliced clean through the Mountain's right leg.

The beast howled in pain, and she was fairly sure that she saw a few ladies faint in the corner of her eye. But not her, she was mesmerized by the morbid spectacle. Everyone on the Dornish balcony was, whether it is with amazement or glee.

"Confess!" her father roared, hacking off Clegane's other leg. "Say her name! Elia of Dorne! You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children!"

The beast's words were but a gargle now, blood was spilling everywhere, and the beast was desperately trying to reach her father with his arms. They made for great targets for the greatsword. The left was taken off at the elbow, and the right didn't cut cleanly. Instead, it was still held up by a combination of bone, tissue and skin between the shoulder and the elbow.

The next strike went for the parts no man would like to have lost. The beast's cries became so loud that she felt that someone might hear him from Sunspear.

By now, everyone in the Dornish party was smiling from ear to ear. Nymeria bore a predatory smile, while Quentyn's was radiant like the sigil on the vest he bore.

Her father, on the other hand, moved away, tossed the greatsword into the ground, and took his spear again. Before he could strike at what Nymeria thought was what was left of his…parts, the beast cried out:

"Stop!"

Her father's spear didn't stop, so the beast's voice became frantic.

"I'll confess!" he cried out, blood spurting out of his mouth with every word.

Her father smiled triumphantly at the limbless man, and his spear just thrust across his chest.

"Let me die!" the beast pleaded, his eyes bloodshot.

"Say her name." Nymeria's father ordered.

"Elia Martell." The beast coughed. "I raped her, then I killed her whelp, and then I killed her."

"Who gave the order?" her father asked, his spear pointing at the beast's neck.

The beast gargled.

"WHO?" her father asked.

"Tywin…Lannister…" he gargled.

"LOUDER!" her father cried out.

"TYWIN LANNISTER!" the beast cried out while spitting blood on her father's armor.

The whole attendance's eyes went towards Tywin, then. Some of them turned their eyes in shock, horror or even, for the Dornish, with blood in their eyes. There were a few cries, including Cersei Lannister, who screeched incoherent words about the trial being a farce and for someone to get her father's head. Stupid arse she is, the former Queen was soon silenced.

"I should let you die in pain like the dog you are," her father growled, while the whole audience stood silent. "You are lucky that I am a man of my word, unlike you, Lannisters."

With a thrust of his spear, he cut open the giant's throat, putting an end to the miserable human that was once Gregor Clegane.

The whole Dornish party erupted in cheers, and she barely heard Tywin Lannister mumbling her father's innocence before the gods. Instead, she immediately relaxed Quentyn's hands, leapt from her seat with him, and kissed him with a fervor she didn't know she possessed until then.

"We've done it!" she laughed, tears running freely while she broke the embrace.

"There remains one more guilty party to bring to justice." Quentyn smiled at her.

Nymeria eagerly nodded.

"You might want to go, with Ellaria, no?" Quentyn asked, seeing Ellaria jubilant at his side. "I think you two have to give some congratulations."

She turned to Ellaria with a smirk, her father's paramour barely containing her joy.

"Don't worry." Quentyn winked. "Enjoy your moment with him and join me in our rooms. When you come back, don't forget to give everyone the signal. Before the hour of the wolf, everyone needs to be at the agreed-upon area."

Nymeria nodded sternly.

"C'mon, love, what are you waiting for?"

Nym hugged him again, and rushed down with Ellaria. When she reached her father, he was covered in Clegane's blood, but she didn't care. He had won. And he had kept his promise.

Margaery

Margaery hobbled down the halls of the Red Keep, trying to keep herself together after what she had just witnessed.

She knew that witnessing a trial by battle wouldn't have been pleasant, but as the wife of the deceased, her presence was all but required there. As such, she had asked Garlan, before he left, how to best prepare for this event.

And she thought that she could hold at the beginning, too. The sight of blood didn't completely revolt her, and neither did that of clashing steel.

However, as the fight progressed, the limbs started to come off, and it was then that Margaery had to turn away. She did her best to stay strong, but mostly looked directly into the blinding sun rather than at the scene unfolding near her.

