—Dorne—
Sunspear — Water Gardens...
The second phase of the diplomatic peace talks between Dorne and the Iron Throne were about to begin underway again; after the whole fiasco during the first phase, the revelation of Ariyana spying on the King on behalf of House Martell caused quite a bit of stir if not risk everything falling apart. Daveth stormed off in anger, only to be met with an assassination attempt on his life. Even Doran Martell—Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne—knew that if something were to happen to the King then Dorne would again be dragged into another war. Of course, he was also concerned about the well-being of his son and heir Trystane, as well, and how he was protected from harm too.
Back in the meeting room, Doran shifted in his seat to ease the discomfort in his legs. Gout had not been kind to him over the years; it swelled and reddened the joints of his knees, toes and hands. Oberyn stood next to his older brother with Ellaria Sand, their daughters and Doran's wheelchair in case Doran needed to move around.
Ariyana, still under investigation, couldn't meet Sansa's gaze—who sat across from her. Even veteran Kingsguards such as Lucius and Jaime still hadn't forgotten Ariyana's involvement in spying on Daveth.
"This meeting would be more productive if the King were to join us," Ellaria complained.
Sansa looked at her with a calm, composed demeanor. "My husband will be arriving soon," she told her. "But what does concern us is the apparent lack of security which allowed the assassins to slip into Dorne undetected."
"My captain of the guard Areo Hotah is already seeing to it that no more outsiders try to enter my country in secrecy again," Doran told the Queen. "Remember, I'm more concerned about this since my son Trystane unknowingly had gotten himself involved in the altercation."
Olyvar poured Sansa a cup of wine, glancing back at Tyene. "We've identified the culprit behind the assassination attempt, my lords and ladies. I've seen this man at least once after we took back Moat Cailin. Locke."
"He's one of Roose Bolton's bannermen. What could he have hoped to gain from this?" Sansa suggested.
"Difficult to say, Your Grace, but the King believes it was his bastard Ramsay Snow who's really pulling the strings. Says Lord Bolton is 'too smart for his own good to jeopardize his house's standing'."
"How can you be so sure of that?"
"Because Ramsay's worse than a monster. Worse than anything you could ever imagine."
By then, Daveth had already made his presence known.
"Ah, Your Grace," Ser Lucius acknowledged. "Forgive us, we started without you."
"So I see," he stated plainly. "Trystane. How fares your jaw?"
Trystane shrugged it off. "A fleabite," he answered.
Daveth didn't buy it one bit. What a poor excuse. You got your ass knocked out with one blow. As the Young Stag sat beside his wife, the negotiations could once again continue. Sansa observed his posture, examining his body language; when he first stormed off, Daveth was slightly hunched forward and his hands curled into tightly-balled fists. Now, his posture was straight and shoulders less tense, more composed. Let's just hope it stays this way until things have settled down for a moment longer.
"Allow us to extend our sincerest apologies for this mishap," Doran begun.
"We both know who's to blame for this outrage, Prince Doran. Rest assured, the assassins were only puppets. Our true enemy merely pulls the strings from the shadows."
A Dornish servant assists Shae and Brella set down food and drink on the table before returning to their posts.
"Pie looks good," Olyvar commented.
Doran, Oberyn and Trystane took a plate of pigeon pie with Daveth, Sansa, Myrcella, Olyvar, Jaime and Lucius each taking a piece along with their respective goblets of wine.
"You appear to be much calmer this time," Oberyn said to Daveth.
"It belies a Baratheon temper. That, and my wife always kept telling me that suppressing one's feelings is not healthy."
"Wise woman."
Sansa rolled her eyes. "You're very kind, Prince Oberyn," she said politely.
"That aside, it is best that we continue where we left off," Doran noted.
It all became serious now. Daveth and Sansa listened closely as Prince Doran unveiled a parchment; a thoroughly worded treaty, it consisted of a list of terms and agreements that he believed would function as a compromise between Dorne and the Iron Throne.
