Tenk/Caver: Dagger was not poisoned but the arrow was.
Kuman: Eh, I don't really mind. Euron got one more year to prepare, and the Hightowers aren't as beaten as the chapter depicts. Euron is a mad pirate but a pirate nonetheless. This chapter shows that Euron can bleed, and he's so far in his delusion, he can't notice that he's essentially doomed. The Hightowers aren't completely beaten, they will recover from this disaster and they will have no mercy. As for Euron, the moment he chooses to march to Highgarden, he is doomed.
balut: Yeah, that's Euron for you. But don't worry, Euron's plot armor will fade.
Daniel: The MC technically is magic since you know, he's the SI. Also, Achilles is a thing.
Vasdos: Jon only managed to pull this off with Sansa because the Eyrie was legitimately only a day or two off of his camp. Dorne is a whole other matter.
Erebus: No, Sansa escaping has been common knowledge and the crown likely has been sending out flyers like no tomorrow to chase her down. All the roads lead to the Eyrie, it's not implausible Jon got wind of it during his march south (in the timeline, Jon taking Riverrun happened a few weeks after Sansa's escape). Also who talked about the IT?
Kundi: Sarella poisoned her arrow and Lysa killing Robin is something I hadn't seen done in a long time.
Guest & Guest2: The Euron chapter was mostly to show what actually happened instead of a second-hand account of the destruction of Oldtown. It was there to show what was actually happening instead of leaving out the action "2014 Godzilla style". I've already edited out the massive battle in the Riverlands, I won't edit out that one. Of course DoIaF is miles ahead, but it wasn't really the intention. The intention was to show that A. Euron is doing stuff, but he's very overconfident and B. he's moving towards Highgarden.
For the Vale stuff. Yes, it's convenient Jon comes in at that exact moment, but there are many conveniences in ASoIaF so I don't really mind that. In the end, Lysa and Robin die, and Jon discovers Sansa is not and the Vale. Those were the key points. As for how Lord Royce knew about Baelish so early is from Quentyn's letter to Ned Stark waaaaay back to the first chapters in the story, which then reappeared in the Catelyn POVs, when Robar tells her he has to leave for the Vale immediately after receiving a letter from Lord Stark.
I also really enjoyed doing the Maron bit, because it's very rare to have a smallfolk POV in stories, especially SIs which are supposed to be "beneficial" for them.
ATP: Winter is.
Diametrik. Blunt force trauma. You can have superficial wounds but the shock could still send you into a coma if hard enough.
Oberyn
Oberyn saw the sun lazily rise over the Water Gardens, not a single cloud obscuring his view.
However, a storm was still brewing under these auspicious conditions. A storm, which, hopefully, would be quick to pass and would not cause too much damage.
Oberyn breathed heavily, remembering all that led to this day and this moment. Was it the right choice? Or was he betraying his family, and what he had fought for? No matter, he had made his choice, he would have to live with it.
He thought back to the afternoon, more than five-and-ten years ago, when he had begged Doran to declare for Viserys Targaryen, and he had been refused. He remembered the anger he had felt, but also the trust he had put in his brother to orchestrate their vengeance.
And what did Doran do? He had plans, grand plans! A lot of them…hinging on suspicions, on words coming from informants whom we did not even ensure the loyalty of.
Every single one of them ended up failing. Every single plan or contingency to rise for Viserys Targaryen, dead when the foolish boy decided to marry his sister to a Dothraki horselord and eventually got himself killed.
A plan that was whispered to him by that Essosi magister and Varys.
Oh, Varys!
If Oberyn ever got his hands on him, he'd send him to the bottom of the Narrow Sea in a heartbeat.
And five-and-ten years later, despite his brother's meticulous planning, they had not been an inch closer to their vengeance than before.
It took the last person Oberyn ever expected to finally get something.
His nephew, Quentyn, had finally had enough and took matters into his own hands, like Oberyn should have done long ago.
