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 Priapus, Marethyu, Beans
The Unbound
Chapter 09: Pact
– Margaery Tyrell –
Chaos.
That was the current scene in the meeting room, as the small council, royal family, and the highborn guests all argued and pointed fingers. Her grandmother mocked and insulted, Tywin growled back, Varys whispered in that soft voice of his, all while the King grumbled and shouted at anyone and everyone he could think to blame for this. Varys got the most of it, having failed to learn of this plot, but he was spreading his fury around the room liberally.
She sat beside Orys, and she wished she could claim she was playing the part of the frightened girl, but she couldn't. Her heart pounded in her chest, and only the way she was holding onto Orys' arm was helping calm her nerves. She'd known there would be a chance that her position would put a target on her head, but knowing it and experiencing it were two different things. She'd nearly died, completely at ease and too busy glaring at Arianne to realise the real danger.
Varys had, with Orys' permission, tested her betrothed's senses with a variety of poisons, and they'd realised that Orys had amazing senses. He was able to pick up almost every time, except a single odourless one, the Tears of Lys. She mentally put Varys several steps higher on the list of people she feared, thanks to how easily he had procured almost a dozen different poisons. What mattered was that Orys could prove that it was no fluke; he could truly smell even the slightest change in the drinks or food he was presented with.
"Enough."
The voice cut through the room like thunder, despite the relative quietness of his tone. It wasn't angry, it was tired as they all turned to Orys, who had risen from his seat and slammed his hand down on the table.
"This is getting us nowhere. We've been here for over an hour, and yet to achieve anything beyond petty insults," Orys continued, sitting back down. "Varys. What have you learned?"
Varys paused, looking over at the King, but the King did not take offence to Orys taking control. In fact, he leaned back, his reddened face relaxing with a look of pride.
"We've identified the poison, and the serving staff have been apprehended. The poison is one created from the venom of a rare snake found deep in the Dornish Sands. Its effects are quite fatal, I'm afraid. Lady Tyrell would have been beyond help had she drunk it," Varys simpered, briefly going into detail about how it would have killed her before a look from Orys got him to stop. "As for the serving staff, I'm afraid the rather lax security of the Tournament has complicated matters. The kitchens were off-limits, but many nobles and knights had entered and helped themselves. As you know, separate goblets were made for each figure of import, and the one that was intended for Lady Margaery was left unattended in the chaos. I have interrogated the servant who poured the wine, but I do believe that the poison was already within the goblet beforehand. As for the suspects?"
"It is worth mentioning, our Dornish… guests split up shortly after arriving. Prince Oberyn brought along his infamous Sand Snakes, who have been seen in almost every part of the tourney grounds since. Prince Oberyn's paramour and one of his daughters are amongst those who entered the kitchen area," Baelish cut in smoothly, getting an annoyed look from Varys. "The Sand Snakes are known for their use of poison, and the Dornishmen are equally infamous for using such… underhanded methods. Prince Oberyn himself studied at the Citadel and has travelled much of the free cities, gathering quite the knowledge of poisons in his travels and studies."
"A fair point, but I prefer to assume my enemies weren't dropped on their heads as children," Orys sighed, a flash of anger crossing Baelish's face. "A Dornish Prince trying to kill a member of a family that already hates him, with a Dornish poison, only hours after introducing his niece to me? Perhaps this is a double-bluff, but I find it unlikely that he'd paint such a target on his own back with such an obvious play."
Tywin gave his grandson a long look, a mixture of pride and suspicion on his face. Her grandmother snorted darkly at Orys' words.
"Unless the Man-Whore of Dorne has caught something that's rotted his mind as well as his manhood, he wouldn't be so blatant. I despise that venomous brat, but this? This reeks of something clumsier. I expect better from the vipers," Olenna finally added, annoyed at having to come to Oberyn's defence. Her tone carried a sharp insult, as if to call anyone who would buy such a theory an imbecile.
"A fair point, but sometimes the obvious needs to be stated," Baelish continued, his smile firmly back in place. "It could certainly be someone aiming to see Dorne take the fall, or the Princess they brought along. Her interest in our Crown Prince was fairly clear to anyone watching, and she lacks her uncle's subtlety."