"Now, I won't deny the fact that you are of Baratheon and Lannister descent and there are still some who remain unsure about you," he began, "but what doesn't change is the fact that you were the only monarch since King Daeron II to make any effort to reach out to us in Dorne spoke volume of one's character."
"159 years ago, House Martell got into bed with the dragons of House Targaryen," Oberyn mentioned. "As my brother said, we took Daeron and his sister for our own before they could take each other. That's how six kingdoms became seven. How you sent your own sister Princess Myrcella to us was almost quite similar, though not quite exactly similar to circumstances."
"Many in Dorne want war. But when Oberyn came back with the Mountain's head and when we learned of Tywin Lannister's... untimely demise, some of the grumbles have died down."
Oberyn's face changed expressions. "Our sister Elia Martell was a rare flower in our land. Hers had no thorn; she was kind and clever and had a gentle heart. Dorne loved her. We would've died for her, and her children."
"I've seen war. I've seen bodies piled on the battlefields. I've seen the orphans starving in the cities. I don't want to lead my people into that hell unnecessarily."
"When we swear oaths, we keep them. We needed no threats from King Aerys, though he made them anyway in his madness and condemned our sister and her children to their fate. We know that war is terrible and sometimes men must do terrible things to wage it... and to end it."
Daveth and Sansa said nothing as they watched the Martell brothers Doran and Oberyn speak. To them, perhaps there was somewhat of a lesson that needed to be told. The King held his wife's hand in his own, and she gave a gentle squeeze as reassurance. Jaime looked on grimly, while Lucius and Olyvar observed with wine goblets still in their hands barely touching their lips.
"Do you understand what we're trying to tell you?" Oberyn asked.
Sansa spoke first. "That mountains of gold or military force are not always the ways to sue for peace," she said.
The Red Viper nodded. "Correct. Whether by blood... or talking to us can it be possible."
"I know things will never be easy for you, my lords. Nor can we make promises we are unable to keep. But I do hope that we can achieve an everlasting peace between us and make amends so the Martells of Dorne and the Baratheons of King's Landing cadet branch may be friends."
Ellaria noted how Queen Sansa was speaking. Break bread with the Baratheons, Lannisters and Starks, she thought. Though the look Oberyn gave her told her that justice was already done; and there wasn't a need for more.
"That is my hope as well," Doran said. He placed the paper down onto the desk. "You've not only given us justice for our sister Elia along with her two children Rhaenys and Aegon, but also our uncle in the Kingsguard Prince Lewyn Martell as well. If you are indeed serious about wanting to reconcile with Dorne, if you want an alliance between us, then our terms must be met."
Daveth looked at the parchment. Sansa noticed and nodded her head.
"Of course, Prince Doran," she said. "The crown will do whatever it takes to make things right."
"If an alliance between Dorne and the Iron Throne is to be kept strong, then the engagement of my son, Prince Trystane, and King Daveth's sister, Princess Myrcella, must stand."
Daveth looked at Myrcella and Trystane. The heir to Dorne locked eyes with the King; meanwhile, Myrcella practically looked at Daveth—who noticed her looking his way—and quietly mouthed the words 'please' to him, begging her eldest brother to agree to the arrangement. The Young Stag sighed and nodded. "Done," he said.
Myrcella smiled and hugged Trystane, who reciprocated the news as well.
"My son will be accompanying you to King's Landing as well," Doran announced.
Daveth raised a curious eyebrow. "You wish to send your only son and heir to the capital? May I ask why?" he asked.
"If the assassins come here again, then your sister and my son will need to be relocated somewhere safer—particularly within the walls of the Red Keep. Also, my brother Oberyn was named to the Small Council as Master of Laws before his resignation. Your grandfather understood the importance of working with one's rivals. With that seat still vacant, Trystane will take his place on the Small Council."
Daveth looked at Trystane. "What say you, Trystane? Are you up for the task?"
The young man nodded. "Of course."
"Then let's be certain that you're ready for such responsibility of being the Master of Laws. Your uncle Prince Oberyn proved himself capable, so you can imagine the expectations I have for you."