The end of the trial was a mercy, but with it came the strong smell of blood and guts that the wind brought towards her. By this point, she didn't know who won, and she didn't care.

She managed to resist the urge to faint and stood strong for an excruciating dozen steps, before emptying the contents of her breakfast into the nearest bush.

She needed a few moments to breathe after that, and hurried back to her rooms.

A breath of fresh air and a swig of water later, she could finally start thinking rationally again. There had been so much death in what should have been the beginning of a golden age…but it was finally over.

The trial by combat was over, and Clegane had admitted Tywin Lannister gave the order to have Princess Elia killed. That thought alone sent shivers down her spine, but she tried to brush it off. The Hand of the King was now all but isolated, he would soon be ripe for the picking. Unbeknownst to him, Prince Oberyn had once again served house Tyrell's interests well.

Soon, she would be betrothed anew, and this time, to a much more amenable candidate, one that could be easily swayed and guided, and which was likely to be much less cruel than her previous husband.

After another drink of water, Margaery gathered two guards and set out in the keep halls, walking towards the Dornish quarters.

She arrived in front of a wooden door, and knocked twice. To her surprise, a woman with a green dress opened the door.

"Lady Margaery?" the woman asked with a voice half-surprised, half-mocking.

After all, the 'your grace' had disappeared, and she was back to being Lady Margaery. Not even once did they consider her to have been Queen, albeit for a mere few hours.

"Is Prince Quentyn here?" she asked, almost ordered.

"What is your business with him?" the girls' eyes narrowed.

Margaery felt herself losing patience. Who was this insolent girl? Another paramour she didn't know about?

"Peace, Myria." The prince stepped behind her. "Margaery. What an unexpected surprise."

"I wished to know if you had a moment to spare to talk." Her eyes darted to the girl then. "In private."

The girl growled, but the prince just raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose I have a moment to spare." Prince Quentyn nodded. "Don't worry, Myria, I'll be back soon. If Nym comes back before me, tell her I'm with Lady Margaery."

"Of course, my prince." She smiled at the prince, but it disappeared the moment she looked back at her. "My lady."

Prince Quentyn stepped forwards, and the door slammed shut.

"Curious choice of bedmate." Margaery remarked.

"Don't worry about Myria, she's just annoyed at being evicted so…forcefully from her rooms. We've been quite packed in recent times," the prince replied simply. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"

"In my rooms, would be preferable," Margaery said simply.

The prince nodded at her, brushing his hair aside and following her steps on their way to her room. She then dismissed the two guards, leaving only them two inside the large suite she occupied. Of course, these weren't the royal quarters, but they would have to do for a few more weeks.

"I hear you are leaving in two days," Margaery finally said.

"You are well-informed." Prince Quentyn replied.

"It's not exactly a secret." Margaery waved him off.

"I'm afraid I am not exactly useful here." The prince sighed. "My uncle is the one appointed to the small council, I only accompanied him as a guest for the wedding, to excuse my father's regrettable absence."

"You will be missed." Margaery smiled at him.

"You flatter me, but my presence was really unremarkable." Prince Quentyn shrugged.

"Missed, by me, at least." Margaery stepped towards him. "I liked our chess and cyvasse games. They were a welcome distraction in a very busy period."

Prince Quentyn smiled slightly.

However, Margaery didn't say another word. Instead, she took a step forward, till she could feel his breath on her, and brought her lips upwards to his.

His lips were soft, but he didn't answer her. She tried pushing forwards, but it was as if the prince was stunned. Suddenly, the Martell boy took a step back, his eyes wide in amazement.

"Marge…" he started.

"Sorry," she almost whispered. "I…I'm not sure why I wished to do this."

Her eyes met his. She expected him to bring his lips to hers again, but nothing happened. A shame. She had had her moment, but there would be nothing more, he was someone else's, and she was all but married once again.

"Come to Dorne," Prince Quentyn suddenly said.

"What?" Margaery found herself destabilized.

"Come to Dorne. We leave in two days, come with me," he continued. "There is nothing for you here."

