Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by
The Unbound
Chapter 33: Setting Off
– Jeor Mormont –
"...you shared this gift with your mother?" Jeor asked quietly.
"I felt a call to come south, but I wasn't going to leave Bear Island undefended," Dacey defended. "The blessing runs in the blood of all Mormont women. If these… creatures of the night attack, House Mormont will be ready."
"Good," Jeor decided, even if the idea of his stubborn, hot-tempered sister turning into a giant bear gave him pause. Maege was always as stubborn as she was temperamental, but if this gift from… Hircine let them defend their home, so be it. It was a strange time, indeed. "You've done good, girl. Losing the Starks would have been devastating to the North."
"House Mormont has served House Stark loyally for generations. I won't have it end on my watch," Dacey agreed simply. For a moment he considered bringing up Robb's clear interest in her before he stopped himself. He was the Commander of the Night's Watch, not the Lord of Bear Island, it was not his business anymore. His son may have proven a disappointment, but it filled him with pride to see House Mormont standing strong in these dark days.
"Lord Commander? The King will see you now," a soft voice said, getting his attention to the maid who had come to collect him.
"My thanks," Jeor replied, rising to his feet as he gave Dacey a proud nod and clapped her on the shoulder. "We'll talk more soon."
"Of course," Dacey agreed, rising herself as she set off back toward where the Northern party were. Following the maid to the King's solar, he had to admit he hadn't known how his trip to the South would go. King Robert's rule had been one of disinterest in the Wall and their mission, with scant few recruits available beyond the scum that chose the Black rather than the block. Receiving word from Stannis Baratheon that they had a considerable number of recruits for the Wall was welcome, of course, but it came with its own set of issues.
More manpower meant more mouths to feed, more issues, more everything.
Entering the solar, he gave the girl a nod of thanks and made his way before the King, getting a first look at the 'Blessed King' Orys the Smith. Even now, he was writing away with a pile of scrolls and reports on his desk, and he gestured with his quill to take a seat.
"Just a moment, Lord Commander," Orys requested, finishing up what he was doing before rolling it up and tying the parchment closed with a golden ribbon. "Falia, have this delivered to Lord Stannis, please."
Passing off the parchment to the maid, he turned and stared into Jeor's eyes for a moment before he relaxed. Somehow, Jeor knew he'd just been judged and found acceptable.
"Thank you for making the long journey yourself, Lord Commander. I understand that our messages must have come as quite a surprise," Orys said with a small smile on his lips.
"It did, Your Grace. The Watch is always looking for recruits, of course, but this might just be the largest influx of manpower since its formation." Jeor admitted. "If I may be blunt, your Grace, we're ill-prepared for so many mouths to feed and hands to arm."
"I am aware of your situation, as Eddard Stark has been a gift from the gods in my preparation for this," Orys explained, which did bring Jeor some relief. Eddard was a good man, firm and dedicated. He knew his lands well and was on good terms with the Night's Watch through Benjen. "My Queen has ensured that a great deal of long-lasting foods are moving to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to feed those mouths, and I have the smiths of King's Landing and craftsmen working to create armour, furs and weapons for the Watch."
Jeor couldn't deny that Orys' words made him let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps it was wrong of him, but by the Old and the New, he was glad this happened under Orys' reign rather than Roberts.
"But that is a temporary fix, good enough for now while the North is in chaos, but would you agree that the Watch will struggle to handle its increased numbers once this crisis is over?" Orys asked, as Jeor pursed his lips for a moment.
"Without the support of Winterfell, aye. Too many mouths for ranging alone to feed. Winterfell has always been generous to us, but as our numbers grow, so too will our needs," Jeor admitted after a moment.
"I thought as much. I've been discussing the matter with Lord Stark and my new Master of Development, and one idea that has been brought up is the return of the New Gift to the North. I believe you were already in talks with Lord Stark about such a possibility?" Orys stated.
"That's right, Your Grace. The Night's Watch hasn't had the numbers to watch over the land granted to us in generations. I told Lord Stark the Night's Watch would not oppose it if the new Lords of the New Gift paid their taxes to the Wall, in the form of food and other needed goods, rather than to Winterfell," Jeor explained. He was sure that Orys already knew all this, but any plans had been halted by the coming of Winter.