"Grandfather taught me that the first thing to do when dealing with a scheme like this is to work out who stands to gain from it. Unfortunately, that's a long list," Orys sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Every House with an unmarried daughter that they could try to make the next Queen, to start. Anyone who wants to weaken the crown by preventing such an advantageous marriage. Anyone who wants to weaken the Tyrells, including the other Reach houses, who might wish to take House Tyrell's place as the Lord Paramount of the Reach. I'm afraid we'd have an easier time listing the people who don't have anything to gain from this. Margaery's death, at such a prodigious event, in the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, would have caused utter chaos. House Lannister would seem incompetent at best, given that this tournament was almost entirely planned by them. The Crown would appear weak and vulnerable if my future bride died right next to me at a tourney held in my honour. Even the best case would muddy relations between House Tyrell and the Crown for years to come."
"Chaos is a ladder, your Highness. There are many who would have had the chance to reap the rewards while the Kingdom spiralled," Baelish continued smoothly.
"Chaos is a pit, Baelish," Tywin cut in, a deep scowl on his face. "This came far too close to succeeding. A single accident could have seen that goblet end up in the wrong hands, and all four royal children were in that box."
"Agreed. Anyone brazen enough to try and kill Margaery in the middle of the day, while she's by my side, isn't going to be deterred by a single failure, and I fear that the next attempt may be even less subtle," Orys pointed out, sending a shudder through her.
"As the future Queen, her protection falls to the Crown, does it not?" Baelish asked, making Olenna scoff.
"We've seen how useful their protection is. Margaery is of House Tyrell, and House Tyrell will protect their own," Olenna barked back, the scene devolving into another argument over the matter of her, and everyone else's, security. Orys squeezed her hand, giving her a reassuring smile as he rose again.
"Margaery is going to be my wife, and I will not take a chance with her protector," Orys finally cut in. "She needs a Sworn Shield, one that I know has only her best interests in mind. As that list is incredibly small, the answer is clear. Loras will serve as her guard. He has made his interest in being my Sworn Shield apparent, but he'll have to settle for guarding my future wife. Unless you have any objections, Lady Tyrell?"
Her grandmother paused before huffing quietly. Margaery couldn't tell if Olenna was impressed or annoyed at Orys, but she settled down all the same.
"Are you sure that is wise, your highness?" Pycelle asked quietly. "While his skill is not in question, his youthful inexperience makes him a questionable choice, even ignoring the scandalous rumours surrounding him…"
"I don't care what gets his cock hard, I care that he keeps Margaery safe. He's one of the few people I can say for certain has nothing to gain from her death," Orys countered bluntly, his usually tactful words falling away. He was clearly stressed, but handling it well.
"Loras will do the job," Olenna agreed, before anyone else could speak. "He's a prancing show-off, but he knows when to take things seriously. He had better, because if anything happens to Margaery on his watch, I'd send him to the wall myself."
The room went silent for a moment before Robert let out a laugh, slapping his hand on the table.
"Seven hells, boy. You've grown a pair, haven't you?" The King asked with a proud grin on his face, making Orys chuckle. "Just back from the Lion's den and already ready to take over the place."
"My apologies for taking over, Father, but this was aimed at my betrothed, a tourney in my honour. My pride demands I handle this," Orys replied, making his father chuckle despite the serious situation.
"Well said. Any order that comes from Orys has my weight behind it, you hear me?" Robert ordered, looking over the Council for a moment.
"A great weight indeed," Orys replied, making Robert blink before he laughed again and slapped his belly with a resounding thud. "Thank you, Father."
"You'll do me proud, boy. Now, I need a fucking piss. Varys, get to the bottom of this. The fuck is the point of all those bloody birds of yours if they don't fucking sing," Robert ordered as he rose, leaving the room without any fanfare.
"Varys, arrange for a food taster for Margaery and me. This was too damn close, and I won't take any chances," Orys ordered, making Varys bow softly. "The tournament is to continue as planned. I won't show weakness by letting this disrupt an event so heavily observed. The Seven Kingdoms and beyond are watching us, and I will not let us appear weak. That said, I expect the guards to be doubled, nobody is to go near the food or cutlery without a damn good reason. I don't care if it's a squire or a prince; if they aren't part of the serving staff, they don't belong in the kitchens. And I want a list of everyone who entered the kitchen areas without good cause to be there."