It was this action that finally prompted Doran to send him to King's Landing and complete their vengeance, but, again, it was Quentyn who ended up reaping the rewards of it all.
Not only did he eliminate Tywin Lannister, but he managed to secure the loyalty of every single person in Dorne for the manner in how he did it, and the spoils he brought back.
And today…well, today Quentyn had finally decided that it was enough. Doran had summoned him, likely demanding why the Dornish lords were being summoned to Sunspear without his knowledge, and, more importantly, why they had apparently heeded an order from his son rather than him!
Of course, Quentyn had planned this. Today was Overlord day, and today, Doran would finally stop having a say in anything.
Oberyn sighed.
It was the good choice. Quentyn had brought Dorne glory, richness and progress. What had Doran done but bring pain, disorder and weakness? Yet, there was something wrong with this.
Doran was still his older brother. He was still the man he looked up to for many years. He was the man he not only revered, but respected, and now…now he was betraying him.
Betraying him for kin, mayhaps, but a betrayal nonetheless.
Was it still wrong to do something such as this for the right reasons? However noble the cause, wouldn't providing support to remove his own brother from power be a revulsive act? Wouldn't it set an incredibly dangerous precedent? After all, despite all the discontent, Dorne had followed Morion Martell in his endeavors without flinching. But Oberyn wasn't stupid, he knew the reason for that was because Princess Mara never had to try and remove her brother from power. Why move on her brother when he was going to his death anyways?
But the situation at hand was completely different. It was precisely because Doran was not moving that they needed Quentyn to be in charge, the sooner the better.
His nephew was right, there needed to be change. They needed to move earlier. Declaring for either Targaryen in the mess of a year or a few months ago…but they had let their chance slip.
The Ironborn were mostly defeated, both Baratheon brothers defeated and their forces either scattered or joining those of the Tyrells and Lannisters, the Vale declared for the North, and joined the Riverlanders…it was too late.
The forces and lines had been drawn, and Dorne alone could not stand to either alliance. They could defend themselves easily, of course, but taking to the offensive would need much more firepower, especially after what Quentyn had shown him. That piece of paper.
By gods did Eddard Stark make a fool of them all. He had outplayed every single one of the kingdoms by hiding a royal b…not even! Seven hells, a royal prince under everyone's nose. And now said royal prince had somehow acquired a dragon?
Oberyn didn't envy his enemies, but it made it all the more important to go get Daenerys Targaryen and bring her back to Westeros. Something Quentyn had planned. Beyond that, though…he could not say.
Would he push for a unification with the Northern alliance and Prince Daeron? A betrothal between Princess Daenerys and Prince Daeron would bind Dorne and the Northern alliance, trapping their enemies between hammer and anvil, with dragons bearing down on them.
The only issue was that Dorne would lose any chance at having their blood on the throne, and that he would certainly not accept the stain on Elia's honor as his king.
Yes, the Stark girl most likely did not have her word in the boy's conception when that bastard Rhaegar raped her and forcefully got her to marry him. It was likely that should they have won at the Trident, Oberyn himself would have made sure the boy married Rhaenys or Arianne, lest Dorne secede or an unfortunate accident happen to either Rhaegar or the boy before any other betrothals were agreed upon. And Doran would have likely agreed with him there. Perhaps his brother would have been even harsher, pushing for a fostering at the same time.
However, this did not change much. Daeron lived, while Aegon and Rhaenys were dead. How was that fair? Why did they lose their blood on the throne while a Stark bastard would get it?
Luckily, it seemed Quentyn did not share his views.
"Daeron can be whatever we want him to be, Uncle," Quentyn had told him.
"Bastard or no, he has the blood, the name and the dragon, nephew. A flimsy sheet of paper will not change much," he had answered.
"A dragon to three?" his nephew then questioned with a smile.
But who to marry the Targaryen girl to? Trystane? He seemed happy enough with Myrcella, although this was doomed to fail eventually.