"The Crown is willing to support and fund the repopulation of both the New Gift and Brandon's Gift come spring, as many of its inhabitants have been driven south by wildling attacks, and many of its holds have fallen into disrepair. The land is fertile, for the North, and as of right now, going to waste. Due to the attacks of the Ironborn and now the situation with the Boltons, the Reach has agreed to supply food to the North and the Wall for winter, but come spring, it will be time to ensure that both are self-sufficient. You are the first line of defence against the threats of the North, wildlings and… more unnatural enemies. I will not have that line weakened," Orys explained, a frown crossing his lips.
Given the ravens he'd received from Castle Black, he shared that fear. Whatever was going on in the land beyond the wall, it wasn't just some King Beyond the Wall or Wildling menace.
"The Crown's aid would be greatly appreciated, Your Grace. Long has the Watch fallen into disrepair," Jeor said, knowing when it was time to kiss the arse of the man who could change things for your entire organisation. The Night's Watch predated Aegon's Conquest, and even the coming of the Andals, and wasn't officially under the control of the Crown, but officially and in practice were two different things. They existed in a strange position as a militant order that wasn't sworn to the King, but lived on lands he could take back with a word, and was filled with people who came from his Kingdom.
"Indeed. I want a report on the status of the other castles along the wall. With all that is happening, I do not intend to leave them all in a state of disrepair. It is not an immediate priority as any real rebuilding will have to wait until spring, but I want it done by the end of winter and sent to my Master of Development, Lord Tyrion Lannister," Orys ordered, getting a quick agreement. "Which leads us to the next glaring issue. Keeping order at the Wall with such an influx of men. Ironborn are a step above wildlings, but only just, and many of these men were captains or 'reavers' before choosing to save their own skin. Not to mention the rampant corruption and entitlement of the Goldcloaks that landed many of them losing said cloaks."
"Indeed," Jeor agreed, scowling. As a Mormont, he had his own reasons to hate the Ironborn, but he wasn't in a position to turn down manpower. He'd need to keep them from the western side of the wall so they didn't flee home. "It has been a cause for concern. In truth, our numbers are almost doubling, and there have been raised questions about the potential of the Ironborn rebelling. We'll have to be strict with them, and I expect many will lose their lives before the rest fall in line."
"I know. Fortunately, it is not all dire. Firstly, many of the Goldcloaks, while they have been acting like thugs, simply got swept up in the corruption and temptations that came with it. Uncle Stannis has interrogated many and made reports on those he believes can be trusted the most and who genuinely see this as a second chance rather than an escape from the headsman's axe. With the numbers, using the Goldcloaks to keep the Ironborn in line will aid with both groups," Orys explained, tapping a large pile of parchment. "He's also made notes of the ones who seem the least trustworthy, in both factions. It's a depressingly long list for the Ironborn, unsurprisingly. Part of why I want the other castles restored is so the Ironborn can be separated as much as possible."
As he spoke, he pushed the pile toward Jeor, who took it gratefully. It would be useful to know who the troublemakers were in advance. It wasn't something he usually had.
It was certainly going to be a problem. If he put too many Ironborn in one place, he risked them rising up and becoming a bigger threat to the Night's Watch than the Wildlings themselves. If he was too harsh on them, they could also rebel, but if he wasn't harsh enough, the same problem. It would be a careful balancing act to prevent this influx of men from weakening them rather than strengthening them. If his men were too busy watching the Ironborn, they'd not have the manpower to look north.
"In better news, Uncle Stannis found some volunteers to join the Watch from his own men and from the Stormlands. Men who can be trusted to keep an eye on the Ironborn. Usually older men with sons of their own already. They are outnumbered by the Ironborn and Goldcloaks, but they know the importance of their mission in helping bring the Night's Watch back to its former strength," Orys explained. "The ships have been prepared and the men are ready to be sent to Eastwatch-by-the-sea. I needn't tell you the main risk."
"We're loading up Ironborn onto ships and expecting them not to mutiny," Jeor agreed with a scowl. He'd brought a small group of black brothers with him, but he'd underestimated just how many he had to take north.