"At once, your Highness," Varys agreed softly. "I must say, authority becomes you, my Prince. Perhaps even more so than it does your father."
He wasn't wrong, even if he was clearly flattering Orys. Orys looked good when he was taking charge. As the meeting came to an end, he turned to her and placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.
"I imagine you'll want to be with your family, and I have work I need to take care of. Be well, Margaery. I've grown fond of having you by my side, and don't want that to change," Orys said, making her smile softly at him.
"Be careful yourself, my prince. The kingdoms would be a far worse place without you in them," Margaery replied, giving him a hug and placing a kiss on his cheek, brushing against his lips before she parted with him, returning to her Grandmother's side.
Tywin did not look pleased, but when did he ever?
Her grandmother led them to the rooms the Tyrell party had claimed, taking a seat with a huff and a grumble.
"I'd say I was impressed by how quickly you got Orys wrapped around your fingers, if you weren't just as entangled," Olenna finally grunted, making Margaery blush slightly at her grandmother's almost accusing words. "You, girl. Go find Loras and bring him over here. I don't care if he's thrusting his sword in Renly's tight sheath or too busy pouting over a girl beating him up, drag him here."
One of her distant relatives flinched at Olenna's order, disappearing to find her brother even as the rest of the retinue giggled awkwardly at Olenna's words.
"The rest of you, out. Now," Olenna ordered, the room clearing with practised ease. The Highgarden party were used to following her whims, and it showed. "Sit, girl. The Dornish Princess, tell me about her."
"Do you think Arianne was behind it?" Margaery asked, making Olenna scoff.
"No. Or maybe. Wouldn't put it past one of those vipers, but she's low on my list. No, I don't think the girl wants to kill you. She just wants to cuckold you," Olenna huffed, scowling. "Even from my box, I could see the way the tart was flashing her breasts at him with every chance. She could have sat in his lap and whispered sweet nothings into his ear, and it'd have been about as subtle. By Dornish standards, I suppose she was subtle. She even kept her clothes on."
Blushing slightly, she spoke. Olenna listened, grunting and humming as Margaery told her grandmother everything that had been said and how Arianne had been acting.
"She's looking for a man, and the greedy bitch is aiming for the top," Olenna finally said. "I heard Doran has been presenting her to men who'd look old next to me. Wonder what the bastard is scheming? She should be betrothed already, and yet there's no Prince Consort in sight. Arianne is scheming something, looking for supporters, but why?"
Margaery didn't respond, knowing that her grandmother was talking to herself.
"Bah, as if this mess wasn't bad enough, we have them pouring sand into the murky waters," Olenna finally grumbled. "At least Oberyn is as easy to read as a children's book. The man is here for blood. He doesn't give a damn about this mess, he wants vengeance."
"For his sister?" Margaery asked, making her grandmother nod.
"Oberyn has had one focus since Elia died: revenge. I know a man consumed when I see one. I was half expecting him to lunge into the Lannister box and start stabbing when the grizzly old lion pulled his mountain and manticore out of the tourney," Olenna explained. "Of course, if half of what they say happened to Elia and her dragon spawn before her death is true, I can't say I'm surprised. One of the girls saw that whore of his slinking around near the Lannister tents while the Red Viper was putting on his show. I almost pity whichever fool she ensnared, because more than his balls got drained."
Margaery flushed red at that, but Olenna just continued.
"Keep an eye on Arianne, and don't let her get Orys alone," Olenna finally ordered. "She'll sink her fangs into him without a moment of hesitation, and the Martells have embarrassed us enough."
"Orys is honourable, he wouldn't-"
"You know who people say is the most honourable man in the Seven Kingdoms? Eddard Stark. Our stern, honourable Hand of the King. Did Sansa or Arya mention their bastard half-brother? Every man is honourable until they've got a pair of fat breasts in their face and a dripping cunt begging to be stuffed," Olenna retorted with a roll of her eyes. "Let him get a taste of that Dornish fruit, and it'll be like trying to pull him out of quicksand."
Her response was interrupted by the arrival of Loras, who barely got into the room before Olenna was giving him orders and informing him of his new position.
She didn't believe her grandmother was correct, just this once. Orys wasn't so easily tempted… and yet, this was subtle by Dornish standards. How long until Arianne decided to be more blatant?