"Then you accept our terms?" Doran asked.
Daveth picked up his quill and dipped it in ink. "I will do whatever I must to ensure the realm's prosperity... and my sister's safety," he said quietly under his breath, pressing the tip onto the parchment.
Myrcella, Sansa, Oberyn and Doran watched on as Daveth moved his wrist with each stroke in specific directions, length and curvature relative of each letter he wrote down. The Young Stag's penmanship was as business cursive as it was fancy, each stroke precise and near perfect joined together in a flowing manner. Once he was finished, Daveth set the quill down.
"It is done," he informed them.
Doran switched the parchment around to face him as he took his own quill and ink to write down his own signature; the gout in his knuckles and joints made it difficult to write out each stroke, but Doran eventually finished his and put his quill away.
"And so it is done," he announced before raising his cup to propose a toast. "Let us drink to Daveth, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. May his reign be long and prosperous."
Everyone took a drink, even Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes. Daveth raised his cup, though he felt a wave of mental exhaustion wash over him—his vision temporarily blurred and felt a bit lightheaded; the Young Stag momentarily shook his head to rid himself of momentary distractions. Sansa and Olyvar, however, were the only ones to notice – the Frey squire was the first to lean in to whisper into the Queen's ear.
"I've seen him like this before back at Moat Cailin, Your Grace," he quietly informed her. "He passed out in the mud not long afterwards."
Sansa looked concerned. "Keep a close eye on him," she whispered. "Pray to the Old Gods and the New that it's not as serious as it once was."
Through sheer ounce of willpower, Daveth Baratheon had apparently pushed himself a lot harder to be absolutely certain that this one final task was seen through to the end: unifying the entire Seven Kingdoms: the North, Stormlands, Riverlands, Vale of Arryn, Westerlands, Reach... and now Dorne. Quite a monumental undertaking that involved years of careful planning and strategic, tactical and political maneuvering to get the results Daveth so desperately wanted. By nightfall, host and guests had finished their meals and traded in for the night.
The King had slept longer than most men ought to. Sansa never took her eyes off him for the entire night.
– 5 Days later –
A royal skiff waits on the Dornish sand to escort the royal party back to the royal flagship King Robert's Warhammer which remained anchored a few hundred yards offshore.
Daveth, now donning his formal royal attire and given his arms and armor back, was more than eager to return home to King's Landing. His father's warhammer was strapped on his other shoulder to relieve discomfort towards his left where the assassin's dogs sank their teeth into. His left arm and shoulder were still in the process of healing so he didn't plan on pushing it, though some of his Kingsguard still didn't approve.
Ariyana's attire remained consisting of the Kingsguard, though her future in the royal guard remained in question. "We're going to have a long talk when we get home," is all she was told. She wasn't trusted by her peers despite her claims of loyalty to the Iron Throne and Dorne; she'd have to work long and hard to prove herself again to win back their trust.
Ser Lucius and Jaime watch as Myrcella and Trystane say their goodbyes to Prince Doran. Much to their surprise, Oberyn offered to accompany them to the capital with Ellaria and three of his daughters: Obara, Nymeria and Tyene Sand. Olyvar Frey had finished gathering their belongings for the oceanic voyage home. Trystane hugs his father; Doran kisses his future daughter-in-law on both cheeks. Shae and Brella each carried the royal twins Lyonel and Cassana in each of their arms; bouncing the babes, the twins babbled as they gripped their mother's handmaidens with their tiny hands.
Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes begin boarding, no longer dressed in their warrior outfits but as proper women of the court. Tyene, of course, still teased Olyvar who kept his eyes glued at her swaying hips before snapping them back to attention when Queen Sansa caught him.
"That is very inappropriate, Olyvar," Sansa quietly scolded him, casting a cold death stare.
Olyvar gulped. "S-sorry, Your Grace," he apologized frightened.
Daveth and Sansa both approach Doran.
"I wish you a safe journey home," he told them.
"Thank you for having us here, Prince Doran," replied Sansa. "Will we see you at the wedding?"