Unfortunately, it seemed Quentyn didn't share his views on the importance of having their blood on the throne either. Indeed, he shrugged and said that as long as Dorne came out stronger and Westeros was unified again, their blood on the throne mattered little.
Dorne would have a say in everything, and although they would not sit the throne or ride dragons, they could very well have more power than those who did.
"Prince Oberyn, are you ready?" the voice of a guard took him out of his thoughts.
"Yes," he said with a nod.
For better or worse, Oberyn has made his choice.
He got up, took his things, and went out the door, walking down the large corridors, now mostly empty of their occupants.
Oberyn slowly made his way to a large alley filled with palm trees, where Quentyn was waiting, in his regal attire, albeit with his new Valyrian steel sword at his hip, never leaving him.
Around him were a dozen guards, as well as Nymeria, of course, at his side, and a few of his companions: the giant Archibald Yronwood, and the blonde-haired Gerris Drinkwater, among others.
"Uncle." Quentyn nodded with a slight smile. "I am glad you could join us."
Oberyn didn't smile, but acknowledged his nephew.
"I promised my support for your plan, and you have it."
"With a bit of luck, none of this will be useful," Quentyn declared with a sigh, "but I appreciate your support and concern. I wish for this to go as smoothly as possible."
"So do we all, Quentyn." Oberyn nodded in response.
His nephew looked him in the eyes and bowed his head slightly, before the group set off along the shaded gravel alley, heading straight towards the small palace in the heart of the Gardens.
Oberyn took a step forward, catching his daughter's arm with his right hand.
"Father?" Nymeria turned around, surprised.
"Are you sure you wish to come?" he asked.
"I thought at this point it was clear that wherever he goes, I go," his daughter answered half-annoyed, half-surprised.
"I…I don't think it will be of much use."
"Nonsense." She waved him off. "He has need of me, even if it is just to whisper encouragements when he needs it."
"No, I mean…" Oberyn sighed, unsure of the way of putting it. "Listen, Prince Doran has been suspicious of you, Obara and Tyene for a long time now. He has been keeping a close watch on all of you, and has been feeling like your relationship with Quentyn isn't…"
"Isn't…?" his daughter frowned, a snarl forming on her face.
"Right is the milder word." Oberyn lowered his eyes to the ground. "He thinks that Quentyn's rash actions are in no large part due to your actions."
Nymeria scoffed at that.
"Listen, sweet." Oberyn put a hand on her shoulder. "I do not doubt your feelings for him. I have made my peace with that long ago, and I will always be here to support you if your uncle goes too far. But you have to be prepared for less than flattering statements about yourself."
"He would insult me?" Nymeria turned to him, shocked.
"Perhaps not insult you directly, but insinuate bad things and…" Oberyn took another deep breath, stopping in his tracks for a few moments, resting both his hands on his daughter's shoulders. "…you are a grown woman; you know how to act. However, I ask you that if Prince Doran does say something that insults you, try not to overreact immediately."
"He cannot order me around." Nymeria shoved his hands off of her and made to walk again.
Oberyn sighed again, catching up with her.
"Perhaps not yet, but he is still your prince," he pointed out. "And Quentyn is but Regent of Sunspear. As it stands, we do not even know whether Quentyn will act rashly. There is a chance my brother will be reasonable and concede some things to him. I would prefer for it to be that way."
"Why?" Nymeria frowned, "So he can try to undo all the good Quentyn does? I'd rather have him gone and I hope that's what will happen."
"Sweet, it's not that simple. Dethroning a Prince is risky. There has not been a single precedent in the history of house Nymeros-Martell," Oberyn explained. "This has to be done within the rules of succession, as best as possible. If we do it too brutally, well…Quentyn knows the possible consequences it could have for his children, or if not, his descendants."
Nymeria nodded, still unconvinced.
"I am supposed to just let myself be insulted, then?" she asked sarcastically.
"No." Oberyn shook his head vigorously. "But at the very least when you protest, do so in the most diplomatic way possible. Do not insult him in turn, do not say anything that is not known to him, and most of all, do not draw a single weapon."
