40 A Plan, and Traitors

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Chapter 41 (An Alliance), Chapter 42 (A Flower in The Garden), Chapter 43 (The Melee), Chapter 44 (Leaving Highgarden), Chapter 45 (The North), Chapter 46 (Winterfell), Chapter 47 (Alyanna Dayne), and Chapter 48 (A Feast in Winterfell) are already available for Patrons.

Oberyn Martell

For a very long time, he had dreamed of this moment. Despite never saying it, Oberyn always blamed himself for what happened to Elia and her children. They had tried very hard to get their blood on the Throne, to have Elia marry Rhaegar. Still, the very same thing resulted in Elia's death.

Oberyn knew he wasn't the best of fathers one could wish for, he always thought of himself as a good enough man, but when Elia and her children had died, he had woken up in a way. Her death reminded him that time in this world was limited and that he had wasted many good years going around and making problems.

Oberyn had decided that he would be better for his daughters. When Jon had come to their family, the prince of Dorne had wanted nothing to do with him, even after agreeing to raise him, it had taken years for Oberyn to truly see him as his own flesh and blood. Whenever Jon laughed with any of his daughters or Arianne, all Oberyn could think of was his own nephew and niece.

His purple eyes reminded him so much of them, reminded him of his failures, and reminded him of how Rhaenys and Aegon would have eventually looked like if their lives hadn't been cut short.

Eventually, Oberyn came to see Jon as his son, which made it even harder to tell him the truth. To tell him that his real family was gone and they would never return.

When the kid had asked him if he could still call him father after he had been told the truth, Oberyn had rejoiced. Years passed, and the little kid became a young man with enough strength and talent to match even the likes of Arthur Dayne with wisdom and power to take the Throne.

When Oberyn understood that Jon's next enemy would be The Mountain, he understood what was going on in his head, even if he didn't tell him.

Oberyn had held his breath for almost the entire duel, Ellaria holding his hand tightly to calm him down, Nymeria, Obara, and Tyene glaring daggers at The Mountain. Alyanna had warged into a bird and was looking at the fight from up close. Arianne was praying for Jon, something Oberyn appreciated, hoping that this time the Gods would listen to them.

When the sword had pierced The Mountain's neck from one side and coming out the other, his knowledge of the human body told him right away that the fight was over. A loud gasp had escaped from him, a gasp he knew the whole place had heard.

Seeing the blood dripping like a fountain, the sword had turned red, and the only thing keeping The Mountain still standing was the sword stuck on his throat that Jon was holding. Oberyn had been too busy looking at Jon to notice the frowns from some of House Tyrell. Especially Olenna Tyrell.

With one true strike, the sword had cut through his Larynx, half of his neck was gone, and the only thing keeping his head from falling off was the spinal cord. Oberyn watched as one of the largest men in the Westeros, one who had destroyed everything, fell dead in the dirt like nothing. Just like that, it was over.

The crowd had gone completely silent, except for Oberyn, who stood up, making his over to his son, who looked exhausted and was looking up at the sky. Oberyn watched as he fell, but he grabbed him before he could.

Oberyn breathed a huge sigh of relief to see Jon breathing normally and with no wound anywhere near his body. He was ready to send him to his bedchamber to rest and have a maester check on him later when the crowd started applauding.

"The Mountain That Falls."

"The Killer of The Mountain."

The common people cheered, their voices echoing like horns of battle; Jaime Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy were trying very hard not to start laughing or thanking the gods for this victory, but it seemed the queen was not celebrating. Neither was the King, who appeared as if he didn't know what to do anymore. Jon Arryn, beside the king, was trying very hard to suppress a triumphant smile.

Margaery applauded for the victory, happy that Jon had killed such an evil man. Even Loras and Willas looked pleased by the end results. When she turned to look at the rest of her family, they all looked as if they had swallowed something sour.

Oberyn was about to tell his daughters to send Jon back to his chamber to rest when Cersei stood up; her teeth clenched together to the point that they could break at any moment.

"You must execute him. He has murdered a knight of the realm in cold blood. You must n-"

"Silence, woman!" The King thundered. He stood up and walked towards The Martells, followed by his Kingsguards. The audience fell silent when they saw the King frown. Oberyn walked in the front, quite obviously glaring at the King, almost challenging him to do something. Jon Arryn walked beside The King.

