GOT : Chapter 29

( Oberyn )

Oberyn was absolutely furious.

Furious and livid.

Only a few days before, another attempt had been made on his nephew – his blood's – life. And this one was very, very much deliberate.

The Sorrowful men were an organization of assassins based in Qarth. They were well known in Essos, but, like most shadow organisations, scarcely known in Westeros. 

And although they were based in Qarth, they had chapters just across the Narrow Sea, in both Lys and Tyrosh.

It is said that they never had failed a kill. Which wasn't true by any means. While in Essos, he saw several Sorrowful men fail their task, as their signature phrase when they move in for the kill is quite recognizable to any educated person.

They were also quite an expensive group to hire. They didn't demand the heaps of money the Faceless men did, but it would be considerably difficult for anyone less than a lord to buy a contract from these killers.

And they had made a move on Quentyn. Thankfully, the boy had his wits about him, and when the assassin made his move, Quentyn had punched him with such force that his friends thought that the assassin's head was going to be torn off of his body.

That didn't happen.

What did happen, though, is that Archibald Yronwood quickly caved the would-be assassin's chest in as soon as he hit the ground, killing him.

Good.

Assassins that do the deed rarely know who paid the gold to their masters, anyways.

Quentyn hadn't escaped unscathed, though. The assassin still had time to plant his dagger, although not into the boy's heart, thank the gods.

Instead, the dagger lodged itself square in Quentyn's shoulder, and made him lose quite a lot of blood. Thankfully, his life was never in danger, as he quickly reacted to fashion a makeshift bandage that held till the group made its way back to Sunspear.

He got the news a day later, while riding at Ghost Hill with Ellaria and the girls.

Doran immediately recalled him, and with Oberyn's contacts in Essos from his time as a sellsword there, asked him to investigate who exactly ordered the hit.

Oberyn had immediately rushed to Sunspear, and seeing that Quentyn's life wasn't in danger, quickly started digging into it.

He knew that the Free Cities had had issues regarding trade and monopolies that they had lost to Dorne. Several were unhappy, but he and Doran had once more managed to play them against each other to the point that they were more unhappy at each other than at Dorne.

Logically, his investigation led him to a dead end there.

This meant that the hit was ordered from Westeros, which made his stomach turn.

For it to have been ordered from Westeros, these people needed coin, and a lot of it. Even the wealthiest merchants of Dorne couldn't pay the fees that the Sorrowful men demanded. This logically only left the lords and ladies of the realm.

He called every favour he could from friends in Essos, trying to get to the bottom of this, but it was a raven from the Tor that revealed everything.

There was a conspiracy. A conspiracy to take down Quentyn and restore Arianne to the position of heir to Dorne.

What made him shiver though, were the names on the list of these traitorous lords.

Nevertheless, with a list in mind, he asked for confirmation from his contacts in Essos, who validated it.

This all led him to this blazing hot afternoon, as he paced down the hallways of Sunspear, looking for Quentyn's rooms.

He bumped into one of his daughters first.

"Nymeria." He acknowledged his second daughter as he nearly ran past her without noticing.

"Father." Nym jumped from where she was seated. "Did you find the bastards who did this?"

"I did." He nodded. "I must warn Quentyn immediately. His father already knows and will want a trial as soon as possible."

Nym nodded.

"Who is it?" she growled. "I'll kill him myself."

"I cannot tell." He shook his head. "How has Quentyn been coping?"

"He's been angry. I've never seen him this angry before. It's like all of the Martell hot-bloodedness that he had concealed inside of him suddenly took over. Made the sex a lot more interesting." She chuckled. "But he's calmed down since your first visit."

Oberyn winced slightly.

He had tried avoiding the subject of Quentyn and Nymeria's small tryst, as he would be the biggest of hypocrites if he tried to voice any concern. He had turned a blind eye to Arianne and Tyene's indiscretions, he could very well do the same here.

Nevertheless, Nymeria wasn't even half as discreet as her younger sister, which made things slightly more complicated.

"Good." He finally nodded. "Oh and, Nym. Try to be discreet, will you? About you and your cousin? I know that you can handle yourself, and that you are careful. But try to not make everyone in Dorne know of your lovers."

Nym blankly stared at him for a second, before nodding. "Sorry, father. I'll try to be more discreet."

Oberyn nodded and rushed off. There were only a few corridors left to the hall where Quentyn's rooms were, and they were now properly guarded.

Finally, he caught sight of a man dressed in grey leaving what looked like his nephew's rooms.

"Qyburn!" he called out to the man, whom Quentyn had personally invited into his service, and despite having studied at the Citadel, hated the title of maester.

"Prince Oberyn." Qyburn weakly smiled. The both of them had briefly known each other at the Citadel, actually, when Oberyn was forging a few links. "You have come to see your nephew, I suppose?"

"You suppose well. How is he faring?"

"The wound has fully healed. No lasting effects, no infection. He should be fine, although he does have a slight pain in his left elbow."

"Thank you."

Qyburn nodded and trailed off into the castle's corridors.

Oberyn, on the other hand, entered Quentyn's rooms and discovered his nephew on the bed, shirtless.

For the first time, he got a good look at his nephew's wound, which formed a small, straight line, into his left shoulder.

"Uncle Oberyn." Quentyn acknowledged, putting on his shirt while his elusive frog looked at him with an interrogative glance. "Please tell me you have some good news."

