Renly Baratheon had been one of the first lords to prepare for the struggle over the Iron Throne, and also one of the first to leave the stage.
The sea was blue, and waves rose and fell across it. Only when the fat-bellied ship carrying Renly, flying a golden quartered banner, had sailed so far that Renly's figure could no longer be seen did the Knight of Flowers return to Storm's End in a daze. Renly had gone by ship, and there would be no turning back.
A number of prisoners from the Stormlands had gone with Renly as well. Poachers who had hunted deer illegally, thieves who had stolen amber, smugglers, rapists, all of them were sent off in one batch to accompany Renly to The Wall. In a sense, they would serve as Renly's guards, a band of truly wicked men. Some supplies from the Stormlands went with them too. It was not much, but it was still a gesture.
Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop! Hooves thundered over the ground. Ser Loras, Ser Crane, and the green-cloaked soldiers protecting Loras came galloping over together.
Because Ser Loras Tyrell had been struck by boiling oil from his neck down his back, he now bore many wounds and blisters. Those scars might stay with him for life, though fortunately they had not disfigured the Knight of Flowers. The maester had already cleaned and treated Loras's injuries, but he still could not wear armor. He could only dress in light clothing, a green surcoat bearing the mark of the Knight of Flowers, three golden roses blooming on a green field. Beneath his clothes were white bandages.
"Renly has lost. Now you are the heir, Prince," Loras said. The autumn wind stirred his flowing brown curls, but Renly's departure had taken part of him away as well, passion, joy, and happiness. That love had vanished forever.
"But once my wounds heal, I will hone my skill and seek your instruction in the tourney yard." The Knight of Flowers was a proud young man, sometimes even reckless. Not being able to draw his sword successfully for Renly was his greatest sorrow.
"I hope that day comes," Gendry said, looking at Loras Tyrell. The Knight of Flowers was young and handsome, slender and agile, but that was all. He thirsted deeply for honor, sometimes cautious, sometimes impatient and rash.
"Do not forget to bring my regards to Highgarden. The hunt is about to begin. I hope to see the hunters of Highgarden, and I hope you will not keep me waiting too long," Gendry said to Loras. "We do not have much time. Winter is drawing near, and the Night's Watch has been pressing the Seven Kingdoms for aid."
Jon Snow looked at the wounded Knight of Flowers. Even in the distant North, he had heard the name of the Knight of Flowers. But from what Jon could see, the Knight of Flowers was like most southerners, a knight of summer who did not know the cruelty of winter.
"Yes, Prince. Food, supplies, men. I will urge my father, Great Lord Mace, on your behalf." Loras nodded gravely. It was both a request and a threat. If Highgarden arrived late again, the consequences would likely be grim.
"Take care." Several knights said farewell to the Knight of Flowers. As Renly's former squire, the Knight of Flowers still had some connections in the Stormlands.
"Still, I thank you for showing me that there are always people beyond oneself. A true battlefield is not a joust, after all," Ser Loras said bitterly to Gendry. He felt a deep helplessness, almost unable to grasp the true depth of the Storm's strength. It was like an abyss, like the sea, like mountains and cliffs. "I used to train every day, again and again, until every thrust was precise and strong, until the lance became part of my arm, until the horse became part of my body. I thought I was enough to look down on the Seven Kingdoms, until I met The Mountain, and then I met you."
That truth had in fact been clear in Robert and Rhaegar as well. Robert did not like jousting. He preferred melees that came closer to real battle, fighting to his heart's content with a blunted axe or hammer and beating his opponents into the dirt. Even so, Robert had still won the great tourney at The Trident.
"Failure comes into life from time to time. That is life." Gendry smiled faintly. He hoped this setback and injury would clear the Knight of Flowers' head a little, so he would not always charge like a brute. In the joust at King's Landing, if the Hound had not helped him, the Knight of Flowers might have had his head cut off by The Mountain on the spot.
Loras said his farewells, and the men of Highgarden rode away.
Watching Loras leave, Gendry could not help sighing to himself. "Summer roses bloom beautifully, but roses do not survive winter easily."
Now that the first crown had fallen to the ground, it was time to lay out the Crownlands and King's Landing. The true dragon would return to its nest, Dragonstone.
...
Dorne, the Water Gardens. This was the place Doran Martell cherished most.