By the Gods, she really hated Arianne Martell. She almost hoped it was Arianne who had tried to kill her.
– Cersei Baratheon –
"He's growing up well," Cersei said, making Robert laugh.
"I might not like the grim old bastard, but your father did a good job fostering him," Robert admitted after a moment. "Do you think old Tywin tried to kill Margaery?"
"No. It wouldn't be so blatant if it were Father," Cersei replied bluntly, making him snort. "Orys is… gifted, isn't he?"
"Gifted? The boy is blessed. Smelling poison, I had Varys show me and I couldn't smell a damn thing but the wine," Robert laughed. "The Gods must love Orys."
"Indeed," Cersei agreed, looking over Robert carefully. She'd gotten good at reading him, and now was the time to strike as she saw the clear pride on his face. "Perhaps we should truly see what Orys can do?"
Robert paused, turning to her with a curious look.
"Orys is going to be King, one day. One day soon, I fear, given your feasting and hunting," Cersei pointed out, making Robert grunt. He knew he wasn't healthy, and the Maesters couldn't get him to diet or slow down his drinking. It was only a matter of time until his body gave out. Robert would rather die young, fat and happy than live to be old and miserable. "Orys performed well today, so perhaps we should let him get some practice in for the day the crown falls onto his head. Step back, leave Orys in charge."
Robert hesitated, and she could tell his mind was on the Greyjoys and the missing Targaryen siblings.
"We'll still be here, Robert. I'm not suggesting we throw him into the ocean and let him drown. Just let him handle the Small Council meetings and holding court," Cersei continued quickly, and she could see she was appealing to him. He didn't enjoy the duties that came with ruling, which had worked to her benefit over the years, and leaving it to his more capable son was tempting. Especially without Jon Arryn here to try to convince Robert to do the responsible thing.
"Maybe," Robert finally said. "He'll need the practice, and it'll be good to see if Tywin taught him anything but counting coppers. How is Bella doing?"
"She's settling in well. She understands what an opportunity this is and is throwing herself into her lessons. She'll be ready to be Orys' personal maid soon enough," Cersei reported, quite proud of how that project was going. Robert's bastard would make a useful enough tool. "Mya is on her way as well. Are you going to meet with them? For someone who was eager to have Bella brought here, you've gone out of your way to avoid her."
"I am, damn it. I just don't know what to say. Bella, my daughter, has been selling her ass for coppers because I didn't think. If I'd gone back to Stoney Sept, I might have taken her for a tumble without even knowing she was mine," Robert said, a hint of shame in his tone. "How do I talk to her?"
"You can't avoid her forever, especially if she'll be with Orys often. Talk to her soon, while she's still on the high of being freed from her destitute life. She knows you didn't know about her until recently," Cersei suggested, making him groan even as he nodded.
"What in the hells was Jon thinking, not telling me?" Robert complained, but she didn't respond. Robert had reluctantly grown up over the years, lessening his drinking and whoring over their marriage. If Jon had told Robert when he'd found out, would Robert have even cared? She didn't think so.
"He was trying to protect you from the consequences of your own actions. To his dying day, he treated you like the boy you were when you were sent to be fostered," Cersei pointed out, stroking his hair as he laughed.
"Because I acted like that boy, damn it," Robert admitted. "Orys is gonna be a fine King."
"That he is," Cersei agreed, her mind on the way Orys had taken charge. He was regal in ways that Robert had never really pulled off. "I'm going to make sure he's okay. He's grown awfully fond of Margaery already, and came close to losing her."
Robert's face fell, his eyes lingering on her form-fitting dress for a moment, his desires apparent. He'd fought, he'd feasted and now he wanted to fuck.
"Don't look so down. You are… predictable, my dear, and fortunately, this grand event has brought many plying their trade. I've arranged for two courtesans from Braavos to keep you company," Cersei purred, her hand sliding down his chest before she stepped away, whistling sharply. Robert's eyes widened at the sight of the door opening, the pair of exotic women in translucent silks stepping in.
It was best if she controlled his libido, knowing exactly who he was putting his cock into. She would not risk anymore bastards, and while he had lessened his whoring, he'd never fully got it under control. He was a man ruled by his desires.
"What did I do to deserve a woman like you?" Robert asked as she smiled
"You won a war, my dear," Cersei reminded him, making him laugh. Before he could respond, she slipped out of the room and down the corridor, her mind on Orys.