"Prince Oberyn, your son killed a loyal knight of the Seven Kingdoms. He will be punished accordin-" "I'm afraid not." Jon Arryn interrupted calmly, making the King and The Queen turn to him; Cersei looked furious, while Robert looked puzzled.

"Jon, the lad killed Gregor Clegan-" "Enough, Robert. We all saw who attacked who, and so did the entire Reach. Jon Sand was within his right to protect himself from him, or are you saying he should have just stood there and let the mountain kill him." Jon Arryn spoke with a tone as if talking to a child who was caught stealing cookies. Jon gave a look at Robert as if disappointed.

Oberyn smirked upon hearing that, and Cersei's face went even redder if that was even possible. To see the Bitch Queen like that was like seeing the Mountain fall all over again.

"How dare you talk to The King like That. He broke the Law. He should be executed or sent to The Wall." Cersei screeched with a red face, the veins around her forehead suddenly visible, almost bursting.

Oberyn noted that both Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan were looking at their Kingsguard brothers with a hint of wariness, their hands on the pommel of their swords; Arthur Dayne and Daemon Sand stood beside Oberyn.

"Quite Woman," Robert shouted at Cersei before turning to face Oberyn, who didn't bother hiding a smirk, tilting his head slightly at the side with a snake-like grin. For a moment, there was complete silence until The King spoke.

"Your son won't be judged for his crime, but he is disqualified from The Jousting," Robert shouted loud enough for everyone to hear. The crowd of commoners that had gathered for the tourney booed at Robert and The Queen, calling for what it was, some amongst the crowd calling Cersei 'The Whore Queen' and some calling Robert 'The Pig King.' Almost all the lords looked down on him with a hint of disgust, especially Lord Tarly, who looked ready to kill the pig, not that he cared about the Bastard, but this showed to everyone just how patty Robert Baratheon was. To disqualify someone for simply protecting himself, especially against a monster like The Mountain. Even Loras wasn't agreeing with The King's decision but didn't comment on it.

Oberyn's daughters looked ready to object against him, but Oberyn spoke first before they could. "That's understandable, Your Grace. I'm sure we will see each other again." Oberyn said with a low, calm tone before turning around and leading his family away.

Oberyn gave one last look at the man's corpse and laughed out loud at what he saw. This made everyone else turn to see a dog peeing right at The face of The Mountain before running away.

Jon Arryn

During those time, he really wondered just where he had gone wrong. From the beginning, he knew Robert wasn't the best at listening and following simple instructions, but when he had decided to help Robert and Ned, he had thought of doing that for a good cause. The Mad King had killed someone of his blood too that day, his nephew, Elbert Arryn, the man who would one day become the Future Lord of The West, but fate decided that wasn't meant to happen.

He had thought Robert would become the King Westeros needed at that moment. While Robert was neither a good nor a bad king, Jon could see the cracks forming, soon turning into holes.

He wasted too much gold on Tourney and unnecessary things, and no one except Stannis and Jon Arryn tried to stop him from spending more gold. The Queen, if anything, encouraged him to keep doing what he was doing, and Prince Joffrey.

Jon Arryn dreaded the day that kid would sit on the Iron Throne. Not only was he too cruel, but he also enjoyed it. Jon had his own informers around the Red Keep, he knew what kind of activity Prince Joffrey did, and Jon knew the moment he sat on that throne, he would put Tywin Lannister as the hand of the King.

Jon Arryn took a deep breath, drinking a glass of water to calm himself, as both Robert and Cersei kept ranting about why they should not leave Jon Sand to go unpunished. Well, mostly Cersei; Robert was mainly quiet. That was until Jon tapped the bottom of his goblet against the table's surface loud enough for her to stop talking.

"My Queen, with all due respect, putting him on trial for such trivial reasons will make all of us look bad in front of everyone. You already did that by disqualifying him, but now you want his head. Robert. What do you think the lords will think when the words spread, Robert." Jon Arryn said in a deep voice, eyeing both the King and The Queen. Robert seemed convinced to let this go, it is not like he cared that The Mountain was dead, but Robert knew this wouldn't sit well with Tywin, but it seemed Cersei wasn't done yet.

