Chapter 8: Aggressive Negotiation

Sunspear, Dorne

As they approached the outskirts of the capital of Dorne, Jon Arryn and his retinue halted in their stride, rather violently at the shock of seeing the outskirts of the city, and few of the riders fell from their mounts unable to regain the control of their horses.

"What in the name of the seven?" exclaimed Yohn Royce, his mouth agape as he watched what could only be termed as a city of blacksmiths, surrounded the walls of Sunspear. Thousands of tents, each containing many forges, evident from the thick funnels of smoke rising into the air, almost reminding one of trees, with their thickness, all covered by the crescendo of hammers falling on anvils. It was a song of metal. Loud, stern and unyielding.

"They have more smiths here than the street of steel!" Jon Arryn's squire, a young man from House Corbray exclaimed in astonishment, while the Lord of the Vale, tightened his visage. This was not a good omen and portended ill tidings.

"Did you know that Dorne could field this number of smithies?" Yohn Royce asked his liege lord, who grunted and shook his head indicating that he did not.

"Even more pressing is this, where did they get all this iron from? The whole of Westeros would have learned of it the first thing, if they had bought it in such quantities," Jon Arryn replied, stroking his beard, as he was wont to do, whenever he was deep in thought.

"Since we have not, it stands to reason that they have always had this much iron with them from the beginning, and that means …," here Royce paused, and his face grimaced as if in pain and not wanting to admit it, "they have hidden it from the eyes of everyone."

"First, an army of 40,000 men, and now enough steel to arm a number of soldiers ten times that, one wonders what else they are hiding? A great general of the caliber of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark would be the next thing they would reveal, perhaps," Jon Arryn quipped wanly, not knowing how prophetic his words would turn out to be in the near future.

Slowly, but with mounting unease, the envoys of Robert Baratheon, the still yet uncrowned but almost acknowledged King of Westeros made their way to the gates of the castle. It was there, that the second surprise of the day awaited them.

Waiting for them at the gates of the castle with a score of armed men, was Lord Yronwood, the most powerful bannerman of House Martell, along with a smattering of minor nobles of Dorne. However, most alarming was the lack of presence of any Martell's in the welcoming party.

"Lord Arryn, greetings, in the name of Lady Myriah Martell, I acknowledge your presence in Dorne," the formidable Warden of the Stoneway greeted the Lord Paramount of Vale, whose face registered genuine alarm for a second before it vanished into a smooth look which betrayed nothing to most of the observers.

Acknowledge. Not 'Welcome'. Well, that clearly informed him about the mood of the Dornish, and it would seem that their fury had not abated. Not at all, if he judged by the looks on the faces of the Dornishmen who were now viewing his retinue with undisguised scorn.

"Are you here to offer us bread and salt on behalf of the good Lady Martell, my Lord of Yronwood?" Jon Arryn asked guardedly, even as his hand slowly slid to the hilt of his sword, even as his retinue did the same.

Lord Yronwood ignored it all cheerfully and replied, "If you are here as the Lord Paramount of the Vale, and are desirous of better relations between Dorne and the Vale, then yes; if you are here however, on behalf of the Rebellion as an envoy," the Lord paused and his eyes became like stone, "then you will not be offered bread and salt, and shall be treated as a messenger from the enemy, no more, no less."

The words truly disturbed the Lord of the Vale and his men, and informed them of the threat they had walked into unwittingly. If no guest right was offered, then the Dornish could harm their person directly without any consequences that would occur from violating guest right and becoming absolute outcasts in the eyes of the civilized world.

"And if we state that we are envoys from the Rebellion, and refuse to set foot inside this castle without being offered guest right?" Lord Royce asked with a wary tone, as his eyes roamed around as if looking for an escape route.

"Then we will replenish any provisions you may have expended in making this journey and you may leave. But you will not be permitted to meet with the Lady Martell," Lord Yronwood spoke idly, as Jon Arryn and Yohn Royce froze.

Apparently, Dorne was not in the mood to budge even a bit, if this was the kind of welcome they had walked into. Even though they were in the sweltering heat of the desert, the atmosphere around them was colder than the coldest swathes of the North.

"Do you speak for Dorne in this matter, Lord Yronwood?" Jon Arryn asked softly, at which Lord Yronwood shook his head.

"The good Lady Myriah speaks for Dorne for all matters, but in this matter, you may consider my voice to be hers," he spoke in a tone that brooked no argument, and the envoys now realized they had a choice to make.

"What will it be, my Lord of Arryn? Will you forfeit the guest right and gain an audience with the Princess of Dorne, or will you insist upon it and return empty handed? The choice is yours," Lord Yronwood finished, even as all eyes turned upon Jon Arryn.

After a moment of deep contemplation, Lord Arryn dismounted from his horse, much to the dismay of his men, and to the delight of the Dornishmen.