"The blood oranges are ripe," Prince Doran said. His younger brother Oberyn pushed his wheelchair out onto the balcony. A striking new ornament had appeared there, an unusually large man's head, lacquered and preserved. It belonged to Ser Gregor, The Mountain. His head had been sent to Dorne, while his body had been left to the Twin Cities Alliance's master of whisperers and maester, Qyburn.
Inside the Water Gardens, oranges kept falling onto the pale red marble floor and bursting open. The whole place was filled with a rich sweetness that seemed to seep into the heart.
Unlike the fierce, vigorous Oberyn, Prince Doran was frail, cautious, and quiet, never letting his emotions show.
Prince Doran now sat beneath an orange tree in the wheelchair Maester Caleotte had prepared for him. It had wheels of ebony and steel, and was fitted with cushions stuffed with goose down. He was not especially old, but gout had badly ravaged his body. His gout was severe, making it difficult for him to walk. He rarely appeared in public because of it, unwilling to seem weak before his enemies.
"Why are we waiting for the oranges to fall instead of picking them?" the Red Viper asked, pointing at The Mountain's head. "I think the time is ripe. The Mountain's head is only the first. You know I want more. I want Tywin's."
"You promised to work with me, Oberyn," Doran said. "We swore we would avenge Elia and the children together, but you are always too impatient. In truth, I thought your journey Across the Narrow Sea was a gamble."
"But my gamble succeeded. The Storm hates the Lannisters too. The Storm and the True Dragon together."
"They are still children."
"Children of victory. The situation is excellent right now. Perhaps Tywin's head should fall to the ground as well. Rather than let someone else take it, I would rather take it myself. You know I am not like you. What I love most is blood," the Red Viper retorted.
"The situation is excellent, but I think we can still afford to be more careful. You are the viper striking out, and I am the grass covering you. The viper may be seasoned, but the grass must also wait for the right moment." Doran shook his head.
"The right moment? I have waited more than ten years. There will never be a better time than now. Storm, Targaryen, Tully, Stark, they all hate the lions."
"Is Robert's son truly so formidable? I remember you rarely praising anyone," Doran asked.
"Very strong," the Red Viper said. "Nearly invincible on the battlefield, and he has that charm of the Laughing Storm."
"Even you cannot beat him?"
The Red Viper shook his head. "There is no glory in admitting defeat, but his strength and speed are probably beyond reach."
"It seems that charm has infected even you. You are right, but I still think we can be a little more cautious. Dorne has the smallest population among the Seven Kingdoms, and some of our lords have blood feuds with us. You and I both know the truth. Courage cannot replace numbers," Doran said stubbornly. "Years ago, when our uncle Prince Lewyn marched out, the loss of ten thousand spearmen badly weakened Dorne. And that was before war became as brutal as it is now. After autumn comes winter, Oberyn."
"I fear it is not only winter you are worried about," the Red Viper said.
"Yes." Doran nodded. "Lys and Volantis are preparing to move, and the other city-states of Slaver's Bay have sent many slave soldiers and slaves. War will be unavoidable in the end. So perhaps we can still be more careful. A decisive battle. I need to hear the horns of a decisive battle before I move."
"You." The Red Viper could not help laughing, though in the end he did not rebuke his elder brother. "By the gods above, they made you my elder brother. That is a good thing for Dorne, but for me, it is a terrible curse."
"How do you plan to protect your children, Arianne and Quentyn?" the Red Viper asked directly. "Everything we prepared for them and the True Dragon has come to nothing. Now the Beggar King is dead, and Daenerys is in the Storm's hands."
What Dorne had prepared was mainly a secret marriage pact, an extraordinarily hidden matter. Ser Willem Darry had signed on behalf of House Targaryen, Prince Oberyn Martell on behalf of Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness. Varys and Illyrio Mopatis knew nothing of the agreement. Its terms were that Dorne and the exiled Targaryens would form an alliance through marriage. In return for Dorne helping the Targaryens overthrow the Usurper, Viserys would marry Prince Doran's daughter Arianne as queen.
"They are all dead," Doran said. "Robert, Viserys, Ser Darry, even the Sealord from back then. That pact is no better than waste paper now. And now Robert's legitimized bastard is waging war on the lions."
