HOTAH
A warning had come to Dorne on raven wings, writ small and sealed with a blog of purple wax. The Maester Caleotte brought it directly to Prince Doran and his brother whilst they sat together in the prince's solar. Areo Hotah watched the man with cold regard as he entered, hand firmly set on the ash shaft of his axe.
The Maester gave a bow to both Doran and Oberyn, before setting the letter on the desk at which the brothers sat. Prince Doran thanked the man and sent him on his way, staring at the piece of parchment that lay curled up before him. His younger brother lazed about in a chair, casually drinking from a cup of wine. Hotah watched him closest of all.
"It is from King's Landing," the prince of Dorne remarked as he broke the seal. "Lady Ashara Dayne."
Oberyn took another mouthful of wine, his dark eyes settling on the small piece of paper. "What does she want? I had thought we were generous enough the last time she asked for coin."
The prince's face darkened as he read and reread the letter over and over. Hotah instantly felt himself go on edge. There are few things in this world that can make my prince worried like this, and a letter from King's Landing does not bode well for anyone…
Doran calmly handed the letter to his brother and a dreadful silence filled the room. Finally Oberyn crumbled the letter up and threw it at the floor. Hotah watched it bounce right before his feet and clenched the shaft of his axe tighter, wary of the Red Viper's movements as he practically jumped from his seat.
"I will see that bastard drowning in a pool of snakes!" he declared.
"No, Oberyn," the prince told his brother firmly. "You will not. Not yet anyway."
The Viper's nostrils flared in outrage. "He shames our sister and her children before the entire kingdom, and not for the first time!" Oberyn grit his teeth so hard they looked ready to shatter. "How can you sit there and do nothing?"
"Because I am considering everything, not just the words of Ashara Dayne," Doran replied. "Elia would not want us to put all of Dorne at risk for her sake, you know that. You cannot just march up to the Red Keep and demand blood." The prince spread his hands before them. "A gentler approach is needed."
"I want to go to the capitol," insisted Oberyn. "I want to see her."
There was a brief moment of uncertainty before Doran gave a brief nod. "If you go to court then you will need to control yourself. If this matter blossomed into a full scale war then you'd be putting both Elia and her children at risk. Nothing overt can be done until everything is in place."
Oberyn smiled. "How long have you been awaiting this day brother?"
Doran winced as if he had been struck. "I await nothing; I have been dreading this day for the last five years, hoping against hope that Elia would not have to suffer any of this again. My plans have always been a safety net, Oberyn."
"Regardless the day has come, and you must put things into motion."
There was certain aggressiveness to the way the Red Viper moved that Hotah did not like, and he measured the distance between himself and the man. In this small room I could likely cut him in half with a single blow before he ever reached my prince.
But the older brother did not back falter away from his sibling's aggression. "Even if I do Oberyn, things take time. For my spies to get into place, for my soldiers to assemble, for my offers and deals to be made…it takes time and patience."
"Every day we linger is another day that Elia is stuck with that bastard," growled Oberyn. "I won't have it Doran. She doesn't deserve any of it, and if what Ashara Dayne is right then he plans on discarding her like an unwanted toy. The Gods only know what will happen to Rhaenys and Aegon."
Doran let out a sigh. "He will not do anything until the tourney, and that is still a month away if Ashara is correct. You do not need to do anything this very moment, other than take some time to consider how you plan to progress without getting yourself killed."
The Viper stared at his brother for a long moment, face unreadable, before reaching over to a nearby flagon of wine to refill his cup. He took a mouthful and swallowed. "Very well. I shall remain here for another week, gathering what trustworthy men I have and then make for the capitol."
"And when you arrive you will be nothing but courteous to everyone," Doran reminded him with an edge to his voice. "Safeguard our sister and her children, but do nothing else until I give you the word."
"And then?"
Doran frowned. "And then, if it comes to it, you make sure King Rhaegar doesn't live to shame Elia again."
"When you say things like that, it reminds me that we did indeed share a womb."
The Prince of Dorne simply looked out his window into the night sky. "I'd prefer to be alone for now Oberyn. We will talk later."
Oberyn looked at his brother for half a heartbeat, looking as though he wanted to give voice to some intimate thought but then thought better of it. He drained his cup and quietly left the room without another word. Hotah watched him go with relief and tried to pretend that he had not heard anything, tried to give the prince as much solitude as one could provide whilst still standing in his presence.
"What do you think Hotah?" asked the prince in a tired voice, his fingers rubbing circles into his temple. "Should I let Oberyn have his way?"
Hotah considered for a moment, and then shook his head. "You did the right thing, my prince. It is better to wait and do things the proper way."
"I haven't seen Elia or her children in so long," there was a heavy ache in his voice. "I didn't see her nearly as much as I should have when we were young. I feel like I have missed out on her life…and now she truly needs me, as little sisters often need their big brothers."
I can hardly remember what my brothers and sisters looked like. It had been many years since his parents had sold him to the Bearded Priests, he could not relate to his prince's plight. "It was as you told Oberyn, it is better to wait. Better for Queen Elia and better for Dorne."
"In that matter, you are correct my friend." Doran stared at his hands; his finger joints were swollen red with gout. "Whatever pain we may feel, it is nothing to the pain of the thousands who depend on us."