"He killed one of my father's vassals!" Cersei all but shouted at his face.

"Yes, he did, and gods above know The Mountain will burn in the deepest pits of Hell." Jon Arryn spat with disgust. He never wanted to feel joy when someone died. He always considered himself a calm man who took no pleasure when someone was killed. He knew certain things were necessary, but he would be a liar to say that he wasn't overjoyed that The Mountain was nothing but a rooting corpse.

Jon didn't bother staying any longer. He stood up before quickly leaving their bedchamber; once he arrived at his own, he quickly ordered five of his loyal men to bring the corpse to Dorne as a sign of peace, Jon knew that wasn't much, but it was a start.

Jon knew his own time was coming closer, and he would try his best to reunite the Realm as long as he drew breath.

Once that was done, Jon decided to pay Prince Oberyn a visit. Since the Rebellion ended, Jon had been trying to come up with any plan to reunite the realm, and making peace with The Martells was the first step needed.

Myrcella would perhaps do well there, he thought. Now that the Mountain was nothing but a rooting corpse, it opened up the possibility of an excellent alliance to tie the crown with House Martell.

He knew the princess was quite beautiful and, unlike her mother, so far hadn't shown any tendencies towards violence or cruelty. If anything, she always protected Tommen from Joffrey.

Jaehaerys Targaryen

Elia has to stifle a laugh when she sees Rhaegar walk out one morning, footsteps an uncharacteristic shuffle. They had arrived in the Water Gardens a week ago, and it had taken all of a day for the Dornish sun to wreak havoc on Rhaegar's pale skin. She'd given him every burn remedy in the books, but still, it seems, her homeland recognizes what—or rather, who—is in Rhaegar's blood and holds no mercy.

For her part, she hasn't felt so at ease and content since...well, she can't quite remember. For all that she'd been on bedrest since Rhaenys's birth six months prior, being here has dwindled the discomfort to a mere ebb, hardly noticeable. She knows Doran's guards, and her own, are lurking just out of sight, but they're marvelous at giving her the illusion of privacy. There's nothing but the smell of blood oranges and the salt of the sea about her, the warm water curing her bruised body, nothing but heat and fresh air, nothing but quiet.

Quiet, and her burnt husband.

"You're trying to sabotage me, I know it," Rhaegar grouses, wincing a little as he takes a seat beneath the shade. "Whatever you gave me only made things worse."

She does laugh this time, flicking water in his direction. "You of all people should know Dorne doesn't like Targaryens. I did warn you."

"Our babe is half-Targaryen, and Dorne likes her just fine."

Elia looks down at her daughter on her lap, whose small hands trail through the water and who giggles in glee at the butterflies overhead. It's true, Rhaenys had taken to Dorne as surely as Elia herself, seeming to thrive in the hot weather, even more so with Uncle Oberyn's tickling and blood orange slices causing him to quickly supplant everyone else as her favorite person.

"It's a good thing, too," Elia says. "Your family could use some color."

Before her marriage, she had planned to be the perfect little wife, unobtrusive and demure, lest Aerys find a reason to dispense of her or, worse, lest Rhaegar take after his father in more ways than the kingship. But then he had seen her discomfort, had moved their household to Dragonstone instead of letting her suffer King's Landing, had welcomed her counsel. All of it, no matter how thorny or unconventional. While on his jaunts to Summerhall, he'd entrusted her with holding court, with overseeing the accounts and quotidian goings-on, had sent away the wet nurse when Elia had pronounced she would not use one, had even abided by her refusal to go into confinement. Dornishwomen do not hide away for months simply because a child grows within them. We withstand until our time is upon us, and so shall I. He'd merely smiled. Far be it from me to impose my will upon yours.

He'd kept to his promise, too, though every now and then she'd seen his intent to urge her to be careful. She knows the true reason, that he feared anything and everything, given his mother's troublesome pregnancies and doomed children; every time, she would kindly remind him that the queen was three-and-ten when she had him to Elia's three-and-twenty, and that just because she falls ill doesn't mean she's an invalid.