"But we waited too long for that marriage pact, and did too little. Because of one thing after another." The Red Viper rubbed his forehead. They had kept waiting, thinking too much and doing too little. They had barely offered any help, and in the end Viserys went mad, while Daenerys had already fallen into someone else's arms. The Storm had risen.
"You know I originally meant to send Arianne to meet Viserys in secret. At the time, the green-haired daughter of a Tyroshi Archon was here. I planned to send Arianne to Tyrosh as a cupbearer in the Archon's service, and then have her meet Viserys. Unfortunately, my wife threatened me. She said if I stole another child from her, she would hurt herself... I... I could not keep doing it. So when Viserys died, he had still never met his betrothed, and Arianne knew nothing at all," Doran said with a bitter smile.
"It is not your fault," the Red Viper comforted him. Too little strength, too great a plan. That was Doran's greatest problem, watching his pieces refuse to obey him one after another. His schemes were good, but they had never been carried out perfectly.
The Red Viper knew that Doran's family life was a mess as well.
Doran's wife was a foreign noblewoman from Norvos. Though the two had truly loved one another, their marriage had not been happy. Mellario could not adapt to Dorne's climate. Not long after Trystane was born, Quentyn was sent away to be raised as the ward and squire of Anders Yronwood. The purpose was to preserve peace between House Martell and House Yronwood after Edgar Yronwood was wounded in a duel with the Red Viper and died from it. Mellario opposed this. After a furious quarrel with Doran, she turned and returned to Norvos.
As for Doran's children, they were an even greater tangle. With Arianne, because he needed a pretext for the heir, he had to conceal the fact that she had been promised to Viserys. Over the years, Prince Doran had considered marriages for her, but always to elderly prospects, such as Walder Frey, the dying Gyles Rosby, and blind Ben Beesbury. None of these betrothals ever succeeded, because Arianne would never agree. She also hated Doran because she remained unwed and feared for her inheritance. As for Quentyn, he too had been sent away to soothe the Lord of the High Road.
"It is my fault, Oberyn. I will explain everything to Arianne when the right time comes," Doran sighed. "Arianne hates me, and Quentyn is the one who ought to be plotting rebellion against me. When I sent Quentyn away, he was still a child and did not understand Dorne's needs. To him, House Yronwood is more like his true family. Fortunately, he has not betrayed me and remains loyal. As for Trystane, the boy is too young."
"But I am truly worried about them. Arianne, Quentyn." The Red Viper looked at his brother.
"We have paid too great a price for revenge, brother," Doran said bitterly. "My family, my wife, my children. Since we have already paid so much, we must endure a little longer. That is exactly why I am so cautious. I stay at the Water Gardens first because I do not want others to see my weakness, and second because I do not want the Spider's spies to hear our plans."
"You should think carefully about these matters," the Red Viper advised. His children were also one of Doran's troubles.
"I fear I have invested too much already," Doran said with a bitter smile.
"Prince, a letter from the Stormlands." Areo Hotah held his long axe as he handed over a letter. The axe blade was mounted on a six-foot ashwood haft. No one could get past it.
"Renly is defeated." Doran skimmed the contents, then handed the letter to the Red Viper. "Renly is defeated, and Stannis has submitted. It seems the situation is moving far faster than I expected. Could this age truly belong to the Storm?"
"It is time to choose, Doran." The Red Viper finished reading the letter. "The letter does not ask us to press toward the mountain passes, not the Prince's Pass or the Boneway. It only asks us to wait near the Stepstones for the new war."
"That is not especially difficult. But for now, we need only one small thing. I need you to root out those spiders' eyes and ears."
"I can do that. My daughters are here as well."
"I have one more request. Even if I do not go myself, I want someone to act as my envoy, not Dorne's envoy," the Red Viper said.
"Who will you send? These children are hard to control." Doran looked at the Red Viper. "Arianne will not do. She is my heir, and she cannot keep a secret. She is also very close to your daughters. Obara loves wine. Nym is too close to the Fowler twins. Sarella is playing her own games."
"It seems I have no choice. Tyene, my good child. She is sweet, and devout."
"And dangerous."
***
...
If you'd like to support my work and unlock advanced chapters, you can follow me on p-@-treon.
[email protected]/PinkSnake (50 Chapters Ahead).
You can also follow as a free member to read a few advanced chapters.
***