However, Jon Arryn insisted on retaining their weapons even as they sought an audience with Myriah Martell, to which Lord Yronwood agreed with rather disquieting ease.

As they reached the main hall of the palace, he noticed more and more that the number of armed guards within the palace was increasing at an alarming rate. Finally, he entered the throne room of Sunspear and froze. Almost every single bannerman of Drone was present within the hall, and Myriah Martell, the reigning Princess of Dorne was holding court. Glaring via their absence were the Prince's Oberyn and Quentyn Martell. As he entered with his retinue, all talk ceased and everyone turned around to look at him.

Myriah Martell clapped her hands twice and everyone within the hall stopped whatever they were doing and became silent as Jon Arryn approached the centre of the hall and looked up at the ruler of Dorne, who was seated in a throne on a dais at a marble platform opposite the end of the room.

"Jon Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale, you have travelled a long way from Kings Landing to Dorne," Myriah Martell observed softly as Jon Arryn looked at her and gave a curt bow.

"The courtesy of Sunspear seems to have lessened of late, my good lady, from the indication of the behavior that we have been accosted with since our arrival. To not offer guest rights to a visiting Lord Paramount has never been done before," Arryn continued with a hint of steel entering his tone, at which harsh whispers emerged throughout the hall.

Myriah raised her hands and all whispers ceased, "Indeed, however, compared to the courtesy that your foster son, Robert Baratheon, the so-called King of Westeros showed to the corpses of my daughter and my grandchildren, I consider the behavior of Lord Yronwood and my men to be the epitome of Chivalry," she spoke in a cold tone, at which Jon Arryn's eyes went wide.

Robert Baratheon's exultation at seeing the corpses of Rhaegar Targaryen's family, and his subsequent approval of the deeds had become the talk of households throughout Westeros, and something that had not endeared the new King to the masses. The fact that the small folk considered mad Aerys Targaryen to be the worse option was the only thing why there had been very little protests on that matter from the rest of the Kingdoms.

"I would be rather careful about bandying words of behavior, My Lord, lest the rest of this conversation traverse through a very slippery slope," Myriah warned, at which Jon Arryn gulped and hastily nodded his assent realizing the pitfall that lay in that path.

"Ah … well, though my words may have seemed rather harsh, I ended up responding through my emotions, which got the better of me momentarily, I apologize, do sit down, Lord Arryn, and you as well, Lord Royce, pardon me for not recognizing you sooner," Myriah smiled, and sat down on her throne, even as a few servants immediately brought in a set of table and chairs and placed them in such a manner that the ones who would be seated would face the Princess of Dorne directly.

"So, Lord Arryn, I believe you have a message for me? Come, let us not dawdle any more, and finish quickly. I have other pressing matters to attend to," Myriah continued even as she gestured the Lord of the Vale to begin.

Frowning at the flippant attitude being displayed, Jon Arryn proceeded, "Lady Martell, I bring you terms from the Rebellion, so that we may cease hostilities, and peace may reign throughout the realms again."

"Continue," Myriah spoke, her eyes becoming harsh, and her tone stern, while all the men of Dorne in the room glared at him with hostility.

"The terms are such," Jon Arryn continued, "The Rebellion, and consequently, King Robert Baratheon will impose no penalties upon Dorne and its nobility for associating themselves and fighting for the hated Targaryen's, and they will be allowed to keep their lands and their titles. Furthermore, all taxes that Dorne will pay to the Iron Throne will be halved for the next ten years. In return, Dorne must dip its banners, and cease all hostilities. Furthermore, House Martell must swear fealty to King Robert Baratheon and accept him as the King on the Iron Throne and the sole sovereign ruler of Westeros. These are the terms."

The silence within the hall was so grave, that one could have heard the sound of a pin if it had been dropped on the floor. Many of the noblemen in the hall looked visibly nauseated, and few of them moved their hands to the hilt of their weapons.

"Hmm," Myriah paused, as she looked around the room, and then squarely focused upon the eyes of Jon Arryn.

"REJECTED."

"What?" Yohn Royce stood up in shock, even as the other members of the retinue looked dumbfounded at the Princess of Dorne. Jon Arryn looked at the old Princess with his mouth agape.

"You do understand, my lady, that if you reject these terms, you will be at war with the Rebellion?" Arryn asked quietly, at which Myriah scoffed.

"You speak as if we are not at war already, My Lord," Myriah scoffed.

"When we fought earlier as vassals of House Targaryen, we fought because Aerys Targaryen held my daughter and grandchildren hostage. Now, my daughter is dead, my grandchildren are dead, and my brother as well. Now, we will keep on fighting, in her memory, and for a greater purpose," she concluded, as Jon Arryn's eyes narrowed.

"Greater purpose?" he asked in a careful measured tone, at which Myriah scoffed.