"Indeed. The ships will be manned by Lord Paxter Redwyne's men and the sailors of the Royal Fleet, but the biggest risk of desertion is going to be on the trip to the Wall. It will be all too tempting for them to overpower the other men on the ship and sail for Essos," Orys agreed. "Especially as we'll be sending the weapons and armour forged for the Watch up at the same time. I want you to work with my Uncle and Lord Redwyne to ensure the transfer goes smoothly. I doubt I will be in the capital to oversee the departure myself. Any final agreements for the New Gift will have to wait until the matter of the Boltons' rebellion has been settled. I would also suggest you take the chance to speak to Lord Tywin about the needs of the Night's Watch as well. If Lords of the North are to be paying taxes to Castle Black, an official agreement will need to be reached, and Lord Tywin will be doing much of the work for it."
Recognising the dismissal as what it was, Jeor agreed to do so and thanked the King for his time, getting a small smile and a respectful nod. Before Jeor was even out of the room, Orys called in the next meeting for the day.
It had been a short time, but Jeor left with his head held higher and some hope for the restoration of the Night's Watch. He was no fool, he was an old man, he'd likely be dead before they returned to their peak, but that simply meant he had to do all he could to arrange things to go smoothly for his successor.
– King Orys Baratheon –
With my imminent trip north, there are countless last-minute tasks that need to be done in preparation. I'm leaving the capital in good hands, I have a competent Council, and I trust my mother to continue pushing my agendas while I am gone. Margaery will work with her, meaning I have a set of Mara's eyes and Mephala's gaze here while I head to handle the chaos of Vale and the North. In truth, I'm rushing. I can't delay this for months, so the best chance I have of seeing the birth of the twins is to leave immediately.
"Ah, so this is the famous forge of Zenithar?" Oberyn asks as he arrives, his paramour and two of his daughters in tow. I've requested these two because Arianne says they are the pair that are coming north with us, Obara and Nymeria. Elia wanted to come, but while she's apparently a talented warrior, she's also too young for Oberyn to be willing to take her with him. Besides, her talent lies with lances, and there'll be no jousting with the undead. She reminds me of Arya, in some ways. "I can see why Her Grace enjoys watching you smith."
"Keep your pants on, viper," I snort, finishing my work and wiping some of the light sweat from my brow.
"Ah, but I thought we were here about my spear?" Oberyn asks, holding a hand to his heart with a wounded expression.
In truth, my main reason for better equipping him and his daughters is that I have plans for Dorne that require him to stay alive and on good terms with me. Grief makes a man stupid, and if his eldest daughters die in my crusade against the darkness, it opens up a chance for Doran to get into his head. I like the man, but I can't rely on him staying on Arianne's side if they die, or his name not being used against me if he dies fighting for me. All Doran would have to do is point and say I got him killed, regardless of how much sense it makes.
"Yeah, your soft, floppy spear that's not going to be any good," I counter, moving over and unwrapping my first creation. "I could make some grand showing about this being a gift for Dorne or House Martell, but you're not that kind of prince. This is the Spear of Bitter Mercy, take it and kill Bolton assholes for me."
Tossing it to him, he catches it with ease, raising an eyebrow at the deadly point, four prongs surrounding the blessed steel spearhead. It can pierce damn near anything, and once it goes in, it's going to cause twice as much damage on the way back out. The shaft is dragonbone, since we have so much of the shit lying around, thanks to the Targs keeping the bodies. Father shoved it all into vaults and called it a day, but I don't waste resources like that, and it's a damn fine material.
Spinning it and testing its weight, Oberyn gives me a dangerous smirk as he tests a couple of thrusts and jabs.
"It should be unwieldy with those points, and yet it feels as comfortable in my hands as the finest Lys courtesans," Oberyn praises, twirling it easily with no fear of the devastatingly sharp pieces he's spinning around. "Bitter Mercy? A fitting name."
The real Spear of Bitter Mercy is the weapon of Hircine, but this is just an imitation. Even an imitation is still a deadly weapon, and it will serve the hunt well all the same. I don't have any spear training beyond the absolute basics, so there's no point in me making the real one for myself.
"Now, I know you hear this a lot, but lose the clothes, Viper," I order, getting a laugh from him.
"Alas, the mixed signals," Oberyn says as he removes his shirt. "But as it turns out, I am cheap and you have paid more enough to get into my trousers."