His daughter felt annoyed and uncomfortable, but relented.
"Fine."
"Good." Oberyn gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Nymeria humpfed and just let Oberyn join the rest of the guards, who, seeing them, did not ask for them to hand over their weapons or even for anyone to stop at the gate. Quentyn just saluted them, said a word or two of greetings, and continued walking.
Times were changing indeed.
The group moved forwards, until the center of the private gardens, towards a large area where silken covers had been placed to shield everyone from the sun. On the middle of it all, perched atop his seat, was Doran himself, flanked by a couple of guards, and, of course, Areo.
Doran frowned when he saw how many people flanked his son, but said nothing. Instead, he pointed to two seats, obviously destined for Oberyn and Quentyn.
Oberyn and Quentyn both walked forwards, leaving the rest of the party to slowly follow behind them. Quentyn gave a few words to the Drinkwater boy, who nodded in response.
Unable to tell what had been said, Oberyn took a seat, while Quentyn took a few more moments to do so, but only after having bowed his head.
"Father." Quentyn nodded simply as he took his seat.
Doran, though, did not say a word. Instead, he crossed his arms and frowned.
"What is the meaning of all of this?" he asked.
"The meaning of w…" Oberyn started, before getting cut off.
"Not you, you fool." Doran snarled at him, causing Oberyn's eyes to widen in shock. "We shall talk about you later."
"I can ask the same question, then," Quentyn said softly.
"Why are you escorted by this many men? And why are they armed?" Doran asked.
"I take my own security seriously, father. After King's Landing…"
"Let's talk about King's Landing!" Doran energetically spoke. "You overstepped your prerogatives greatly! Do you even know what you did?"
"I do," Quentyn replied, sipping a cup of tea which had been presented to him. "Do not ask for apologies, father. I will not give any."
"You are lucky that you are my son, else I'd have you punished for this," Doran growled. "You put the Dornishmen and women accompanying you in danger. What would have happened if your little escape failed?"
"If I may say so, father, the security of my person and every Dornishman or woman present in our group was compromised the moment you sent me to the capital." Quentyn crossed his arms, his voice still calm. "What did you think the Lannisters would do when they came face to face with Lorch's killer? Not try and have him killed? Because they did…"
"This wouldn't have happened if you stupidly went after Lorch…" Doran started, before it was Quentyn's turn to interrupt.
"Yes, and we'd have to wait for him to die of old age!" Quentyn laughed. "Or better, wait for someone else to strike the blow! A Stark, a Tully or one of their lackeys, what a vengeance that would be!"
"I am disappointed, my son." Doran sighed. "I thought that a prince like you knew that vengeance cannot cloud one's mind lest it destroy you. We needed time."
"Yes, yes." Quentyn waved him off, earning another scowl from Doran. "Time. You speak of patience, and that is all well and good. But."
Quentyn then grabbed an orange from his pocket and began peeling it, while placing an overripe one on the table before them, then pointing at it.
"You, father. You are a patient man, I shall concede. However, you wait and wait, and you never seize the opportunity presented to you. Like an overripe blood orange, the plans are no longer good, they leave a sour taste in your mouth."
Quentyn then stopped peeling his own orange, and brought a slice to his mouth.
"Me? I know how to wait too, father. But I also know when to strike. And that's the most important thing. To know when your fruit is perfectly ripe, when you can taste its savory sweetness on your tongue. That's the difference between you and I, father."
"There is a lot more to it than that." Doran replied.
"What have you brought us for, brother?" Oberyn finally intervened.
Doran turned to him then, his face filled with a dark gaze, then calmly continued.
"I thought it was time to end all of this." Doran laid back in his chair. "You have done great service to Dorne, Quentyn, I will not strip you of that. However, you have pushed your prerogatives too much. Do not think that I do not know the game you are playing at."
Quentyn raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.