– Orys Baratheon –
With the gift of Hircine, slipping away isn't overly difficult, even as the crown prince. Stealth is a part of the hunt, and losing my followers was easy enough as I track down my prey. This isn't the wilds, and I don't have a bow, but tracking is similar enough whether through marshlands, the darkest forests or the city.
Baelish cannot hide his guilt from me. I don't yet know the how, or the why, but I could sense the way his aura darkened and the shard of fear stabbing into him when Margaery survived. Is it just because I'm closing in on his con? Did he do all this just to provide a distraction?
Varys was unsurprised, but unbothered by her survival. He remains the biggest mystery. Arianne was genuinely shocked and even fearful, as the poisoned goblet could have easily been hers. I think she considered taking Margaery's goblet in some petty power play. Grandfather was disappointed that Margaery survived, but also surprised at the attempt. No, Baelish was the one person drenched in paranoia and anger at my gift saving Margaery.
But I can't just say that Mephala's gift revealed his guilt; I need to expose his actions before I can punish him. The issue is that I do not trust the eunuch as far as I could throw the Mountain. The taint of dragon around him puts me on edge. He's playing his own game, and I can't rely on him.
Arriving at my destination on the tourney grounds, I smile to myself. It's surprisingly easy to go unnoticed when you want to, all it takes is a small change in attire and even a prince can move undisturbed. Entering the tent, I pause as a knife is placed to my throat, the tent going silent.
"Orys? Nymeria, put that away!" Arianne demands, shock and disbelief on her face as I remove my hood. The eyes of the Sand Snake holding the knife widen at Arianne's word, realising she just pulled a knife on the crown prince. Her skin goes pale, eyes widening as I look down at the knife. I knew the risks I was taking, and simply turn to Oberyn who is in the centre of the tent, fully armoured and with his spear by his side. He was expecting guards coming to come and arrest him, but knows that if he flees, he would look doubly guilty.
"On edge, Viper?" I ask, making Oberyn pause before he shrugs in an almost playful way, leaning on his spear.
"One can't be too careful when the game is on," Oberyn says with a smile. "I was expecting company, but I can't say I thought you'd be the one to visit us. Sorry about Nymeria, she's always been a little jumpy."
"I can't say I've ever been held at knifepoint before, but there's a first for everything," I say with an easy smile, making them relax slightly. I could have his bastard daughter put down for this, even without the poisoning being taken into account.
"Ah, you never forget your first," Oberyn jokes, lounging. "Have you come for some more firsts? I'd be happy to show you a few things, if that Highgarden rose isn't to your liking."
"I have," I say, briefly making him pause and blink in shock before I continue. "I've never made a secret alliance before either, care to be my first?"
"You're surprisingly fun for a boy raised by the grizzly old lion," Oberyn jokes, but his posture becomes more serious. "And what would bring the crown prince to the likes of me for help?"
"You know someone tried to frame you for Margaery's assassination," I say simply, making him nod seriously.
"I'm almost impressed. Not many knew I was even coming here, and that poison isn't so easily procured. I doubt even your pet spider had some lying around," Oberyn said, before laughing. "And what makes you so sure that it wasn't me? Brave of you to wander into my tent, away from your guards."
"Let's just say I'm a good judge of character, Prince Oberyn. You're here for blood, but not mine and certainly not Margaery's," I retort, making him go still. "You're here for Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch. You're here to avenge Elia Martell and her two children."
"Two butchers who have no right to be breathing, let alone running around calling themselves knights," Oberyn agrees, his handsome face falling into a deep snarl for just a moment before he composes himself. "Protected by your grandfather and rewarded by your father for the rape and murder of my sister, the butchering of my niece and nephew."
"I know. My father let his hatred of Targaryens blind him, and my grandfather positioned himself too well for them to be punished when tempers had cooled. You need not preach to me about the Mountain's cruelty, I've seen it first hand, not to the worst extent, but enough to know that he is no knight," I say, watching Oberyn's eyebrow rise. Arianne perks up, looking between us.
"What do you want, Prince?" Oberyn asks, his posture relaxed but his eyes focused.