Nymeria snorts and Obara rolls her eyes as he continues stripping until he's naked. I just give him an amused look as I get my next gift. I'm bigger.
"Making armour for you was a fun challenge," I admit, pushing the package over. "Unlike most Westerosi knights, I can't just slap you in full steel plate and hope for the best. You're too agile, it'd hinder more than help."
"I will never understand how your knights enjoy being such stationary targets, unable to catch their prey or move around without clopping around with each step," Oberyn admits with a lazy shrug as he pulls the package open.
Somehow, I'm not surprised he decided to put the sleeveless breastplate on first, leaving everything on display as he places the bronze piece of armour on. It's not bronze as most people know it. I'm half tempted to call it something gaudy like Celestial Bronze, as it isn't blessed and isn't Valyrian. Frankly, I'm not entirely sure what it is, and I made the damn thing. It isn't as durable as Valyrian steel, but it weighs less than half as much for durability that is close enough that it would take Valyrian Steel to pierce it. On the chest is the Martell crest, a sun pierced by a spear.
Thankfully, the second piece is an armoured… frankly, skirt. Leather and celestial bronze worked to give him full movement while still providing some defences above the knee. I wasn't sure about the design, but Mellario and Arianne confirmed that it isn't unheard of in Essos. Won't catch me in an armoured skirt, but Oberyn doesn't seem to mind it too much. It has light greaves for his shins and feet, so it won't leave much exposed without hindering his movement.
"I took some inspiration from Essos and Rhoynar artwork and armours," I explain as he tests his movement. "You're allowed to wear undergarments under it. Just in case you weren't sure."
"I like it. Easy access," Ellaria purrs in amusement, watching Oberyn perform some impressive acrobatics. Impressive in that he found every pose that would permit him to flash us as his daughters look away with amused or long-suffering looks on their faces.
"And if he goes North like that, he'll return with a frostbitten cock. Put some damn pants on," I order with a roll of my eyes. "And try the helmet. Arianne got me your other sizes, but the helmet is the one she was least sure about."
With a grin on his lips, he does so and pulls out the final piece and place it on his head before running his hands through the red plume of horsehair. The helmet is shaped at the front of the plume to appear as a viper rising up to strike, and maybe I went overboard with the decorations, but it really was fun to make a new type of armour after making so many suits of regular armour. I even made a red mantle for his shoulders that is pure aesthetics, clasped by a small House Martell emblem.
"Your vision is fine?" I ask, watching him move through his practice stances, eyes moving to either side.
"Perfect. As good as my current helmet, or maybe even better," Oberyn admits.
"There's a shield as well, but I've heard you barely use one to begin with," I say, proud of my work. "Now, the girls. I'll admit, the spears are less impressive than the spear of bitter mercy, but they're made of dragonbone and Valyrian steel, an improvement over your current equipment. The light shields are the same as your father's. Here's hoping you two actually use them."
"I do," Obara replies with a wry smile as she takes hers, admiring the spear and shield with an expert's eye. She lacks the frankly incredible beauty that is so common amongst the Sand Snakes, with more masculine features and an often angry look, but even then, she's pretty when she smiles. And she's definitely smiling now.
Nymeria, on the other hand, is the closest to Arianne in terms of her looks. She was the one I was surprised to hear was coming North, because while I know all the Sand Snakes can defend themselves, she usually dresses in fine silks and looked every part the noble daughter most of the time.
"Where did you get the dragon bone?" Nymeria asks with a thoughtful look and a small smile as she tests the spear out.
"The vaults. The Targaryens kept most of the skulls on display before my father had them tossed into some dark room, but there was plenty to spare for a few spears," I explain. "Your armours are in the same style as your father's, as Arianne told me you both fight like him."
"I did wonder why she asked for my measurements, but didn't question it," Nymeria admits as she looks at the box holding her armour. She pauses for a moment, before she gets an all too familiar smirk as she begins to disrobe, keeping eye contact with me.
Margaery bet that at least one of them would do this, rather than get dressed in private, and Arianne suggested that I don't look away. Oberyn does, well, he occupies himself by flirting with his paramour as Obara shrugs and follows her example. Neither comes close to Arianne's… boons, but Nymeria has an impressively perky bust herself as she steps out of her dress and gathers her armour. I've lined the insides and made accessories to make it more comfortable during the cold of the North, but here in the heat of the forge, they're unnecessary. Obara is the second most muscular woman I've seen, after Lady Brienne, but her admittedly flatter chest doesn't detract from her looks because by the Gods, those thighs.