"Tell me, Jon Arryn, why in the name of the seven did you ever think that House Martell and subsequently all of Dorne, would ever consider bending the knee to a whoremongering brute like Robert Baratheon? Who is he to us? What is he to us? By what right does he command us? Who is he to offer us terms in the first place?" she asked harshly while Jon's cheeks reddened in anger, while the rest of his retinue displayed anger for the first time, as all the Dornishmen in the hall laughed out loudly.

"He is the King of Westeros, as acclaimed by the Lords Paramount of the realm," Jon thundered, at which Myriah scoffed.

"I do not recall ever giving my assent as such to any proclamation," Myriah replied curtly. "You and the rest of the fools in the Rebellion are welcome to have him as your King, if that is your desire, but not Dorne, never Dorne. Dorne will never bow down to a lecherous whoremonger who condones the rape and murder of an innocent woman and rejoices at the sight of the mutilated corpses of her children. Dorne will never bow to such a man, who is completely bereft of honor, basic decency and the right to Kingship. We took the Targaryen's as our kings. And with their end, also ends our allegiance to the Iron Throne. Dorne is now once again an independent Kingdom, as it was before we bowed to the Targaryen's, and as it should be now," she finished, at which all the Dornishmen in the room let out a deafening roar of approval, some even brandishing their swords and shouting threats at the Rebellion. At the reminder of the fate of Elia Martell and her children, the men of the Vale at least had the decency to bow their heads in shame, as they remembered the behavior of their King when he had learned of their fact.

Pure, unadulterated shock, that was the sum of all the feelings that Jon Arryn currently felt. This was not what he hoped for, not at all. Lord Royce was in a similar state of shock, while the rest of their men watched on in sullen silence.

"Do you understand what this means?" Jon whispered in shock. "Robert, and more to the point, the other lords of the realm will not allow the Iron Throne to fracture. They will raze Dorne to the ground in retaliation. Against such overwhelming might what can you do?" he continued at which Lord Yronwood's hand fell to his sword. Only Myriah Martell's raised hand stayed his response.

"Raze Dorne? You overestimate your capabilities too greatly, Arryn," she scoffed. "Aegon the conqueror himself attempted it and failed, losing one of his wives and dragons in the process. For a hundred years after the conquest, Dorne alone stood against the might of the rest of Westeros, Unbowed, Unbent & Unbroken, and you think a mere brute like Robert Baratheon can achieve what all those legends could not? You give him too much credit. You ask me what we can do? We shall wage war, by land, by sea, on rivers, on mountains, on sand, on marshes, on any terrain whatsoever, with all the strength that the Gods will give us, to wage war against a new tyrant who seeks to shackle us again. And our only goal will be to gain victory, victory at any cost, victory in spite of all the hardships, no matter how long and hard the road may be, but we shall never ever surrender," she finished her speech with such zeal, such passion, that for a second Jon Arryn's stout heart skipped a beat. The hatred in the old woman's eyes nearly blinded him and he averted his eyes from looking at her.

The Dornishmen in the room let out a shout of approval which nearly tore the roof of the hall of Sunspear apart. They shouted their approval until their throats could no longer support it. It took nearly twenty minutes to restore order.

"You have your answer, Arryn, tell what I have spoken here to your King, and warn him that if he is fool enough to challenge Dorne, he should be prepared to pay a price far greater than any he can dream of. This audience is ended," she spoke curtly and made to stand up, when the old Lord stood up.

"Very well, Lady Martell, you have convinced me of your resolve, and that of Dorne's. Name your terms if you have any, My Lady, whatever they may be and it shall be conveyed to the new King," he asked in a polite and respectful tone to which Myriah paused.

"If you wish for peace, and note that I mention only peace, not fealty to the Iron Throne, then you will hand over Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane to our justice. Nothing else will suffice."

Jon Arryn paused, and looking the resolute face in front of him, he sighed with a heavy heart. "I will pass on your words, though I doubt Tywin Lannister will agree to it. And just for the sake of curiosity, what would it take for you to swear fealty to the Iron Throne?"

Myriah paused for a moment, and the answer came swiftly, "The head of Tywin Lannister is the price for Dorne's fealty to Robert Baratheon."

"Are you insane?" he screamed in shock as he jumped back a step, alarm flittering through his face. "What makes you think that Robert will even consider such a demand? Or that Tywin will even agree to this?" as his fellow Valemen could only gape in shock at what they were witnessing.

Did the Princess of Dorne just demand the head of the Old Lion of Casterly Rock as her price for fealty?

Was she mad?

"It is called as one of the burdens of being a King, Arryn. If your foster son desires to be the King of Westeros now, it is his part to dispense justice to aggrieved parties. Tywin was the one who ordered the deaths of my daughter and grandchildren, and I will have justice and vengeance for it. If Robert Baratheon has a single drop of honor in his blood, he will acknowledge my demand and deliver, or lose Dorne forever. If he doesn't, then Dorne will take Tywin Lannister's head alone."