"I need someone who can play the game to expose the man I am almost certain is responsible, but I can't trust Varys, and almost everyone else I could go to for aid is leashed to someone else or unsuited for this kind of work. You aren't, and better yet, nobody would assume that we are in league with one another," I admit, seeing the minor amusement on his face. "And in return, I'll get you what you came here for. The heads of Clegane and Lorch."
Oberyn sits up at that, all relaxation and amusement gone.
"You think your grandfather would allow that?" Oberyn asks, making me narrow my eyes.
"I am the crown prince. One day, I will be king. He doesn't need to allow me to do anything. Leave him to me. Either he will willingly send them to their deaths, or I will order it myself. I swear to the Old Gods and the New, if I can't arrange it before I become King, then my first royal order will be to strip them of their titles and then their heads. They're a stain on the honour of the House Lannister and Baratheon," I swear, and Oberyn stares me down for a long moment. The entire tent goes silent, the Sand Snakes, Ellaria and Arianne, all watching with bated breath.
"Your grandfather was the one to give the orders," Oberyn says, making me nod my head.
"I have no doubt he was, but he didn't order their deaths. I know you hate him, but I know him well. Princess Elia was too valuable for him to order her execution, and certainly not in such a disgusting way," I counter, watching him scoff. "But he couldn't appear weak in front of the new King and the other Houses. He couldn't admit that Gregor was a rabid dog that he couldn't control. He'd rather appear cruel than weak, so he never outright admitted or denied his part."
This is a dangerous game. The webs being spun here could easily entangle and then strangle me. My tone is calm, my posture relaxed, but I can't deny that I'm nervous.
"Who do you think is behind this?" Oberyn finally asks.
"Peter Baelish," I reply, watching him pause with genuine surprise. "I can't explain how I know, only that it is the same reason I truly believe you are innocent. I can't order his death with no evidence, lest I appear the second coming of the Mad King. I suspect he played a part in the death of the Greyjoy heir, which started their new rebellion as well. He knows I'm closing in on proving that he's been stealing a truly exorbitant amount from the Crown, and suddenly distraction after distraction piles up in front of me."
"You are playing a dangerous game, Prince Orys," Oberyn finally says, making me smile.
"One day, I will be King. I intend to fix my father's mistakes and remove the stains upon my Houses. If I can start early, then all the better," I say, watching him carefully. "Help me prove Baelish is guilty, and I'll give you your vengeance, Red Viper."
"I want to be the one to kill them," Oberyn demands, and I nod.
"Done," I agree, uncaring of who lands the final blow. This isn't the North. I have no qualms about sentencing someone to death and having someone else be the one to do it. Frankly, I have no desire to be within arm's reach of the Mountain.
"Careful, Prince. I'll hold you to that," Oberyn finally says, before grinning as he relaxes again. The tension bleeds from his body, a playful look taking its place. "You have your ally, Prince Orys. If the Littlefinger is the one stirring up this mess, I'll find your proof."
"You really think you can get Tywin Lannister to willingly give up those two?" Arianne asks with an intense look in her eyes.
"I can," I say, my voice confident. I've spent most of my life by his side, learning what makes Tywin Lannister tick. I know what he desires. I know what keeps him up at night.
"I expected my visit to King's Landing to be an exciting one, but this place always has a surprise in store for me," Oberyn laughs, a gleeful smile on his face. I'd call it childish if it wasn't caused by the thought of spilling the blood of his enemies.
"Perhaps we should celebrate our new alliance, my love? I'm sure we could teach the young prince a great many things about the benefits of Dornish passion," Ellaria teases, lounging against her paramour. Her movement causes her dress, already revealing beyond the point of propriety, to fall open further, fully exposing one of her full breasts.
"A tempting offer, Lady Sand, but I'm afraid I must decline. As tempting as you are, I wouldn't be so cruel to my betrothed," I reply, managing to keep eye contact despite the view. Mephala holds the domain of sex, and I can't deny that my bond with her has lit a fire within me, but I have more self-control than that. My respectful tone gets a surprised look from most, but I'm not going to insult Oberyn's lover. She's effectively his consort and should be treated as such.
"Perhaps you should bring her along next time," Oberyn suggests, and I can tell he's only half joking.
"Perhaps. For now, I have been gone for too long. I need to get back before I kick off a full-scale search," I say with a chuckle. "It's been a pleasure, Prince Oberyn, I'm sure we'll be seeing more of one another soon enough."