I'm not sure why she needs a weapon to begin with.
Obara is very utilitarian in her movements, stripping from her simple breeches and tunic and getting dressed in her armour with almost militant discipline. She kept her undergarments on, but had no care for me seeing her breasts. Nymeria, on the other hand, made a show of it, and her stare made it clear she wanted my attention.
"It's so light I almost feel naked," Obara admits, going through some movements of her own, before bouncing in place to test its weight. They both have simpler designs than Oberyn for the simple truth that they are bastards, and being gifted armour that is too nice would make the trueborn nobles jealous. I can't risk them dying, but I can't show Dorne too much favour without them returning the favour. I can get away with some because they're fighting for me, and I'm spreading a lot of gifts around in preparation. The greatsword I made for the Hound could cleave a man, his horse and an innocent bystander in two. "Thank you, Your Grace."
"Indeed, a most fine gift, your Kingship," Oberyn agrees with a bow that would almost seem mocking on anyone else. It's about as genuine as the Red Viper gets, and I can see the web weaved around him growing just a little tighter. It's not binding him to me, but to Arianne. "I'll be sure to deliver your Mercy to many a Bolton."
"I hope you got Arianne something; she'll pout if she's putting out, but everyone else gets the gifts," Nymeria teases, sitting on the edge of a box. Unlike Obara, she didn't bother to keep her underwear on, which makes the way she's spreading her legs somewhat distracting. "But yes, a most fine gift. Most men just get me flowers."
"I'm a practical man," I shrug. "As for Arianne? I have the designs for a fitting crown for the princess of Dorne, but she understands that my time is too limited to be making such things when I need as many weapons as I can pump out. I must have a dozen smiths aiding me at this point, working on the simpler pieces, and I still can only make so much myself when I'm on such a short schedule. I wasn't even sure I'd finish your armours, to be frank."
Oberyn snorts, well aware of what I'm doing. Giving her a crown made for the ruler of Dorne is basically throwing the royal seal of approval on her as the next ruler. If Doran is truly means to replace her, he'd have to actively go against both the inheritance laws of his people and the approval of the crown. Something he would technically be within his right to do, but it would be a very hard sell.
He'd be forced to admit that his chosen successor is not favoured by the crown, in a time where the Dornish Houses are starting to interact with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Where trade, betrothals, and plenty of benefits are heading their way, he'd have to say 'no, we should go back to ignoring the crown and hope they ignore us back.' When his rightful heir is favoured by the crown, when his people are profiting from her actions, he'll have to shame her before all of Dorne and choose someone who grew up outside of Sunspear to be his successor.
Wars have been fought for less, and Arianne will have a clear symbol of which side the crown will support right there on her head. I intend to make sure the world knows that the Iron Throne is strong again, so if it becomes a civil war, I can put my finger on the plate and tip the scales into Arianne's favour.
Mellario is already doing her part. She's facilitating trade between nobles of the other kingdoms with the Dornish houses, because each trade contract means that if such a time comes, those Dornish houses will be faced with a question. Do we want to stop making money? Honour and loyalty will mean less when Doran's plans would see Dorne cut off from the rest of the kingdom, risking the crown's disapproval in the form of tariffs and raised taxes if not open war. When it is their own coin purses that will cry out, they'll be more inclined to listen.
And given the current schemes to get Quentyn a Tyrell bride, if he doesn't act fast enough, he might just lose his preferred heir entirely. Maybe he could shift to Arianne's youngest brother, but that would be an even harder sell.
In truth, I don't know what Doran is scheming. If he's scheming anything at all. What I do know is that I'm going to bind Dorne so tightly to the Iron Throne that in a generation or two, Dornish Isolation will seem like an overblown myth.
Tyene thinks she's being sneaky, plucking at strings and using her charm to become an official Septa, but she doesn't realise that she's going to end up being the face of the Seven in Dorne. I intend to make sure that the Northern isolation is weakened heavily while I'm up there, so using Oberyn to further my plans for Dorne is just the natural next step if he insists on coming with me.
