I was quiet as we walked away from the Spear Tower. Maybe it was how fast things had gotten out of hand, but thinking straight seemed harder than usual. Just this morning, I was doing simple drills with the lads on the ship, enjoying the rising sun as the crew did its work on the Fair Winds.
Now most of that crew was gone, cold and silent under the waves, Ser Gerion Lannister was next, and I found myself embroiled in some kind of Dornish drama involving its largest and most powerful houses. It wasn't even dark yet and everything had already gone to shit.
I could hardly blame myself for being overwhelmed. Careful planning while I sat in my little island in the Narrow Sea, then carrying it out inside the neat confines of a tourney was quite different from going out in the world where the unexpected had a penchant for hitting you in the face.
And that's without counting whatever Malora Hightower and her glass candle had been. Some magic would've come in handy earlier today against the pirate ships.
I almost froze in the middle of a hallway at that thought, and had to force myself to keep moving.
Gods, had it actually helped me? The fire had offered me a glimpse of two ships in the dark. It happened quickly and I couldn't make out their details, but given I had looked into the candle at night and we were sailing as two ships, I had just assumed they had been the Fair Winds and the Western Will.
I tried to remember the vessels' silhouettes in the candle vision and compared it to what I had seen of the longship and the pirate galley. Ships don't look quite that different from above, but it could definitely have been them too. Not a simple vision, then, a warning.
Had Malora sent it to me somehow? Or was it the candle's own doing as it showed me what I needed to see?
I had not made up my mind by the time we made it to Princess Elia's sitting room. It was quiet inside, cool and breezy. A hearth on the wall dominated the room, but given the day's heat had yet to fully dissipate, no fire crackled inside.
The princess seated herself opposite me as if readying herself for a game of cyvass. Ashara stood by the window, arms crossed, eyes distant.
"This did not begin with this pirate of yours," Elia started. "Nor with Ser Gerion. It began weeks ago."
She spun me a right tale about her mother's illness, Lord Ormond Yronwood's growing pressure, his demand that Oberyn not be allowed to return to the capital.
I had almost slapped myself when she said his name. He was the person I knew the most about in Dorne, yet with everything happening, I had not given him a single thought. Granted, the tale of his soft exile from his homeland had reached all across the Seven Kingdoms, and even in Tarth we knew about the scandal around him and Lord Edgar Yronwood's mistress. And how that ended too.
In my mind, he should be somewhere in far off Essos at this point, so his existence had completely escaped me. And then there was Prince Doran. I realized, with a twinge of unease, that I had not seen him at all. His mother still lived, barely, which meant he was not yet ruler. But he was the heir. Shouldn't he have been more involved in this situation?
Then Princess Elia told me how things stood in the moment. Lord Yronwood's five hundred men camped brazenly between Sunspear and the Water Gardens, where the Red Viper had managed to smuggle himself into.
Apparently, more than a week ago, the Bloodroyal had put out ships to scour the nearby sea lanes for any vessel approaching Dorne that might carry Oberyn. And now, with the prince already in the Water Gardens, his men were stopping any from coming and going on the road between the Gardens and Sunspear.
"My brother is many things," Elia said quietly. "Unpredictable and prideful, yes, but Oberyn is also one of the most intelligent men I know. His mind is as sharp as his spear. And when it comes to poisons, none in Dorne can compare, even at his age. If anyone could identify what is killing Ser Gerion, it is him."
"And Yronwood won't allow him to return," I concluded.
She nodded. "He claims Oberyn's presence would be an insult he cannot abide. He asks for concessions: lands, trading rights, charters. My mother is too ill to rule, and without her word—"
"You're trapped," I said.
"Yes."
The pieces slid into place in my mind, an ugly game that we had simply stumbled onto.
"He learned one of his hired men went rogue," I said, almost thinking out loud. "Poisoned a Lannister, of all things. If the pirate spoke, it would lead back to him, or at least to his ships. So he silenced him."
Elia's eyes closed briefly. "So I believe."
Her answer was simple again, but I could see how badly this had been affecting her. The tension on her shoulders, the lines around her eyes. Still, she seemed strong enough to carry the weight without collapsing under it.
"And in doing so," I said, my voice hardening, "he may have killed Ser Gerion as well."
"Unless Oberyn can return." That was Ashara from the window, glancing over at me with her striking purple eyes.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. "I don't understand," I said to the Princess. "He's brought an army to your doorstep. Attacked your sea trade with his ships. Threatened a Martell prince. It's treason. Why haven't you called your banners? Why isn't he rotting in a dungeon at this very moment?"
Elia shook her head. "It's not so simple. Yronwood is not without his allies in court, nor is he outright rebelling. Many would be reluctant to raise arms against fellow Dornish lords for what they see as a private dispute between great houses. They fear what being caught in the middle would mean for them."
My jaw ground together. Of course. The answer to all things, I was starting to understand, was always politics. Should a smaller house back one side, they might make a life-long enemy with the other. When this crisis was settled, Yronwood and Martell would still stand, powerful and influential regardless of the outcome. And what might these big sharks do with the minnows that dared go against them?
"What of Prince Doran?" I asked. He did not seem like the kind of man who would abide a threat to his family's rule and authority like this.
Ashara snorted softly, while Elia just bit her lip. "Doran is… careful. Too careful, some would say. He might act—might, but he has chosen not to. Not yet."
She tried not to speak ill of her brother, but I could tell how bothered she was by this.
I shook my head. It was ludicrous, but that also sounded much like the Doran I knew. Always cautious, always reluctant to play his cards, perhaps to the point of indolency. Just never thought it would end up affecting my own situation.
My mind supplied me with a treacherous thought, then. I could simply do nothing. This wasn't about me at all, in fact. I could just forget about my tiny little ship. Forget about Yronwood and Martell. Forget about poisoned Lannisters dying in a foreign land. I could gather my lads, charter a ship to take us to Tarth, and let the dominoes fall where they may, screw everyone else.
I could do it. But the moment the idea even came into my mind, I knew I wouldn't.
I looked back to Elia. "Where is Lord Ormond?" I asked.
"My brother is holding court," she said, "and Lord Ormond likes to make his presence well known to all in Sunspear."
I was already on my feet.
"Where are you going?" Ashara asked, stepping closer.
"You say Prince Oberyn might save Ser Gerion," I said. "And the only thing stopping him is Lord Yronwood."
Ashara's eyes widened as understanding dawned. I met Elia's gaze squarely.
"I don't care about Dornish politics," I said. "I don't care about mistresses or pride or old feuds. A good man is dying. I'll speak to the Bloodroyal myself, and I'll have Oberyn at Gerion Lannister's side before the night is done."
xxx
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