– Oberyn Nymeros Martell –
As Orys slipped away, he let his smile fade to a more thoughtful look.
"Do you think he meant it?" Ellaria asked, making Oberyn nod.
"Nymeria just gave him everything he needed to destroy us. He laughed it off," Oberyn pointed out, waving off his daughter's apology before she could even start it. "He wasn't telling us everything, but he meant everything he said about Baelish and our prey. He's got a fury of his own, and Baelish has earned his ire."
In truth, there was one reason that he was truly planning to go through with this arrangement.
Viserys Targaryen was dead.
Illyrio and Varys did not know that he was aware of this, but he had his own sources in the Free Cities. He suspected he had learnt before even Doran had.
The pact his brother had made so long ago was broken. With no Viserys, they had no way of putting Arianne on the Iron Throne as his wife. Given the rumours that Viserys had died in a failed attempt to rape his own sister, Oberyn would shed no tears for the Beggar Prince.
As for Daenerys herself? Even with the Dothraki behind her, she wouldn't be accepted by the Seven Kingdoms; he already knew that. Married to a barbarian horse lord, a Kinslayer (no matter how justified) and a woman who had grown up away from these lands. She did not know their customs; she couldn't even marry into another House to gain their support as her maidenhood had been sold to a Dothraki warlord. The other Kingdoms cared about such things far more than Dorne did. With the Baratheon rule going strong, very few would risk supporting her. It seemed their scheme had died before it could ever truly take shape.
He did not know what Doran would do now that their years of planning had failed. What he did know was that his sister's vengeance was long overdue. Doran would not approve, but Doran would not find out until it was too late. Such was the life.
So, he would do as the crown prince asked and see how the man reacted. If Orys broke his word, he would know to continue the plan to overthrow the Baratheon usurpers. If Orys kept his word and delivered him the heads of the men who had defiled and murdered his sister and her children?
Maybe, maybe, it was time for Dorne to return to the fold. Either way, his agreement with Orys only spoke of this little squabble with Baelish, a man who had tried to frame him for the murder of a beautiful rose, ready to be plucked. Whatever came after was a different matter entirely.
"So, what are you going to do?" Arianne asked, making him smile darkly.
"Either way, someone is trying to frame Dorne for Margaery Tyrell's murder. I take offence at that. If I can clear our name and get the justice we've been owed for so many years, then how could I do anything less?" Oberyn asked, his mind already scheming on how to use this.
Even as he planned, he couldn't help but wonder. What gave Orys such certainty that he was innocent? There was more to the Prince than he had heard, and he couldn't wait to dig deep and learn what tricks Orys had.
– Orys Baratheon –
My temporary disappearance certainly raised some eyebrows, but at the end of the day, I didn't go far.
Sitting in my chambers, I focus on my power. There is something I need… well, want, which will make the next step of my plan go by far smoother. Mephala, for all her power, can't help me get it. Neither can Hircine, as it isn't the type of thing he has any desire to hunt.
So, I reached out to the space beyond our plane to find one who could.
Opening my eyes, I stare at the raven as it watches me with unblinking red eyes.
Lady Nocturnal, the Mistress of Shadows, stares back before the raven takes flight, heading off to keep her end of the pact. Baelish is a thief, but I'm afraid he's an amateur compared to the Lady of Twilight. If anyone can find what I'm looking for, it is her.
I know the other Daedric Princes are growing impatient. While I have opened the door for Hircine and Mephala, the others are trying to slip in through the windows, limited in their effect, but I can feel the ripples. They feel slighted that I haven't made pacts with them, and the longer I ignore them, the more they will try to batter down the door.
Mephala claims Boethiah and Meridia are both making schemes that will benefit me, as part of their plans to get a pact, but the others? They are not the type who take kindly to being ignored.
Except Hircine, who doesn't really care either way. I can sense he's been having fun in the North, where his influence is the strongest, but he finds the political games boring and has been ignoring me until I'm ready to hunt again.
I can't deny the itch. Part of why I didn't call off the tournament is that I want to take part in the archery contest. It isn't quite the same, but the hunter within craves freedom.
— Bonus Scene — Dacey Mormont
The screams around her made her head swim, hot blood pouring down the side of her face. it was just a glancing blow, the mace of one of the Ironborn raiders catching her before she could fully dodge out of the way.