Chatting with them, and sharing some of the secrets of how I forged these armours, I smile to myself despite the worry I can't quite suppress.
After all, this is my first time going to war.
– Days Later –
I've not had enough time.
As I watch the forces preparing to make the long trek north, I have to face reality. I am but one man, and no man can handle the entire kingdom alone. Mya, still insistent on performing her duties as the Master of the Horse, prepares my Dornish stallion as servants and squires run around.
Arianne and the Sand Snakes are talking to Oberyn, Nymeria and Obara. It's a scene I've seen a dozen times in the last hour alone, families seeing their sons, husbands, friends off to war.
"Be safe," Margaery finally says as we break the kiss. "I know you can't promise to come back, but do everything in your power to return to me. To us."
As she speaks, she places her hand on her stomach. With both our gifts, we can easily sense the life growing in her womb.
"I will," I promise, kissing her forehead. I wish I didn't have to go. I wish I could make some bullshit up and stay seated on the throne, but this is the first true time my rule is being challenged. I cannot stand aside and let other men fight for it if I want to be truly accepted as King. This might just be the most important war I ever fight, because it will set the tone for all future ones. If I fail or don't at least prove myself a warrior, I'll appear a weak king. If the kingdom has a weak king, it's a weak kingdom.
Myrcella runs up as we separate, clearly having been waiting in the wings. Jumping up at me, she hugs me tightly. She's never seen family go off to war before, being too young to have really understood what was happening during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Shireen, Bella and Mya all arrive shortly after, as I go through the motions of promising to do my best to return. I feel bad that I know Mya the least, but she understands just how busy I am and beyond joining us for dinner a few times, we've spent little time together. Especially as the first real heart-to-heart ended with myself and Margaery having to tell her that we couldn't see any bonds of love coming from Mychel Redfort toward her, something that she clearly expected in some ways but was still devastating to hear.
I don't even know how that one ended, as Margaery promised to handle it as it required a feminine touch after a rather loud argument between the once lovers. Mychel Redfort was kicked out of the Red Keep for spreading rumours that he took Princess Mya's maidenhead after the argument, with his family facing my disapproval. I know the rumours are true, but he went out of his way to smear her reputation after she rejected his advances. He hoped to ruin her chances with anyone but him, instead he's ensured I won't accept him as a goodbrother.
The funny thing is that now he's going to Vale to help fight Lysa and her madness. If he's smart he'll cover himself in glory during the campaign because his reputation is in the shitter as it stands.
"Your Grace," Sansa starts as I finish reassuring Myrcella as best as I can without making promises I can't keep. "The North will never forget your deeds in ending this crisis. May the Gods, Old and New, be with you."
"Indeed. House Stark and Tully will be forever in your debt," Catelyn agrees softly. She can't hide her own concern with her husband and Robb heading north to fight the Boltons.
Arya has a different way of showing her concern, jumping to wrap her arms around my shoulders in a tight hug. Sansa chuckles softly but Catelyn looks worried for a moment before I return the hug.
"Don't let some stupid Boltons beat you," Arya all but demands, getting a soft laugh from me.
"I'll do my very best. Keep an eye on Myrcella for me, yeah?" I ask, cut off as Arya smashes her face against mine. It's an extremely short and clumsy kiss, almost certainly her first, but before Catelyn's shout of 'Arya!' can even leave her mouth, Arya has broken it and fled with a burning face.
"I am so sorry, Your Grace, she's just a child-" Catelyn starts, staring at Margaery with a panicked expression. Margaery just giggles gently.
"She's a girl on the cusp of becoming a woman, struggling with all the… thoughts and hormones that come with it. Orys is a handsome older boy who has constantly had her back and is now going to fight for her home," Margaery waves off with a giggle. "She didn't mean any insult, and I took none."
"She certainly knows how to keep everyone on their toes. I don't think I've ever seen Lord Eddard go that colour," I say with a hint of amusement as Catelyn lets out a sigh of relief. Sansa just looks amused, bowing to me before she follows her sister's trail. "Relax, Lady Stark. No harm was done. Perhaps you should reassure your husband? He looks like he's half worried I'll call off the entire march North over it."
As Catelyn moves to do so, Mother finally moves over to me.