"It depends how you frame it. How have your wounds been healing?"

"Just fine, uncle. I'm not at death's door, just tell me what's going on."

"Very well." He sighed. "I have found who contracted the assassin sent after you. It's…how do I frame it…they are all Dornish."

"What?" Quentyn's voice broke slightly. "Dornish? But the Sorrowful men are expensive…"

"Indeed, they are." He nodded. "What's worse is that there is a conspiracy. One that is being rooted out right now. A conspiracy to kill you and bring Arianne back to the position of heir to the throne."

"What?" Quentyn stared at him incredulously. "How…what?"

"They believed that with you gone, Trystane would be too young to be declared heir and that your father would reinstate Arianne."

"Who would be dense enough to think that?"

"They hoped to gain my support in doing so."

Quentyn frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"A person…close to me, was involved."

"Who? Please, not Arianne, or one of the Sands…"

"No." Oberyn shook his head. "Harmen Uller. Ellaria's father. He hoped to leverage the relationship I have with his daughter, and the four daughters I've had with Ellaria to eventually bring me to their cause and reinstate Arianne as heir."

"Harmen Uller…" Quentyn whispered. "Did the mad fucker come up with that idea on his own?"

"No." Oberyn shook his head. "And I wouldn't have expected him to. But he made a mistake. Since his reasoning behind the act was that your father was breaking Rhoynish tradition, he sent word to several Salty Dornish houses to try and join his cause. 

One of which was the Jordaynes. Trebor Jordayne immediately sent your father word of Harme's treachery."

"Good man." Quentyn nodded.

Oberyn acquiesced.

"Nymella Toland's raven arrived a day later. And the Santagars sent a runner." He continued. "They've proved their loyalty to Dorne, and to you. No doubt that old Trebor is vying for a marriage soon."

"Wasn't grandfather a Jordayne?" Quentyn scoffed. "Do not get me wrong, both Myria and Samira are beautiful women that I have had the pleasure of meeting before, but I can't believe he expects us to bind our houses again."

"Maybe he did it out of blind loyalty?" Oberyn smiled. "Sometimes you think too much about what people have to gain from an act that you forget that loyalty is reason enough."

Quentyn nodded.

"And the others? You said that there were several conspirators."

"Mors Gargalen is the other main one. The Lord of Salt Shore hasn't taken the succession issue that well, either." He mused. "And Nymor Allyrion, Ryon's brother, who hasn't taken well that his brother married an Yronwood and in his eyes, defected to you. The others…are mostly your sister's ex-lovers."

"Who?"

"Andrey Dalt, for starters." Oberyn recounted. "Although his brother was completely cooperative in the investigation. Deziel is clear from any wrongdoing. The Dalts are as much victims as you in this affair, as they were meant to take the fall."

"Wonderful…"

"And the last two are Garin, an Orphan of the Greenblood, and Gerold Dayne, the lord of High Hermitage."

"An assassin doesn't really sound like Gerold's idea."

"Perhaps not." He shrugged. "But he likely knew that getting to you was almost impossible."

Quentyn nodded in response, before eyeing Oberyn intently.

"Please tell me Arianne isn't involved."

"She isn't, thank the gods." Oberyn heard Quentyn breathe a sigh of relief. "She's been confined to Sunspear and has had no idea of what was going on. Neither had Tyene."

That last part was a lie. Tyene had known somewhat, but was disbelieving, and both Dalt and Garin had been extremely vague with what they intended to do. Nevertheless, he chose to berate his daughter, and would keep her safe from any reprisals.

Quentyn breathed deeply, took a look at his frog, and then finally announced, stone cold:

"I'll want all of their heads on spikes outside of Sunspear's walls. After a short trial, of course."

The manner in which he delivered that line made Oberyn freeze. He had never heard Quentyn be so methodical, so cold in his tone, before this. It almost made him shiver as he remembered how Doran had reacted to Elia and her children's deaths.

"Your father has organized a grand Dornish trial to be held at the Water Gardens in five days, after the celebrations of the Usurper's death."

Quentyn nodded, while Oberyn almost forgot that he had these celebrations to attend to. It turns out a boar had beaten him to the punch for Robert Baratheon, but there were still three more prizes to grab.

"Walk with me, uncle." Quentyn finally let out, as they both exited the room.

The walk was silent, but relatively short, as they quickly arrived in a large room bathed in sunlight, with a large balcony giving a splendid view on the sea to the east.

Lost in his thoughts, a large clank brought him back to reality.

He looked down, to find a sparring sword at his feet.

"What's this?" he asked, picking it up.

"What does it look like?" Quentyn frowned, as the frog, who had somehow found a way onto the balcony behind him despite Oberyn being sure Quentyn had left it in his room, let out a series of croaks that oddly resembled a laugh.

"Sparring sword." Oberyn shrugged.

"Exactly." Quentyn smiled. "I am no fool, the trial at the Water Gardens will end only one way, and that is with a trial by combat. And I know what the Dornish think of my father. I will not have you or anyone else fight my battles.

The conspirators will name Gerold Dayne as their champion, and that cunt will not fight fair at any point.

This is where you come in, uncle. You want to help me? Help me learn every dirty trick in the book and help me counter all of them. We have five days."

Oberyn knew better to argue with his nephew by now.

"Very well." He said, pointing the sword straight at Quentyn. "Let's begin with a warm-up."