Tyrion dared to think that the prospect of remaining embroiled in whatever her father was planning had Arianne Martell content to play along. Certainly, whenever they chanced to pass in a corridor, she would take the opportunity to make some small talk, even bat her eyes flirtatiously. She truly thought her father planned to set her aside. Why she should so fervently believe it, Tyrion had no idea, and no doubt Dorne itself would have risen for Arianne in any case, but then, the girl was all hotheadedness and temper. Quite a departure from an icy mask, all I ever saw from Sansa Stark. Thinking on the Stark girl reminded Tyrion that he had his father's farce to end before beginning his own. The notion of pinning Sansa's death on his own family reared up like a viper from a basket, but precisely how eluded him. And I'm content to let King's Landing forget me as much as they're like to. Cersei would never, of course, but for all Tyrion knew, Lord Tywin had already pawned her off on some lord or other. Probably a Reachman, he'll want to keep that alliance strong. Lord Tywin had reached, in fact, and for none other a rose than Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden, only for his hand to be batted away by the venerable Queen of Thorns. Should we meet again, I'll kiss her on the cheek, I don't care how sour her breath is. The possibility that Cersei might be married off to someone in Dorne and spoil the nonsense Tyrion was stirring stilled him, but he'd heard it from his lord father's own mouth that the alliance with the Reach had been what sent Stannis Baratheon back to his spit of rock. Mayhaps poor Willas will find himself wed to Cersei in the end, Tyrion thought. Olenna Tyrell will not live forever, her son is a sheep and when he sees all the largess Lord Tywin showers upon his vassals, he will want his share. How might Jaime take such a match? Does it much matter? When Oberyn Martell slew the Mountain, he cut me out of the briar of House Lannister as well. He pushed aside thoughts of House Lannister. I've got closer worries. Ones more easily solved, as well.
With Arianne Martell out and about, it stood to reason Ser Arys would hide in the one place it was at least passingly likely his once-paramour would not visit. With Myrcella in Septa Vylette's care today, it will be only he and Eglantine in her chambers. The septa nodded to Tyrion when he arrived.
"My lord, the princess is not here. It is her custom-"
"-to rise early and join her betrothed rather than waste the daylight hours abed. So you've told me, Septa, but I'm on House Lannister's business as a whole just now, not Myrcella's." She left after a muttered courtesy, leaving Tyrion to waddle into Myrcella's small sitting room. "Mind the door, Pod." The lad nodded and meandered back toward the double doors.
"What about me?" Bronn asked in a low voice.
"Well, Ser Arys is a knight of the Kingsguard." And my confidence in the white cloaks is not what it was before the Blackwater. Bronn snorted.
"You mean you're afraid your sister got a raven off after all." That he must needs trust his life to a rogue over an anointed knight (and hang talk of "Ser" Bronn) without a blink might have set a normal lordling to despairing, but not Tyrion Lannister. Though that scarcely means I'm happy about it. He found Arys Oakheart in only a tunic emblazoned with the oak tree of his house, making to rise when he saw Tyrion standing in the doorway. Good, Tyrion thought. Bronn will complain less about having to kill him if he's not wearing armor. Bronn followed him in, cat-quick as ever, and closed the door behind him. At once Ser Arys began to stammer.
"Moving forward, if I should want you to speak, Ser, you will know of it. If you've keen ears, a telling hint may be when I ask you a question. I want no blubbering about your honor or forgiveness or shame- I'm a Lannister. I have no honor, I do not forgive, and I have no shame. Do you understand?" It took handsome, wretched Ser Arys a good minute to gather himself enough to nod his head. "Good. When did you first bed Arianne Martell?" The man looked ready to blather on just so Bronn would kill him and make an end of it.
"Half a year after we first arrived in Dorne." he said finally. Gods.
"And have you planted an acorn in the sands of Dorne?" Bronn snorted at Tyrion's question, Arys sweating quarrels and red as a beet.
"No! I never…it was never-"
"That will do." Tyrion cut him off. Men who thought themselves righteous and honorable had a way of lying to even themselves that their base lusts and appetites were mere moments of weakness instead of part of having a cock. And anyway, if Ser Arys' trysts with the princess had resulted in anything other than the knight's disgrace, Tyrion rather suspected Arianne was savvy enough to drink moon tea. Having learned from experience, perhaps. "When you were bedding Arianne Martell, did it never occur to you, ser, that House Martell traditionally holds Houses Lannister and Baratheon responsible for the murders of Princess Elia and her children? That one or more among the Martells might seek their own justice…made all the simpler with Myrcella's sworn protector waist-deep in the heiress to Dorne?"
"I love Myrcella as mine own daughter-"
"And such boundless love has been found wanting in the shadow of lust for an exotic beauty. You'll forgive me if I'm reluctant to have you continue to mind my princess' neck when yours is on your princess' arse." Ser Arys went from red to white.