The silence that followed only lasted a moment before the chamber doors opened and Maester Caleotte burst in. Hotah instinctively moved his axe before the older man to block his entry, looking at the man with a hard gaze. "The prince does not wish to be disturbed."
"It's alright Hotah," the prince said softly, smiling at the old Maester as he entered. "What is it Caleotte?"
The old man swallowed uneasily. "My prince, we've had a messenger arrive at the palace. He bids us to prepare a welcome for his lord, Garin of Bloodstone, who seeks to have an audience with you my prince."
Doran pursed his lips then nodded. "I see."
"You are a gracious host," the traveller from the Stepstones declared. "I have been from the eastern palaces of Tyrosh to the brooding castles of the Crownlands and none of them compared to the splendour of Dorne."
A steady drip-drip-drip punctuated his words, as rainfall ran off his cloak to a puddle on the floor beside his chair. An unusually heavy rain had fallen on Sunspear as night came, and the strange traveller and his men had come in soaked. Prince Doran however, did not seem to care one bit for the man's state as they sat across from one another. "As you say, ser."
"The food is what I miss the most." Garin of Bloodstone's skin was a dark olive; his hair and eyes were black and his limbs wiry. A Salty Dornishman, by Hotah's reckoning. In the candle light his teeth shone like pearls as he bit into the food before him. "You cannot get such spices on the Stepstones."
Hotah stared down at the man, watching for any sign of hostility. There was none at present, only an odd humour about him that seemed somewhat passive aggressive. He might well be a Dornishman, but he's lived amongst pirates and mercenaries for a long time, long enough to forget any respect for authority.
Prince Doran cradled a cup of wine in his hand, the swollen fingers barely gripping it. He was forced to walk with a cane most days, and the Maesters said that his gout would only get worse as time went on. Despite that, there was a steely determination in the man's eyes. "Tell me, ser, what does a local from the Stepstones have that would bring him to Sunspear?"
Garin of Bloodstone shrugged. "I was on my way back from a tiring journey in the Crownlands and thought I'd enjoy the hospitality of my liege lord."
"When I was young and my mother showed me the lands I would someday rule over, I had presumed that her finger over your lord's outpost was simply an attempt to wipe a smudge from the map." Doran's eyes fixed themselves on Garin. "What does the old Targaryen want after twenty years of living in exile on that speck?"
The traveller allowed a toothy grin. "He finds the affairs of the realm to be awfully interesting of late, especially when it comes to his kin. He….humbly asks for a meeting, so that the two of you might exchange ideas on the subject of the Queen and her children."
"Why not come himself?" Doran asked warily. "Why send one of his pets to travel the realm and back for news?"
"Well." Garin scratched gently at his neck as he looked at the Prince of Dorne. "Surely you have heard of his wounds? The flames of Summerhall were quite hot, and he had matters to attend so that his keep would be well maintained."
"A keep that my mother's gold paid for," croaked Doran, his expression one of sorrow. "She mentioned his burns."
Garin's brows rose slightly. "Did she tell you that the only time he ever broke his exile was to visit her after the death of your brother Olyvar?"
Hotah watched his prince's face for a moment and saw a flash of old pain cross the man's face. If there was one thing that Areo Hotah had learnt in his years serving with the Martells, it was that prince Doran was a man haunted by his past.
"She did not."
The traveller gave a long sigh. "Will you agree to meet with my lord? Tell me now so that I can be gone from your halls and back to my ships."
"Your lord wishes to talk to me about my sister," Doran mused, swishing his wine about. "How am I to know that he isn't going to take everything I say and give it to Rhaegar? The King would finally have an excuse to be rid of me."
Garin shrugged. "You only have the word of a pirate and that of his master that we mean you no harm. If you do not trust us..." he gave an unconcerned shrug. "Then so be it. There are other people in Westeros willing to talk and listen."
"What if I decide to have you executed for openly admitting your piracy?" There was a trace of Oberyn in the prince's voice.
The traveller leaned close. "You can kill me," he whispered. "But when I am not back in Torturer's Deep before the week's end, then you shall find every trading ship coming in and out of Dorne sunk to the bottom of the Narrow Sea, every man, woman and child will be taken prisoner and sold as slaves in the Gulf of Grief." He leant back into his seat, considered for a moment before smiling a broad, friendly, grin. "Or we can part ways as….well, not friends, but at least acquaintances."
Hotah felt a chill run down his neck, and shifted his weight slightly. He was prepared to cleave the little pirate's head in if he so much as gestured at the prince in a threatening way. The axe felt smooth in his hand. Do not make me kill you, little fool.
But then Doran Martell gave a tired wave of his inflamed hand. "Go then, but I will not treat with your master until he proves that he means no harm to either my sister or her children."
"As you wish." Garin rocked forwards and rose smoothly from his chair. "My lord will be in touch, though he does advise that you keep that snake of a brother in line, for everyone's sake." He made to leave before turning around and giving an exaggerated bow. "My Prince."
Hotah released his grip and let his axe go slack, yet he could not help but feeling a sense of dread as he watched the traveller walking out of the room. Once he heard the comforting creak of the chamber door closing he turned to Prince Doran. "What do you make of that my prince?"
Doran looked down at his bloated hands, twisted and red with gout. "I shall write to Lord Yohn Royce and to Lady Catelyn Tully. It is time that we prepared for blood."