"You will."
"This has proven to be quite an illuminating experience. Hopefully this is the start of a new beginning between our houses," Daveth told him.
"The feeling is mutual, Oathkeeper. I have enjoyed getting to know the grandson of a man I once called my enemy. Take good care of my son."
"You have my word." He soon turned to his family. "But there's something that needs to be done first before we leave."
Everyone looked confused.
"Olyvar."
The Frey squire stood at attention and approached the King.
"Yes, Your Grace?" he asked.
Daveth eyed him closely. "I haven't forgotten what you've done for both of me and House Martell back at the Water Gardens. I did say I'd see you rewarded for how you saved not only my life, but Doran's son's as well. Is there any boon you would ask of your King? If it's within my power, I will grant it."
Olyvar felt a bead of sweat trickle down his face. "I... I only seek to continue serving the Crown to the utmost best of my ability, Your Grace... if you'll have me that is."
He nodded. "Then kneel."
Obeying his King's order, Olyvar knelt down to one knee in a form of submission. He was unsure as to why, but heard the distinctive sound of Daveth unsheathing Stormbringer from its scabbard and felt cold Valyrian steel touching his shoulder.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave," he recited the words. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women." The Young Stag then placed Stormbringer back in its scabbard. "Arise, Olyvar Frey. A knight of the Seven Kingdoms."
Olyvar's eyes widened; he was visibly speechless. He knew what those words mean! Two years ago he started as a mere squire from a lesser house in service to his master, and here he was now a full-fledged knight! All those times training in combat with the King, fighting alongside him in battle and acting as a page at his court... his patience and dedicated service had finally paid off as he looked up at Daveth. "You honor me, Your Grace. I... I don't know what to say," he stuttered. "I swear I will uphold the knight's code, protect the innocent, defend the weak and offer my services to you. I will shield your back, keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."
Daveth nodded. "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."
Standing back up, Olyvar looked like he could barely contain his excitement at being knighted by the King himself. Sansa observed the ceremony firsthand and couldn't help but smile warmly at the oath of fealty; she couldn't deny Olyvar's dedication and service to the Crown. He's been a good, faithful squire and the Wolf Queen agreed that it was long past due to reward him for his role in saving her husband's life from assassins and on the battlefield. Olyvar then made his way onto the royal skiff for the long journey back to King's Landing.
Aboard the King Robert's Warhammer...
In a guest cabin aboard the royal flagship, Myrcella sat in a lovely room decorated in royal attire. The walls were decorated with wooden stag antlers and golden lions as ornaments. Between her fingers she held a small pendant, opening the inside to gaze upon an old painting depicting her as a young girl being held in the arms of her eldest brother Daveth. She appeared to be 5 years old in the portrait. We looked so happy back then, brother. Only because you made it so at your own expense' Myrcella reminisced. She hears a knock on her door and smiles, walking to the door. "Trystane?" she calls out.
Two voices on the other side answer.
"Uncle Jaime."
"And your brother."
Ah. Not quite what she was expecting before opening the door. Both Jaime and Daveth entered her room.
"Sorry to disappoint you," Jaime apologized. "May I sit down?"
Myrcella slowly nods. Daveth closes the door behind them and leans against the wall as Jaime sits himself down in front of her. "Do you two want something to drink?" she offered. "I don't have any wine, I don't think, but pomegranate juice or—"
Daveth raised his hands up. "No, no, no. It's quite all right. We're fine, 'Cella."
"You look nervous," Jaime observed.
She sits down on her bed; indeed, she does look nervous. Jaime notices the necklace and points it out.
"Still holding onto that trinket?" he tried to joke. "It's got to be about 14 years old by now."
"Now, now, no one said about holding onto something worth value," Daveth suggested as he pulled up the blue scarf around his neck, "particularly if it's of sentimental value to the one wearing it."
Ah, of course. "Just... try not to lose it. If it means something to you, always hold it close."
An awkward silence before another knock was heard.
