Dorne. Sunspear.
Prince Oberyn Martell sat lazily on a plush silk recliner, staring at the macabre gift resting on the marble table before him. His typically sharp, arrogant expression was currently twisted into a highly complicated knot of profound frustration and lingering disbelief.
Sitting in a massive wooden box packed with coarse salt and preserving spices was a colossal, severed head. It was the head of Ser Gregor Clegane.
"It was delivered directly by the Vanguard of Lord Roman Rivers of Harrenhal," Oberyn murmured, his dark eyes locked on the Mountain's dead, glassy stare. "And alongside this bloody trophy, the Dragon Lord also explicitly told the entire world exactly who murdered Elia."
Roman had meticulously preserved the Mountain's pulverized head and dispatched it directly to Dorne via a heavily armed diplomatic envoy. However, Roman had not stopped at a private gift. He had simultaneously unleashed a massive swarm of ravens across the entire continent, releasing a highly detailed, public manifesto claiming he had mercilessly interrogated the Mountain before his execution.
In this manifesto, Roman recounted in agonizing, irrefutable detail exactly how the Mountain had brutally smashed the infant Aegon Targaryen against a wall, and how he had subsequently raped and murdered Princess Elia Martell while his massive hands were still slick with her son's blood.
Most devastatingly, Roman explicitly declared to the realm that Tywin Lannister had personally ordered the brutal assassinations to ruthlessly wipe out the Targaryen bloodline, desperately attempting to accumulate political merit with Robert Baratheon to prevent his house from being swept aside following the Sack of King's Landing.
This devastating revelation caused an apocalyptic stir across Westeros. Countless commoners, and even the highest of nobles, suddenly gained a terrifying new understanding of Lord Tywin and the vicious, dishonorable foundation upon which House Lannister's current power was built.
The Red Keep and Casterly Rock frantically attempted to release counter-statements, fiercely claiming Roman Rivers was maliciously spreading vile rumors to destabilize the crown. However, Tywin Lannister had personally ordered the brutal Sack of King's Landing, and his legacy of absolute genocide against House Reyne and House Tarbeck was a well-documented historical fact. Consequently, the vast majority of the realm inherently believed Roman's brutal truth over Lannister lies.
Overnight, the name 'Lannister' became utterly despised throughout Westeros. Even the starving beggars in the gutters of Flea Bottom aggressively spat and cursed the lions behind their backs.
Yet, looking at the Mountain's head, the Red Viper felt a hollow, suffocating melancholy settle over his heart. He had spent over a decade meticulously plotting, training, and preparing to personally slaughter the monster who had ripped his sister away from him.
Now, the murderer was dead. And not only had the Lord of Harrenhal effortlessly butchered the beast, but he had explicitly exposed the mastermind behind the tragedy to the entire world.
Oberyn felt as though his many years of obsessive, agonizing preparation had been rendered entirely obsolete. A heavy, uncomfortable pressure tightened in his chest.
Prince Doran Martell slowly wheeled his chair into the room, acutely noticing his younger brother's profound distress. He offered a sigh of weary comfort.
"Oberyn, this is merely Lord Roman's public narrative," Doran stated, his voice calm and measured. "We will still have to press the Lannisters for the intricate details of that day. Do not act rashly based on this single event."
Prince Doran gently patted his younger brother's arm before changing the subject. "We still possess an ocean of blood debts to settle with House Lannister and House Baratheon. Let the direwolves, the stags, and the lions violently tear each other's throats out first. We absolutely must not enter this war too early."
The Red Viper intimately understood the precarious geopolitical situation, but his blood was still boiling with unresolved fury. He curtly agreed with his brother's assessment, while Prince Doran quietly pondered the catastrophic political fallout of Roman's gift.
Because Roman's manifesto regarding Elia's murder was now widely accepted as absolute truth across Westeros, the Iron Throne possessed no viable narrative to refute it. This entirely blocked Dorne's diplomatic path to the Small Council.
If Prince Doran were to genuinely attempt to secure a political alliance with the Lannister-controlled Iron Throne now, his own Dornish bannermen would violently riot and overthrow him for aligning with Elia's confirmed murderers.
That terrifying young dragon in Harrenhal, Doran thought with a heavy sigh. He handed us a magnificent gift, but in doing so, he has brilliantly orchestrated a massive political trap for us! The situation has completely spiraled out of my control.