"You…you cannot mean-"
"To have a member of the Kingsguard executed without so much as a by-the-by from the capital? And deny Cersei and my lord father their turn gnawing on you? I seem to recall a dearth of men consigned to the Wall from the capital of late, so you may have gotten the windfall of your life in that regard. There is nothing to recommend the Night's Watch unless you're fond of ice, snow and northmen looking down their noses at you. You will bear Myrcella's latest letter to the capital yourself. As royal correspondence, it can scarcely be entrusted to some courier anyway. Bearing such a letter may preclude any digging into why you were sent away from Dorne, I don't know. I don't care. All you need worry about is seeing to it that another white cloak takes your place. I would strongly prefer Ser Balon Swann to anyone who had a turn at beating Sansa Stark on Joffrey's orders." That he wasn't about to be messily murdered in bed had some color returning to Arys' face.
"Wh-when do I leave, my lord?"
"Just as soon as Myrcella has written the letter. Refrain from a tearful farewell with Princess Arianne if you would, ser." I needn't have asked, Tyrion thought on seeing not the least hint of defiance in the knight's face. I daresay he's glad to escape Dorne with his life…and Arianne Martell with whatever dregs of honor he may cling to.
Tyrion was feeling almost merry as they left Ser Arys' chamber. Pod of course had seen and heard nothing, seeing to it only that they were not interrupted. Bronn, however, looked almost perplexed.
"And what has Ser Bronn of the Blackwater so out of sorts this fine day?"
"You might have had me get rid of him, dwarf. You ought've." He wasn't even wearing his usual fuck-you grin.
"Why so? You saw the man, he's a ruin in a white sheet."
"So was that cousin of yours until he found his gods. That Slynt, too. Aye, we sent his butt boy down to feed the fishes, but don't forget he's at the Wall and no friend to you." Tyrion frowned.
"You'd rather I smear Oakheart all over Sunspear, would you? How would that look?"
"Well, as it'd be me doing the smearing, it'd look like nothing at all. It isn't hard to make a man disappear, particularly with the shadow city sticking to Sunspear like a three-day-old beard. Better him than you, dwarf."
"And better me than yourself, that's the way of it, isn't it, Ser Bronn?" All the while, Pod acted as though the walk was taking place in silence.
"You seemed fine with having Deem done in."
"Deem was the sort of man to kill a mother and her infant without a second thought. Scarce good he'd have done the world had he remained in it."
"And this Ser Stiff, he'll be a dragonlord in time, will he? End the war and all that?" Bronn had begun to annoy him.
"The Oakhearts are bannermen to the Tyrells. They'd take it ill if Ser Arys comes ashore missing a head."
"White cloaks put aside their family horseshit, same as black ones, that's all I ever hear on cloaks of either color."
"Yes, well, reality has a rather forceful way of taking precedence over tradition."
"Aye. Ser Stiff gets to go on white-cloaking it in the capital. Meanwhile, your sister will tease the whole story out of him like a cat with a tangle of yarn. Unless your father beats her to it, of course." The ghastly specter of Cersei picking up with Ser Arys where Arianne Martell had left off reared its head in Tyrion's mind. Bronn has the right of it. Should Arys reach the capital, Cersei and Lord Tywin would know what went on between him and the Dornish princess within a week. And that will never do, if I truly plan to marry Arianne. It burned his cheeks to even humor Bronn's line of thinking. This is more Cersei's province than mine. Then again, a wayward knight desperate to shed his shame and find new purpose… I have Lancel to contend with in that regard. And while Lancel might be his own kin, Ser Arys most assuredly wasn't…
Pushing such unpleasantness from his mind, Tyrion tried to affect a genial expression as he sought Myrcella out. Certainly, it wouldn't do to look like a brooding gargoyle. Better a jolly gargoyle. Then he remembered he had yet to actually spot a gargoyle short a nose. Must I be uglier even than the most grotesque flights of fancy of the realm's stonemasons? As was typical for them, Tyrion gathered, Myrcella and her betrothed were sitting on a lovely balcony off the hall playing cyvasse.
"You don't happen to have a letter to your mother that needs sending along, do you, sweetling?" Tyrion asked. Myrcella beamed, as if all the fortunes of the world had fallen perfectly into place.
"I was fretting just how I might do so, Uncle! It's on my dresser…" Now, why would I need to know that unless you thought I might know someone headed to King's Landing?
"Don't trouble yourself. I'd not deprive Prince Trystane of your company, consider everything taken care of." Trystane was too busy staring intently at his pieces (and Myrcella, when he thought she and Tyrion wouldn't notice) to much pay attention to their words.
"Thank you dearly, Uncle. Truly, I am glad beyond words I've lucked into you coming to Dorne to mind matters properly." Arys did say he'd been fucking the Dornish princess for months and more, had Myrcella realized it right away? Sent into a strange land to wed into a hostile house with an unreliable sworn shield. Tyrion wondered, not for the first time, if he'd spent coin a deal dearer than he realized to buy the Dornish "alliance". She would make a fine and better queen, and here she is hidden away in Dorne. Yet Tyrion found another voice within himself voicing its opinion moments later. Mired in the capital, she'd have her mother, her grandfather and the gods only know who else pulling at her in every direction. She's enchanted by her Dornish prince, he's beyond besotted with her, this is where she belongs. And it was far too late to entertain acting on any misgivings he may have had in any case. I do rather owe her fiancé's own uncle my life at least the once if not more. Only an ungrateful dwarf would seek to remove Myrcella from Dorne now, and I will not have that much said of me, at least.