"Excuse me, Your Grace," one of the crewmen called out, "but the captain needs to see you on deck."
"Very well. Tell him I'm on my way up," Daveth called out. "I'll... leave the two of you alone. I'll be back as soon as I am able. I promise."
"Take care, brother," Myrcella nodded.
Once Daveth exited the room, she was now alone with Jaime. He slowly clutched his arm and shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of what to say next.
"I know you didn't want to leave Dorne," he began. "But I'm glad you're coming home. Things... haven't been quite the same since you left."
Myrcella nods. She still looks nervous.
"And I'm glad Trystane's coming with us. He seems like a nice boy. You're lucky."
"I know," she answers.
Jaime felt his mind going blank. "Arranged marriages are rarely so, so... well-arranged."
Myrcella looked at him curiously. "Do you think Daveth likes him?"
"Ahh... ehhh, it's hard to say," he answered almost uncertain. "I guess it's difficult for an older brother to accept that his baby sister's all grown up, but... If he sees that you're happy, then I'm sure he will. I mean, have you ever known Daveth to like anyone, aside from you, Tommen, his wife and children?"
Myrcella laughs. "He has us," she counters.
"Not so sure about that. The definition of family's been changing a lot lately," he said awkwardly. Jaime scratched his head. "Listen... there's something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago."
Myrcella watches him, waiting. Normally Jaime is more confident in himself, not unusually tongue-tied. Whatever was on his mind definitely was hard for him to get out.
"Now that you've seen more of the world, you've learned how complicated things can be. People can be."
"I know. Sansa told me everything that's happened."
Jaime shook his head. "No, no, that's not it," he struggled to make sense. "The Lannisters and the Martells have hated each other for years, but you've fallen in love with Trystane."
Myrcella has no idea what Jaime's talking about but she just watches and listens patiently.
"It was an accident, really. I mean, what were the chances? You happened to fall in love with the man you were assigned to marry? My point is, we don't choose whom we love. It just... it's, well, it's beyond our control." Jaime stands and paces across the floor, acutely uncomfortable. "Seven hells, I sound like an idiot right now."
"No, you don't," she tells him.
"What I'm trying and failing to say—"
"I know what you're trying to tell me."
"No, I'm afraid you don't."
Myrcella stands up, her posture straight and in control of herself. Slowly, she approached Jaime and took his hands in hers. "I do. I know about you and mother," she told him. "I know that Robert Baratheon is not my real father."
Jaime stares at her, unsure what to make of this. He obviously doesn't know how to play this. "You... You did?" he asked.
"I think a part of me always knew. Daveth will always be my brother, but..." she stares up and smiles, "but I'm glad. I'm glad that you're my real father."
Ser Jaime Lannister felt as if the wind was knocked out of him. The fact that Myrcella told him without fear or hesitation that she was happy to know that he was indeed in fact her biological father. Despite the two sharing the same mother but not the same father, Daveth will always be in her eyes her 'big brother'. Myrcella wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his chest. Jaime holds her tight, kissing the top of her head, fighting to hold back tears in his eyes. He pulls back to look at her beautiful young face, to see the way she smiles at him the way she does with Daveth. For the first time in his life, Jaime finally understands the joy of fatherhood. And it's a pretty damn good feeling. "What about the others? If... if they find out the truth—" he asks.
Myrcella thinks long and hard. "If you and Daveth both fear for my safety, then we can carry on the façade, at least in public; but it'll be our little secret. I promise, father."
Still feeling a twinge of what-ifs, Jaime simply held his daughter in his arms again. He didn't want this moment to end. All the long-suppressed feelings the Kingslayer was forced to bury deep down, he didn't have to feel ashamed or distant anymore. He was finally happy.
Unbeknownst to them, Daveth remained on the other side of the door. He had heard everything. Lowering his head and shaking it quick, he quickly walked away from the cabin and proceeded to the upper deck of the ship. "And so the curtain rises. The opening number," he uttered to himself. "Take this moment to enjoy yourselves. Just don't make this any more difficult for me than it already is."