"You forget that I will be betrothed…" Margaery stared in shock.

"But you are not, are you?" Prince Quentyn's lips curved into a smile. "You don't need to stay long, just a few days, to keep your mind off what you have just experienced. A sort of…rest, if you may. Along the sandy beaches of Dorne, it would do you good."

Margaery lost herself in her thoughts. Admittedly, that sounded great. The sandy beaches of Dorne, seeing the Water Gardens, bathing in the pools, forgetting about all the death in tragedy…but what of her house? There was not a moment to lose…and Margaery saw right through the prince's game.

"And…I would like to prolong my stay there afterwards, is that what you are suggesting?" she asked.

"I suggested nothing, but if you wish to extend your stay, I will not oppose it." The prince shrugged.

"A queer marriage proposal." Margaery almost laughed.

"Dorne does not frown on bastards," the prince quickly replied.

He had struck directly at her heart. Floris. Her little baby that she had to abandon at Highgarden. The only thing she worried about every single day, with the fear that at some point, she might receive a raven with unbearable news. The thought of her happy and playing with other little girls, safe and hidden away…

She shook her head inwardly.

"I will not be yours, will I?" she asked.

"Did you wish to?" the prince was once again quick to respond.

Margaery bit her lip. Admittedly, she had never really believed in marrying someone she loved, not as a daughter of house Tyrell.

"If you wish for love, I can offer what I can," the prince continued.

"Will your paramour…"

"Nym knows that we can never marry. She will accept that the woman who will become my wife will share my bed till she brings me an heir and a spare. However, the said woman I marry will also have to endure the fact that I will not love her and will bed another." The prince shrugged. "After she brings me an heir and a spare, she may do anything she likes as long as she does not get with a child that is not mine own."

Margaery frowned. The Dornish were a queer folk, but she had been aware of arrangements of these kinds in the Reach, although they remained extremely rare, and usually were due to the proclivities of one or both of the participants in said marriage.

The thought of being second to anyone herself, though, that shook her to her heart. Not to mention the main issue at hand…Dorne was but a petty prize when compared to the entire Seven Kingdoms. Tempting? Sure. She had no doubt that her marriage would probably be better with Prince Quentyn than one with Prince Tommen. And Dorne was no small prize, either. However, she could rule Dorne and much more through the Lannister prince, while she would only be a consort to the Martell one.

"I…thank you for the offer, Quentyn," Margaery replied. "I will think about it."

"Margaery…" Prince Quetnyn continued. "If you wish to talk more about this, meet me at the foot of the apple tree in the lower gardens, two hours past the hour of the wolf. Come alone, or with one of your handmaidens if you wish, it will be more private. If you don't…it is also fine, and we shall see each other before I take my leave from the city."

"In the middle of the night?" she asked.

"As I said, it will be more private, and I can talk without restraint."

"If I wish to learn more?"

The prince nodded.

"I…will see what I can do," she replied simply. "You may take your leave."

The prince nodded and headed for the door. Before leaving, he left her with a few more words:

"Whatever happens, Margaery, know that this offer still stands as long as I am unwed. For the rest…well, I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."

Margaery nodded, and with that, the Dornish prince was gone.

She didn't know what had possessed her to kiss the prince, but had she not brought him here for that sole purpose? And if she declined the prince's proposition, why did it feel so enticing? Free of much of the burdens that weigh on her, with a husband that would at least care for her and that had wits to match hers. They could usher in Dorne's golden age.

But Margaery knew that deep down, she wouldn't be able to settle for Dorne, nor would she settle to be second to a bastard. She needed to forget about the little Dornish prince, and turn towards the future. She would have Seven Kingdoms to take care of, and a new husband and king.

No, Margaery Tyrell wouldn't settle for Margaery Martell, consort of Dorne. She aimed higher, and soon enough, she would be Margaery Baratheon, Queen of all Seven Kingdoms, the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Only thing was, for now, she was not married to the King, the Andals were not all put to heel, the Rhoynar seemed to be slipping away, and the First Men were eerily silent…