Seeing Ser Arys off tested nothing but Tyrion's patience. His next task was bleaker and murkier. Slowly, Tyrion waddled up to Prince Doran's solar, putting on his most somber face.
"Stay out here, and try not to get into any trouble." he told his two worthies such as they were, before entering.
"My lord." came the greeting.
"My prince."
"What has you so out of sorts today?"
"I find, most sadly, that I know in my heart my wife has left this world." Prince Doran raised an eyebrow. A dead Stark was nothing to him, nor his brother or bearded wet nurse who never left his side…so far as King's Landing knew.
"How have you come to know this?"
"Word would have reached us by now if she were found. It was the same with my cousin Tyrek the day Myrcella left for your shores." He looked at his feet. "Wishing things were otherwise will not make them so, and I'd sooner put all this behind me."
"Of course. Shall I send word to the capital?"
"Please do, I appreciate your taking the time, my prince."
"Not at all, my lord. I am glad I can help in my own small way to alleviate your grief. Shall we leave you to prayers for some days?"
"Mourning Sansa would be a farce, my prince. She was half a child and we never shared a bed. If anything, I think Sansa is happier where she is now." Listening to the songs of mockingbirds. Doran nodded solemnly.
"Shall I make mention of that as well?"
"I think that would be best. I shall, I suppose, get about to seeing if I cannot dig up a Dornish match at some point…" Doran Martell did not smile with his mouth, but Tyrion could see the glint of something like one in his eyes.
"Perhaps I'll mention to your father that mine own daughter remains unwed. If I may be so forward." Tyrion held his arms out at his sides, giving a sad smile of his own.
"I owe your brother my life and you, my prince, the health and happiness of my beloved niece. How can I ask also for the hand of the princess Arianne?"
"Well, as a princess and thus outranking you, my lord, she'd be doing the asking." Tyrion gave a joyless chuckle.
"In fact, if you should find her on the terrace, you might discover she's in the perfect mood for making just that inquiry." Prince Doran turned to look out toward the sandstone railing and the sea beyond it.
"As my prince commands." Tyrion replied, waddling duly out into the open air.
Arianne Martell waited without, reclining in a chair and watching the sunset. Tyrion swallowed as she turned toward him, clad in deep purple silk that did nothing to hide her shape beneath it.
"I trust you don't wear such garb around my niece?" Tyrion asked, sounding sterner than he meant to. As if I would ever be in the right to lecture someone on virtue. Arianne smirked.
"Oh, forgive me, High Septon. The day was just so hot that I couldn't bear to wear cotton or wool, I'd go all faint."Her voice was high and mocking, and not dissimilar to Tyene Sand's. "It's not Myrcella I mean to marry." she said, normal husky tone returning. "I cannot deny, you are perhaps the last man I'd ever dream of wedding, my lord."
"Is that so? Well, in that case, we have something in common. I'd never dream of wedding myself either. How would that work, taking my cloak off my own shoulders to sling it back over and move from my father's protection into mine own?" he tapped his missing nose. "I've a knack for imperiling myself."
"Perhaps that makes up for all the rest, my lord. Your scar gives you a splendid air of danger, the sort that makes a maiden like me quicken 'neath the breast." If you're a maiden, I'm a giant. Shae's words at his trial echoed in his ears, but to his surprise they sounded far away. And on the morrow, they'll be further still. Tyrion felt the noose around him loosen a bit.
"I've seen danger enough to know it's a book best left to gather dust on the shelf. Besides, high up as it is every time I reach for it I end up tipping it off the edge to have it land on my head." Arianne gave a giggle, one that almost sounded half-honest.
"A bargain, then. Let me pull down books too high for you to reach."
"In exchange for what?"
"Well, a Martell to follow me might do, for one." That's right, Tyrion remembered. The children of the heir to Dorne could hardly be named Lannister. How curious the world was, that Tywin Lannister's line might bleed and blend into a house that so loathed him. Jaime was a Kingsguard and Cersei, Robert's widow. Neither would have any more children that Tyrion could see. And I doubt I'll have any of my own. As for Myrcella, she was in the same boat Tyrion was in. Tommen was a Baratheon, at least in name. If the realm saw fit to see the truth in Stannis' tale, well, Cersei would be exposed for the lying slut she was, and Lord Tywin would never live down the shame. All while his dwarf son makes a respectable match with the Princess of Dorne, and forever out of his grasp. Bliss must have looked truly ugly on him because when he opened his eyes to look on Arianne again, her mummer's mask had fallen and she was looking at him with wide eyes.
"Is something the matter, my lord?" she asked.
"Not in the least, my princess." he answered, waddling over to take her hand. She had started speaking again but Tyrion was past hearing, even as he found himself sinking to a knee.