The Red Viper could only offer a bitter sigh, bidding his older brother farewell before stepping out onto the sun-drenched balconies of the Water Gardens to clear his mind.
As he leaned against the warm marble balustrade, admiring the pristine pools below, an elegant, slender hand gracefully offered him a crystal goblet of strong Dornish red. Oberyn turned to see his beautiful paramour, Ellaria Sand.
"You have been looking dreadfully glum ever since that box arrived, my love," Ellaria murmured, her dark eyes entirely focused on his face. "Are you obsessing over Roman Rivers and the Lannisters?"
The Red Viper did not answer immediately. He took a heavy sip of the spiced wine, staring thoughtfully at the deep red liquid swirling in the glass.
"Ellaria," Oberyn whispered. "For fifteen years, I have ruthlessly planned and expended every ounce of my soul to avenge my sister. Now, a stranger from the Riverlands drops the head of my greatest enemy at my feet. Tell me, should I be overjoyed, or should I be furious?"
The beautiful woman shook her head gently, resting her hand on his chest. "My sweet prince, have you completely forgotten the vow you made to me? We swore to eliminate everyone who hurt Elia and her children. The Mountain was merely the blunt sword. Now, thanks to the Dragon of Harrenhal, our ultimate goal is entirely clear, is it not?"
Oberyn's eyes slowly widened. He poured Ellaria a glass of wine, and after clinking their goblets together, a dangerous, predatory smile finally returned to his face.
"You are entirely right," Oberyn hissed softly. "Ser Gregor's wretched part in this tragedy is finally over, but Tywin Lannister has not yet bled for his crimes. We still have a legendary score to settle!"
"Of course we do," Ellaria smiled smoothly. "But I still desperately hope you will proceed with absolute caution. The Iron Throne is a meat grinder that consumes reckless men. If we are not incredibly careful, we will be reduced to ash. Even the decadent, sweet taste of revenge can only be truly enjoyed if you are alive to savor it."
The two lovers looked down at the sprawling shadow city below the palace. Thousands of Dornish commoners had already violently taken to the streets, their voices raised in deafening, unified chants demanding the absolute eradication of House Lannister.
Some Dornish extremists had even begun violently rioting, forcing the city guard to heavily struggle to disperse the furious mobs.
"Roman Rivers," the Red Viper whispered softly into the desert wind, his eyes gleaming with dangerous intrigue. "It appears we urgently need to establish contact with the Lord of Harrenhal."
The Westerlands Encampment.
Compared to the Red Viper's hollow frustration, Lord Tywin Lannister was experiencing a state of genuine, unadulterated political panic.
Roman's devastatingly brilliant political maneuver had violently forced Tywin into a defensive corner. The Mountain, whom Tywin had specifically deployed to ruthlessly terrorize the Riverlands, had been effortlessly slaughtered by Roman. Worse, Roman had used the execution to violently drag the darkest, most brutal secret of House Lannister out into the light.
Historically, Tywin had always been entirely indifferent to the hatred and fear of others. His entire legacy, his absolute power, and his ruthless political methodology were fundamentally born from the profound humiliation he had suffered in his youth watching his weak, pathetic father, Tytos the "Laughing Lion," be openly mocked by his own vassals.
Tywin fundamentally believed there was absolutely no need to wear a pleasant face for the realm. A lord must rule through absolute, terrifying power. Reward loyal ministers with gold, ruthlessly exterminate traitors root and stem, and offer only the most limited mercy to those who unconditionally surrender.
By operating strictly under this brutal philosophy, Tywin had easily maintained his iron grip over the Westerlands. As long as he possessed overwhelming military and financial supremacy, he could entirely ignore the moral judgments of the realm.
But Roman's sudden, mythological rise to power was an undeniable, catastrophic slap across Tywin's face. Roman had publicly humiliated the Old Lion, effortlessly executed his most feared attack dog, and broadcasted Tywin's crimes to the world without suffering a single consequence.
This completely shattered the aura of Lannister invincibility. Naturally, the ambitious nobles who had spent decades secretly despising Tywin suddenly found themselves harboring incredibly dangerous, rebellious thoughts.
If a young upstart like Roman Rivers can openly defy Tywin Lannister and win, why can't I?
When the great lords of Westeros no longer inherently feared Tywin Lannister, Tywin would be forced to expend a catastrophic amount of military resources simply to maintain his basic authority. Otherwise, his vassals would superficially comply with his orders while actively defying him in the shadows.