Still, she'd appreciated it despite that, for it came from a place of real concern. Not just for the babe she carried, but for her. Before she'd gotten to know him, she'd figured him for the same as the rest of them—dismissive, condescending, begrudging of her sickness—but he'd been nothing of the sort. Though she loathes the stormy, frigid environment of Dragonstone and the grating crownlands accents, of Rhaegar she is fortunate. Reserved and melancholy, her husband is, but a good man all the same.

And, she thinks as he abandons the shade in order to sit down beside her in the pool and make faces for Rhaenys's amusement, a better father than she could have hoped for. Of course, her standards were exceedingly low, considering who his father is, but nevertheless he'd surpassed them with great aplomb, and no artisan in the world could accurately capture Rhaenys's adoration when she gazes up at him.

She may hate by sun and spear how Rhaegar had presumed to name their daughter after such an ill-fated woman, she may hold that grudge until the end of her days, but she'll put up with anything so long as Rhaenys is happy and healthy. Two aspects, she vindictively loves reminding gossipy courtiers, that she has in excess.

They stay like that for ages, just the three of them, Rhaegar valiantly trying to ignore the fact that by being here his sunburn is only getting worse, when at long last they're disrupted. His arrival is nearly silent, but not silent enough, and his steps are so familiar Elia doesn't need to so much as glance over her shoulder to know whom they belong to.

"Pardon the interruption, Your Graces," says Arthur, endlessly polite even here, "but I'm told supper will be served before long."

Rhaegar takes a look at his oldest friend, and scowls. "By the Seven, you too? I thought you mountain houses were supposed to burn."

As plainly as it had for her and Rhaenys, so too had Dorne recognized its own in Arthur, his skin browning beneath the sun the way Rhaegar's most certainly hadn't. "It would not be the Young Dragon's first exaggeration, I'm afraid," Arthur replies mildly. "What kind of Dornishmen would we be if we roasted alive every time we stepped out of doors?"

"Mayhaps the respectful kind." With a put-upon sigh, Rhaegar removes himself from the pool, a rather spectacular pout on Rhaenys's face at the action. "Ready the nursery, if you would. We shan't be long."

Arthur nods in obeisance and departs, pausing only to tap Rhaenys playfully on the nose. Elia takes Rhaegar's proffered hand, primly wringing the water from her skirts, and as they walk into the palace she closes her eyes. The familiar scents of her people mingle with Rhaegar's smoke and Rhaenys's sweetness, and she can scarcely think of anything more perfect.

Jae opened his eyes, and the first thing he felt was warmth, a body pressed against him; he slowly turned his head to his left to see Arianne sleeping beside him, her body snuggling with his, her arms around his chest, her head resting against his shoulder. This gave Jae an opportunity to look at her flawless face. Jae moved a strand of her hair from her face. She was a beauty to look at.

Closing his eyes, Jae quickly found her. "Little sister. I wasn't dreaming? The Mountain is Dead."

"He is my Valonqar. You have done it." Rhaenix spoke.

"Not yet. Armory Lorch is next, and Tywin Lannister and The King will face our wrath."

"I will be there beside you, Jae. But I would be grateful if you could stop thinking about the Past. Dreaming about a Past that is no more. Think about what you have, of the family you have." Rhaenix spoke softly.

Jae was quiet but nodded nonetheless. He knew she was right. There was no point in thinking about what could have been.

"Thank you, big sister," he said mentally before turning his attention back to Arianne, who had one eye open, looking at his face with a smirk on her beautiful face, making her look like a cobra in a strange way.

"It seems someone has woken up." She said softly, crawling up to his level, her face close to his, his hands caressing her long beautiful hair. She hummed, enjoying the feeling he could give her just by touching her hair.

"What happened?"

Arianne kissed his cheek tenderly before telling him everything that happened after he lost consciousness. After hearing everything, Jae grumbled and looked annoyed.

"That pig. I'm sorry, Arianne. I was going to name you the Queen of Love and Beauty, but it seems that's out of the options."

Arianne smiled, her hands cupping his face before kissing him fully on the lips, her hands making his head lean closer as her tongue invaded his mouth. His hand grasped one of her large breasts, overfilling his hand; Arianne moaned in pleasure, feeling herself getting wet between her thighs, her body grinding up and down against his, his cock uncomfortable against his breches.

