Chapter 314: Revenge

Unable to handle the choppy waves of the Narrow Sea, Tyrion Lannister had been unable to sleep. Helpless, he drank himself into oblivion, stumbling drunkenly from King's Landing all the way to Sunspear.

The moment his short, stunted legs set foot on Dorne's yellow sands, he collapsed, unable to support himself any longer.

When he awoke, Tyrion found himself lying in a soft feather bed—the most comfortable rest he had had since leaving King's Landing.

Tyrion wanted to stay in bed a little longer, but he remembered his mission and forced himself to get up.

The room was dim, with golden sunlight filtering through the slats of the shutters. Groggy from his hangover, Tyrion staggered across the intricate Myrish carpet and clumsily climbed up to the window.

Outside was a quiet courtyard, with tall palm trees blocking much of the view. Yet Tyrion's sharp eyes immediately spotted the towering Sun Tower with its golden dome.

Relieved to confirm he was indeed in Sunspear, Tyrion finally felt at ease.

After dressing in more presentable attire, he stepped outside.

The breeze carried an odd aroma of spices.

"You're finally awake, dwarf." The voice belonged to none other than Bronn.

He wore his usual disgruntled expression, clearly unhappy about being in this place.

"Good morning, Bronn." Tyrion waved cheerfully. "Which member of House Martell welcomed us yesterday? I hope I wasn't too much of a mess."

"Ser Manfrey," Bronn replied. "You were fine, except you vomited all over him."

"Manfrey Martell? If I recall, he's the castellan of Sunspear, right?" Tyrion staggered forward, his steps unsteady. "Come on, let's go pay our respects to our host."

Bronn followed in silence.

Tyrion asked, "By the way, who's in charge of Sunspear right now? Is it Princess Arianne?"

"More or less."

"So, Prince Doran is still being held at Storm's End?"

"No, Caesar has already returned him."

"Then why is Arianne still in charge?"

"Because Doran Martell's condition isn't looking good."

"Not looking good?"

"He's dying." Bronn didn't mince words.

Tyrion stopped in his tracks, surprised. "Dying? Is this Caesar's doing?"

"No," Bronn said with a shake of his head. "Word is, it was the Dornish nobles. Before exchanging prisoners, Caesar demanded that each Dornish lord stab Prince Doran once. So…"

"What a ruthless move!" Tyrion's brow furrowed deeply. "If Prince Doran dies, Dorne is sure to descend into chaos…"

At that moment, a series of urgent bells rang out in the distance.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

At first, it was only the bells from the Old Palace. Soon, the entire city's bell towers joined in, their tolls frantic, mournful, and brimming with suppressed fury.

Bronn shrugged. "Looks like Doran is already dead."

Tyrion snapped out of his thoughts and quickened his pace.

"What a pity. I wanted to meet the famed Prince of Dorne, looks like I was too late. Now, we must stop Princess Arianne from doing anything rash."

"I hear she's a fiery woman. Are you sure you can reason with her?"

"Good thing I'm a man as gentle as water," Tyrion quipped, as much to reassure himself as Bronn. "And I'm very persuasive."

They arrived at the Great Sept, where Prince Doran's body had already been laid before the Stranger's statue. Several Silent Sisters were tending to his remains.

"Lord Tyrion." Ser Manfrey approached to greet him. "I apologize for the sudden circumstances. If our hospitality has been lacking, please forgive us."

"I understand your grief," Tyrion said as he returned the greeting. He lit a candle for Prince Doran and prayed silently for a moment.

As he surveyed the room, he noted Arianne's absence but spotted his niece, Princess Myrcella.

"Myrcella."

"Uncle!" Myrcella greeted him with a smile. "What brings you to Sunspear?"

"I…" Tyrion began, only to be interrupted by a breathless servant girl bursting into the room.

"Terrible news! Princess Arianne is about to execute the Dornish lords to avenge Prince Doran!"

Tyrion hurried forward. "Which lord is she targeting?"

"All of them!"

"She's gone mad!" Tyrion's heart sank.

Ser Manfrey rushed out immediately, with Tyrion close behind.

When they reached the Old Palace, they found over forty Dornish lords kneeling in a row, their hands and feet bound in chains.

Arianne stood before them, her eyes bloodshot, her hair disheveled, and a longsword in her hand, poised to strike.

Fortunately, Ser Manfrey was standing in her way, pleading with her to stop.

"They must pay with their lives for what they did to my father!" Arianne's hoarse voice was unwavering. "All who harmed him must die!"

"If you kill them, House Martell is finished!" Ser Manfrey argued desperately. "Every house in Dorne will rise against Sunspear to avenge their lords!"

"No. The people of Dorne will support me," Arianne declared. "They will never follow these traitors who murdered their own prince!"

"Princess Arianne," Tyrion stepped forward. "I understand your pain and your desire for vengeance. But Ser Manfrey is right. If you execute all these men, Dorne will descend into civil war. And that's exactly what Caesar wants."

"Then help me quell the rebellion!" Arianne's blazing eyes fixed on Tyrion. "I know why you're here—to marry me, right? Then have the Lannisters send their armies to eliminate these traitors!"

"The Lannisters can't send troops to Dorne right now," Tyrion admitted.

"Then get out of my way!"

Seeing that Arianne was about to start the bloodshed, Tyrion quickly stepped in.

"If you must kill someone, don't kill them all."

"What do you mean?"

Tyrion gestured for Arianne to lean closer and whispered in her ear:

"House Martell can't afford to make all of Dorne its enemy. But if only one house rebels, it'll be manageable.

"So, I suggest you execute just one—whichever lord poses the greatest threat to you. For example, Anders Yronwood, who, I hear, was the first to strike Prince Doran.

"As for the rest, pardon them—but hear me out. If you kill Anders, and House Yronwood rebels, you can demand the other houses send troops to suppress the rebellion. With these lords in your hands, most will comply.

"Those who refuse? Declare them traitors and deal with them later.

"This way, while a Dornish civil war might still occur, House Martell won't stand alone."

Arianne considered his words, her expression softening slightly.

"What about the others? Should I just let them go?" she asked.

"You really want them all dead?"

"Of course! Every one of them has my father's blood on their hands!"

"Then don't kill them now," Tyrion said with a sigh. "Once House Yronwood is dealt with, you can deal with the others later—under different charges, like incompetence or failing to pay taxes on time. The key is not to make too many enemies at once."

After a moment of contemplation, Arianne nodded slowly.

"Little Lion, you may lack a strong body, but your mind is sharp. Help me avenge my father, and I'll marry you."

"All of them?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

"All of them!" Arianne said with conviction.

Tyrion sighed. "You might as well just reject my proposal outright…"

"Patience, Tyrion. The sooner you help me with my revenge, the sooner you'll have me," Arianne said, flashing him a seductive smile.

She then strode forward and, ignoring the pleas of the kneeling lords, drove her sword through Anders Yronwood's chest.

Tyrion watched the blood-soaked princess, his expression dazed.

He began to wonder—

Was this truly the wife he wanted?

(End of Chapter)