"Take?" Jon Arryn asked in a careful tone.

"Did you think that we would just demand his head and leave it at that? No Arryn, We, all of Dorne, will never stop until we have the Old Lion's head in our hands. We will not eat, we will not drink, we will not sleep, we will not rest and most importantly, we will never stop until we have Tywin Lannister's head, no matter how long it may take," she finished, at which Jon Arryn could literally feel the bloodlust emanating from every person in the room.

So, it is to be war, then. Dorne would not, could not be allowed to secede. That would doom Westeros itself. He felt bad for the bad hand that fate had dealt House Martell, but one house's justice could not supersede universal justice, no matter how right the cause may be. If everyone used legitimate grievances as a means to secede, it would mean total anarchy, and that could not be tolerated. It would seem that Tywin would have the destruction of House Martell as he desired, without expending any effort after all.

"Very well, my lady, do I have your leave to send word of your terms to Kings Landing then?" Jon Arryn asked as he looked at his men, who all nodded in agreement.

"You may, however, it will be Lord Royce who will take our terms back, not you," came the curt reply, and an icy fear settled in his stomach as he whirled around in shock to look at the Princess of Dorne.

"You… What are you all doing? Wait … so this was why you did not offer guest right?" he whispered in shock as all the Valemen surrounded him, even as nearly two hundred Dornish guards formed a circle around his group with swords drawn and pointing towards them, outnumbering them by a factor of ten to one. They could not fight their way out, not against these odds.

"You should have realized this was going to happen, when we refused to offer you guest right, Arryn, and yet you foolishly walked in any way. I even offered you the chance to return and you squandered it like a fool," Lord Yronwood replied smoothly as he stepped forward.

"Unlike you, we are not foolish enough to squander such a God-given opportunity, when it falls right into our laps," the Lord continued, even as the Lord of Runestone looked at him with a black rage in his eyes.

"Lord Royce," Myriah Martell spoke again, "You and three other men of your retinue will be permitted to return to Kings Landing and place our terms to Robert Baratheon. If he wants peace, he will hand over Amory Lorch, Gregor Clegane and Tywin Lannister to us to dispense justice. If he does not, then war it will be. You will ride back to Kings Landing, and you will not be allowed to use a raven to send our terms. No house in Dorne will permit you to use a raven. Nor will you be permitted to sail to Kings Landing. Try and ride as fast as your horse permits," she smiled cruelly before pausing, "And one more thing, the armies of the Vale will no longer aid the Rebellion. If they move with the forces of the Rebellion, then Jon Arryn dies," she concluded, at which Jon Arryn let loose a diatribe of curses, but that was all he was now capable of doing.

"Curb your tongue, Arryn," Myriah snapped back, "Remember the fact that you no longer have any heirs. If you die, the Vale will self-destruct with dozens of claimants vying for your seat. If you wish for the Vale to survive as a Kingdom, you will do as instructed," she ordered, while Jon Arryn paused after hearing those words, and very grudgingly nodded in acquiescence, even as he watched everything transpiring around him with impotent rage bubbling within his soul.

"But, my lady, without a raven, or a ship, it will take at least six weeks for me to reach Kings Landing, even if I ride at my best," Lord Royce protested.

"That is not our concern," Myriah replied curtly, even as her men escorted the loudly protesting Lord of Runestone out along with three of his men. Those additional six weeks would gain Quentyn enough time to consolidate his gains in the Reach, not that these fools needed to know of it, in her opinion.

"They will know, Myriah, they always know," Jon Arryn warned making one last attempt, at which the Princess of Dorne laughed heartily.

"If you believe that the little birds of Varys will warn them, then I am afraid they will not. Varys may have his little birds, but it is my grandson who rules the skies that they need to fly to convey their messages. Kings Landing will hear what he only permits them to hear. No more, no less," she smirked and turned around to leave, as finally, the pieces clicked in Jon Arryn's mind and revealed to him the originator of this plot. Prince Quentyn Martell.

AT THE SAME TIME, NEAR STARPIKE CASTLE.

As he watched the host of 30,000 men make their way towards the castle from one of its towers, William Dayne, Lord of Starfall and the elder brother of Arthur Dayne, called one of his men.

"Inform Prince Quentyn, that the Hightower host is here. The Battle for Starpike is now upon us."

Author's note:

Next, the battle for Starpike, and Quentyn's debut as a general in front of the eyes of the world as as whole.

* Arthur Dayne's brother's name has not yet been revealed in canon if i a correct, so I am using the name William for it. If anybody knows what his true name is , please let me know and I will change it accordingly. I could not find it despite searching in the Ice & Fire Wiki.