It was inevitable, a tale as old as time. The Ironborn had been raiding Bear Island since the dawn of House Mormont. The Ironborn had lost the island to King Rodrik Stark, and they had never taken it well. For hundreds of years, her people had been subject to raid after raid by the scum. It was why every woman on Bear Island knew how to wield a weapon. Whenever the men of Bear Island were called to war, the Ironborn would use it to raid, rape, and pillage.
You either learnt to defend yourself, or you were taken. She'd grown up hearing horror stories of the fates of the women taken to be made into salt wives. When other girls were given dolls, she'd been given a morningstar.
Her morningstar was somewhere a few feet away, as an Ironborn foot had stuck her in the stomach and sent her tumbling down to the ground. She hadn't fallen easily, several dead raiders around her, but in the end she had fallen all the same.
"Fucking bear bitch," one of them spat, pain in his voice. His words were garbled from the broken jaw, pain clear in his tone as his foot struck her in the side of her injured face.
She'd seen raids before. This was on a scale she'd never even heard of, even from the times of the Greyjoy rebellion. The Ironborn scum had hit hard and fast, their arrival shrouded by a thick fog. Half the defenders were dead before they'd even realised there was an attack at all.
"Grab the bitch," one of them shouted, and as they approached, she threw her entire being into fighting back. She knew what fate would befall her if she let them take her. Her fist smashed into the nose of the closest, sending him stumbling back, much to the laughter and jeers of his allies.
Without her weapon, and outnumbered, her fight was fierce but ultimately for naught as she was beaten to the ground, her face bloodied and her body bruised. She didn't stop fighting until her body wouldn't respond anymore, unwilling to be their victim.
"You killed my nephew, bear whore," a cruel voice said, her head swimming as desperation filled her. A large, coarse hand grabbed her by the hair, dragging her toward the longboats they had arrived on. "Grab some ropes, this bitch still has her fangs. The rest of you, head up to the long hall. Grab anything and anyone worth it, burn the rest. The Drowned God shrouds us, but not for long."
Her eyes widened, her head turning to where she could see the raiders moving up toward Mormont Keep. Her mother was no doubt out fighting, despite her age, but her sisters…
She knew what fate they all faced, the degradation and torment in their future, and as she pictured her little sisters in such a state, something in her snapped.
Many of her people had spoken of Hrokkibeg, the Mighty Bear. She had ignored them. She paid homage to the Old Gods, but this new worship of Hircine was not something that had caught her attention or interest.
And yet, as her blood burned hot in her veins, as her pain subsided, she felt it. The bond between her, her House, her island, and Hircine.
Hrokkibeg was not a violent beast, it was one of solitude and rest, but when provoked?
She felt herself rise, breaking free of the raider's grip, causing him to turn, clearly intending to strike her again. He froze, and she saw the fear on his face as she lunged, watching a large, clawed hand tear through the man's leathers to disembowel him.
Two massive furred paws grabbed the pirate, and ripped as his upper body was torn from his waist. Turning to the raiders heading for her home, she let out a roar and charged toward them, hearing the screams as she bounded on all fours towards them, closing the distance in an instant.
The red haze over her mind blinded her to anything but the threat to her family in front of her, blades and arrows piercing her hide as she roared in fury, uncaring of her injuries. She heard a rallying cry, the voice familiar, reassuring, but she ignored it to focus on the threat to her den.
Hrokkibeg was with her, Hrokkibeg was part of her, and with each slaughtered raider, Hircine laughed.
As the last fell, so too did she, the pain returning as fur and claws were replaced with skin and fingers, collapsing to the ground with an exhausted smile. She could taste the blood and flesh of the raiders on her tongue, she could feel their blood soaking her nude form, but all that mattered was that her family were safe.
"Stop gawking at my daughter's backside and get her something to cover up with, damn it," her mother's voice shouted, the sound of someone being slapped over the head reaching her as Dacey laughed tiredly. "Dacey? Dacey, are you okay?"
She tried to respond, but her body and mind failed her as she felt herself slip into hibernation.
In her dreams, she ran through the plains and the forests on all fours, always chasing the figure she knew she had to catch, the crowned stag always ahead of her, too fast for her to reach, even while it called to her very soul.