"You silly man. I don't care if you didn't give me a crown of flowers. I only want you, my Jae," Arianne spoke with a low-husky tone that sent shivers down his spine, her eyes dark with lust and something else, before kissing him again with all the passion she could muster.

"I want you, Ari," Jae spoke with a husky tone, kissing the side of her neck, Arianne let out a moan, her hand going through his dark hair, his right hand busy with her bosom, and the other sneaking to her dripping cunt.

"I'm yours, Jae. No one else's. Ever. I'm only yours." My beautiful Prince.

Tomorrow

Sandor had won the Jousting since Jon was disqualified, but when he grabbed the crown made of flowers, he had put it on top of the dog who had peed on his brother's corpse, getting looks from the entire crowd. Sandor didn't care about the stupid crown. He needed to find a bastard and talk.

The first day of the tourney ended on a high note.

The second day of the tourney was what Alyanna was most looking forward to.

The archery competition was the first event of the day and the one that Alyanna looked forward to the most, as she hoped to prove her skills here and win the ten thousand dragons. Her competition was fierce, but as she looked down the line of archers ready to begin the event, she felt confident. She was right to be. Every time they moved a few paces back, more and more failed to hit the target. At eighty-five paces, Alyanna looked at the three competitors stuck with her. Ser Balon Swann, from the Stormlands, Prince Jalabhar Xho, an exile of the Summer Isles, and Anguy of the Dornish Marches. The other two competitors were unknown to him. At ninety paces, the first of the unknown competitors dropped out. At ninety-five, the second unknown competitor dropped out.

The four competitors turned around and moved five more paces back. One hundred paces. Tor sighed to release the tension that had been building up in her. She could shoot this; her enhanced eyesight helped with the aiming, of course, while her enhanced sense of touch let her get a feel for the wind just from it blowing gently on her face. The order was set, and Aly had the first shot. She judged the wind, the arc of her bow, and the strength of her shot, all before lifting her bow, and when she shot, her calculations were correct. Ser Balon Swann was next. He held his arrow for too long, so when it came time to release, he shifted slightly and missed. The exiled Prince shot next. His arm was straight, his form perfect, but he didn't take the slight breeze into account. He missed. Anguy of the Dornish Marches raised his bow and fired. It was perfect.

One hundred and five paces did not seem any longer than a hundred with Aly's senses. Apparently, the same held true for Anguy as well. It was when they reached one hundred and thirty paces that something happened. Anguy missed. Alyanna's breath caught in her throat. This was her shot. If she missed, they would shoot again, but if she hit, then it was over.

She had been told when she was younger that the best archers don't aim, they feel. Archers don't get seconds to aim in battle. They might get one if they're lucky. Aly had taken that lesson to heart. So when she raised her bow, she didn't think; she felt. The wind blowing softly on her face, the silence of the crowd, the heat of the sun. Her eyes locked onto her target; she released the bowstring. The bowstring snapped forwards. The arrow flew off. Aly could swear it was happening very slowly. She counted two heartbeats before the arrow landed. She had hit.

Aly's face broke into a smile as the crowd began cheering. She put her bow on her back, turned to Anguy, and held out a hand. She took it with a smile.

Tomorrow - Night

Jae knew the tourney was coming to an end, the only thing left was the melee, the big feast, and they would leave for Winterfell. Yesterday, his father told him that he would talk with Lord Tarly.

Today, he wore his best clothes. It didn't take long for Jae to arrive at the meeting, a very hidden place in the garden of Highgarden. The place was illuminated by the full moon. A large tree was standing almost like a shadow near the place, almost five meters tall. Jae saw his father's figure leaning against a square bush, and beside him was Lord Tarly himself. The man held a presence of strength within him.

The moment Jae reached them, his father was about to start when Jae started first, looking directly at the Lord with no hint of fear in his Purple Eyes.

"Lord Tarly. It is good to finally meet you. I'm sure we have a lot to talk about."

Note: The endgame Pairing of this fic is Jon/Arianne/Dany, but let me know if you think there should be any other women that should be with Jon.

Falia Flowers

Dacey Mormont

Val

Margaery Tyrell

Other?