"I never wanted to see you off like this," Cersei admits softly, a frown on her face. "King's Landing will be fine. Don't worry about what you are leaving behind. Focus on your task, don't let anything distract you from succeeding and coming back to us."
"I know. Ser Barristan has beaten that into me enough," I say with a wry smile. "I have a good council, and I trust you both to handle any matters that occur while I am away. I leave my kingdom in your capable hands. Show them I was not wrong to do so."
Hugging mother, I take a moment to whisper into her ear as I do. As we part, she nods calmly. I very much don't look at Missandei as I do so. Her former master believes he's being clever, sitting in the bay on his fancy pleasure ship waiting for me to leave to continue his scheming.
He is not, and the black cloud around Missandei won't harm a hair on anyone's head. Margaery also doesn't look to her handmaiden, well aware of what is going on. As I said, there's always more to do and this task is being left to my two favourite women.
"Lancel, fetch me my armour," I order, watching my squire run to do so.
I will bring my kingdom into order.
It's time to add another legend to the tale of Orys the Blessed.
— Bonus Scene — Doran Martell
…in truth, he'd gotten used to the apathy and slow-moving rule of Robert Baratheon. Even with Arianne scheming to take something that was already hers, he saw no reason to actively make a move, as the Crown had spent decades barely doing anything.
The simple fact was that his entire plan had been sunk through a mixture of bad luck, fate and the madness of Targaryens. Arianne, reckless as she was, couldn't be trusted with the knowledge of the secret marriage pact to make her Viserys' Queen. He should have put a stop to her nonsense years ago, but he hadn't, and now she saw him as the ultimate enemy, the man scheming to take away her birthright.
With Viserys dead, after trying to force himself on his sister no less, that pact was doomed. Illyrio wasn't giving up, but with the male Targaryen dead and the daughter married to a Dothraki? No, their hopes of removing the stag kings were dead in the water, and it was too late to tell Arianne the truth. No, even if he did, confessing to having made treasonous plans when the crown was growing so strong was a fool's errand. He'd be risking having the entire House Martell wiped out, and Arianne might not even be wrong to throw him and his allies under the carriage to save the rest of them.
So, what was he to do? Arianne was preparing for a civil war to claim his position, believing that he would never give it to her willingly, despite that being his current plan due to Viserys' death. If he suddenly changed his tune, she would not trust him, and his own allies would see him as unreliable or cowardly.
No, he knew what he had to do. He would play the part of Arianne's enemy. The cruel father who was eager to see her sidelined. He would fight for Dornish Isolation, and he would lose. Even now, he made some half-hearted efforts to prevent Quentyn from reaching the Red Keep. They would fail, 'outsmarted' by Arianne and Quentyn would find himself with a bride from a House Arianne had wooed.
In truth, he had little against Orys Baratheon himself, beyond being related to the two living men Doran hated the most. Tywin and Robert were his enemies for what they permitted. Elia had been avenged by Oberyn, her murderers' deaths arranged by King Orys. He would not send all of Dorne into war to settle a grudge with the old lion and fat stag. Especially as he knew a losing battle when he saw one. Age would take Tywin, obesity would take Robert. Not Dornish spears. Even if he pushed for war, while the Boltons were causing a distraction, he couldn't guarantee victory or independence. What he could guarantee would be the end of the special benefits Dorne enjoyed for having bent the knee willingly. King Orys would crush what little independence they had, using him as proof of it being a mistake. His sons would likely be killed or forced to take the black. Houses would be forced to either bend the knee or be wiped out and replaced.
He wouldn't see House Martell crushed or subjugated under his rule.
So, he'd play the opposition but never enough that the Crown felt the need to assist Arianne in any way that could hurt Dorne. He'd gather the Houses that wanted to separate from the Iron Throne together, so that when Arianne 'won', she'd have the leverage needed to bring them in line.
Sitting in his Solar, Doran smiled briefly. It was a shame that he could not openly support Arianne, but he was proud of her for once. This was not the immature acting out that she usually did, but something far smarter and more impressive. The world was changing, and old schemers like him were falling behind. All he could do was arrange the board for the next player.
Now, if only he could find a way to do this and see if those blessed waters could do anything about his gout.
Author's Note: Time to hunt some Vampires.
Written: 02/03/2026