Tywin was acutely aware that his own bannermen were currently whispering in their tents, quietly debating whether the Westerlands actually possessed the martial strength required to defeat House Whent.
Furthermore, Ser Jaime had finally completely surrounded Riverrun. Tywin absolutely had to make his grand, decisive move before the Northern army arrived to reinforce the Riverlords.
"Pass down my absolute orders to the commanders," Tywin commanded coldly, his green eyes entirely devoid of mercy. "The primary host shall immediately advance from the southern Riverlands directly toward the Gods Eye. We will seize the Trident and hold the line against Robb Stark, and we will violently remind the Lord of Harrenhal exactly why the world fears the Lion."
The Crownlands. Antlers.
After successfully executing the Mountain and dispatching the head to Dorne, Roman immediately flew back to his primary military base at Antlers.
Upon his return, he aggressively initiated the massive relocation of his fiercely loyal Free Folk wildlings and the hardened men of Crackclaw Point directly into his newly annexed Crownlands territories.
"These territories are freshly conquered and highly vulnerable!" Roman's voice boomed across the massive construction yards. "Your absolute primary objective is to build towering, impenetrable walls, aggressively stockpile winter grain, and utilize highly coordinated defensive counter-attacks to completely repel any advancing armies! Do you understand me?!"
"Understood!!" the massive crowd of laborers and soldiers roared back.
"Long live Lord Roman!!"
Following the deafening cheers, the massive labor force frantically rushed back to the construction sites. They worked with fanatical, burning enthusiasm to construct massive outer fortifications utilizing advanced rammed-earth and brick-laying techniques. Simultaneously, massive industrial blast furnaces were rapidly erected, officially commencing large-scale iron and steel production directly on the front lines.
Watching Roman drastically pivot his grand strategy from an aggressive eastward expansion to a heavily entrenched, static defense, Fili sensed a massive geopolitical shift.
"Lord Roman," Fili asked, holding a clipboard of logistical reports. "Has a crisis developed back home in the Riverlands? Is that why you are suddenly choosing to permanently stabilize these new territories rather than marching on King's Landing?"
"You are incredibly perceptive, Fili," Roman smiled warmly, stepping behind her to gently begin re-braiding her messy blonde hair. "I just violently rubbed Tywin Lannister's arrogant face directly into the mud for the entire world to see. A proud, ruthless man like Tywin simply cannot afford to ignore that level of public humiliation."
Roman expertly tied off the braid. "Furthermore, Jaime Lannister has officially besieged Riverrun. In order to actively prevent Harrenhal or the other Riverlords from marching west to break his son's siege, Tywin will absolutely be forced to deploy his primary host to attack our borders. I am actively utilizing the Free Folk to heavily fortify these eastern strongholds so I can completely free up my Vanguard to focus entirely on crushing Tywin."
Once the grand strategic board was explained to her, Fili immediately understood the flawless logic. However, she was still slightly confused as to how Roman was so absolutely certain Tywin would attack them, considering her Apostle ravens had not yet intercepted any Lannister troop movements.
But the young woman quickly shook her head, deciding not to obsess over the terrifying complexities of the Dragon Lord's precognition. She would simply follow Roman's absolute authority, and the truth would inevitably reveal itself.
"Rest assured, my lord!" Fili declared fiercely, clutching her clipboard. "I have flawlessly coordinated the civilian personnel, the steel resources, and the construction quotas for all the fortified cities across this region! The remaining nobles of the Crownlands absolutely will not dare to launch a counter-offensive. Your rear flank is completely secure!"
Looking at his fiercely competent, incredibly loyal aide, Roman could not help but smile warmly. He reached out and affectionately squished both of her cheeks together.
"Ah!" Fili gasped in surprise, her words heavily muffled by his hands. "My lord! My fafe is squished! Ugh~ Pleafe ftop rubbing it! Shall I go ferch you a bowl of soup?!"
Roman threw his head back and laughed heartily, releasing her cheeks. "Fili, have you completely forgotten that we eat exactly the same rations from the same communal pot as our infantry? It is barely the afternoon! Where exactly do you plan on magically acquiring soup?"
While Roman and Fili playfully bickered in the command tent, massive stone walls, towering ballista towers, and blazing industrial forges actively sprang up across the newly conquered Crownlands like terrifying steel mushrooms after a heavy rain.
The board was finally set. The apocalyptic main event of the Riverlands theater was about to begin.
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