"First of all, you will stop this stupid dallying with your cousin. I have turned a blind eye to it because I know you are young and such feelings can be hard to contain, but this has to end now," Doran explained swiftly, "I will not have a Prince of Dorne having a paramour as his cousin, and even less one of your uncle's."
"Doran," Oberyn warned softly, sensing the tension mounting behind him.
"No offence meant, brother." Doran raised a hand. "I simply meant she is of bad influence to Quentyn. I will send her to send a peace banner to Highgarden. In the meantime, your daughter will be taken to some place where she can be raised properly."
Oberyn's head immediately turned to Quentyn, whose expression was now completely frozen. His gaze was becoming darker and darker, and Oberyn feared what would happen next.
"As soon as this is over, you will go to Essos and meet Daenerys Targaryen," Doran continued, unphased. "There, you will offer your hand in marriage and you will win us our blood on the throne. It will be your reward and your punishment. You talk about our vengeance so much, you will finally be able to contribute to it, but as punishment, I will give Dorne to Trystane."
"No." Quentyn's answer couldn't be clearer.
"No?" Doran asked.
"You will never, ever take Nym or Aliandra away from me." Quentyn immediately rose from his chair.
Doran's answer came just as swiftly. "Do not be foolish, Quentyn. You will soon thank me for it."
"I'd rather damn you to the seven hells if you take the two people I love most in this world from me."
Oberyn could see Quentyn's fists clenching, and got very worried for a moment.
"In time, you will learn…"
"I've had enough!" Quentyn finally yelled.
The area went completely silent, shocked by the words Oberyn's nephew had uttered in front of the prince of Dorne.
"I have given everything for Dorne and our vengeance, while you sat there in your useless chair and counted the horses that passed through your window." Quentyn's hands were shaking as he spoke. "You don't seem to realize that everything Dorne is going through, it is because of you. You undermined my relationship with my sister. You sent me far away, to be sheltered from the rest of Dorne. You foiled my many attempts at bettering the life of the Dornish people. You sent me away because you were afraid of your position. You did nothing while golden opportunities came and went. You did nothing to get rid of Lorch, Clegane or Tywin. You just sat there, and did nothing!"
Quentyn pointed to himself, then to the group behind him.
"We did everything for you!" he continued his tirade. "Dorne's betterment. Lorch, Clegane, Tywin, the dissensions between the Lannisters and Tyrells, it was all us! Now damn you if I ever follow one of your orders again. I don't think you realize, father, but you are nothing. I am Dorne now. And while I will agree to your order to go to Essos, it will be the last I fulfill. Because although I will bring Daenerys Targaryen back, I will not marry her, because I do not care for that throne, I do not care for our blood on it, and I certainly can't care less about her! I want Dorne, an accommodating leader for Westeros and those responsible for the deaths of Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon dead, that is all!"
Quentyn then calmed down in front of his shocked father, and took his seat once again.
"I will not bend to your demands, father," Quentyn finally said. "I will continue serving Dorne, but I will not do what you ask of me."
"Quentyn." Doran sighed deeply. "I did not think you would be as stubborn as your sister. Do not let lust take the better of you."
"Bold words coming from the man who did that exact same thing five-and-twenty years ago."
Oberyn's jaw nearly dropped at his nephew's attack, but, to his surprise, Doran remained completely calm.
"Me and your mother…it was complicated," Doran replied, "but it is also because of this that I warn you now. You cannot continue seeing your cousin, and that is my final word on it."
"And my final word on it is that I'll continue seeing her whether you like it or not, father." Quentyn had a wide smile. "I'll even marry her if I have to."
"You wouldn't dare do such a thing." Doran countered.
"Father, I would tie you up to a pole, bound and gag you, then force you to watch as we make another child, that's how much I would dare to do such a thing." Quentyn's answer took everyone by surprise.
"Quentyn." Oberyn's head turned towards his nephew in an instant.
However, Quentyn was unrelenting, and stood firm, although he shot an apologetic glance towards Oberyn.
"Then I have no choice but to force such a decision on you." Doran sighed.
"Force it on me?" Quentyn scoffed, "You cannot force anything on me anymore."
"I am still the Prince of Dorne, son." Doran frowned. "Do not presume so much."
"Are you?" Quentyn asked. "As I said, what have you done for Dorne that I have not done better? No, father. Dorne is mine, and as of today, you will retire, and name me as acting prince of Dorne, while you can go and do whatever you like."
"What?" Doran stood up from his seat. "Have you gone mad?"
"On the contrary, father, I am serious," Quentyn replied simply, "You are tired and after so many years of ruling and suffering of gout, I do think that you need to enjoy the rest of your days without worrying about politics or war. As such, you will draft a letter which describes your abdication while you name me as prince of Dorne."
"I will do no such thing," Doran angrily replied.
"Shame." Quentyn sighed. "Father, please, let's do this easily, there is no need to escalate."
"You wouldn't dare." Doran's eyes narrowed.
"I would and I will." Quentyn took a deep breath before continuing, "if you refuse to abdicate in my favor, then I have no choice but to declare you unfit to rule by this decree."
"What?" Doran quickly stepped forward and snatched the piece of paper from Quentyn's hands.
"As you see, it has been signed by all but two Dornish major lords." Quentyn's eyes met his father's, who was completely dumbfounded. "They all find you unfit to rule and nominate me as Prince of Dorne."
"What a bunch of fools…" Doran scowled. "I'll deal with them. Oberyn, in the meantime, escort Quentyn back to his rooms and make sure he does not get out of them unless I say so."
Oberyn, though, didn't move.
He had made his choice.
"Not you too, brother." Doran's expression completely fell, as if Oberyn had just struck a knife in his back.
"Everything for Dorne," Oberyn replied. "I'm sorry, Doran."
Doran then looked at his own guards and Areo, then back at Quentyn.
Finally, his mouth opened.
"Areo, escort Prince Quentyn…"
Before he even had time to finish his sentence, every single person behind Quentyn had unsheathed his sword. Even more surprising, four of the guards near Doran had also unsheathed their own blades…pointing them at the Norvoshi.
"Then we are truly lost," Doran's expression fell, and he slumped back to his seat, defeated, "Areo, stand down."
With this order, everyone put their blades back from where they had unsheathed them.
"What's to become of me?" Doran asked with a resigned look on his face.
"Nothing much out of the norm for you." Quentyn shrugged. "You will just be removed of your title, otherwise, you can do whatever you like, except of course, if you try and impede me. In that case, I shall have your freedoms revoked and you will be contained to the Water Gardens."
Oberyn looked at his brother, who looked around, as if looking for someone, then he shook his head.
"You will plunge Dorne into war and suffering, boy," he finally exhaled deeply.
"We could not stay out forever," Quentyn shrugged while he rose up.
As Quentyn and his group made to leave and Oberyn spared one last look at his brother, Doran made out a few words that only he heard.
"I should have kept Arianne."
Not paying attention to his words, Oberyn scurried off to join the rest of the party which was already exiting towards the large gravel alley. There, he managed to listen in on the end of a conversation between Quentyn and Ser Gerris.
"Did you understand?" Quentyn asked.
"Yes. I summon all the Dornish lords for a Great Council at Sunspear in four days, and I tell Gulian to transmit the Anvil order," Ser Gerris replied with a small bow and a smile, "my Prince."
"Shut up, Gerris," Quentyn laughed and shook his head while the blonde-haired boy just smirked and left.
Oberyn meanwhile approached Quentyn, who was now flanked by Nymeria, her hand firmly locked on his arm.
"And, nephew, what now?" Oberyn asked.
"Well now, uncle, I was thinking about a little Essosi vacation," he winked. "After all, after Overlord comes Dragon."
Quentyn showed a satisfied smirk and chuckled a little, leaving a confused Oberyn to dwell on the choices he had made today.
Well, then.
Everything for Dorne.
