Sowyer I

The sun was shining with clear blue skies that stretched as far as the eyes can see. A gentle gust of wind drove the sails of a carrack forward. The captain piloting the ship prayed to the Seven for blessing this day with good weather. As he looked at the ship full of men busy tying ropes and rigging the sails; he couldn’t help swell in pride. He has come a long way from being a fodder pirate to being detained and cruelly beaten in the dungeons.

Sowyer owed Lord Marq his life. From giving him opportunities beyond imagination and uplifting him out of poverty. And so he marched with him, repaying his debts. Their cause was just as they fought for a King, divined by the Seven to rule the realm from Dorne to the Wall. Jon Arryn and the majority of Vale lords were mad when they chose to elect Robert to the Iron Throne. It was no longer a war for justice, as they so claimed, but a war of rebellion against the Targaryen Dynasty which ruled the Seven Kingdoms for nearly three centuries. And so, Lord Marq fought for King Aerys, to their eternal dismay.

He fought and bled for Lord Grafton and when they lost, hundreds of his fellow privateers were put in chains. The humiliation they endured and the dread sinking in as night turned to day, thinking whether it was their last. The stomping of guards as the prisoners were hauled off only made their stomachs twist even more. Only the pitter-patter of raindrops calmed their nerves. Yet it wasn’t enough when a thin young man with brown hair came stalking into their cells. What he said would forever make him grateful, “As of today, you are to be released. The crimes you’ve been found guilty of have not been pardoned, but I petitioned Lord Gerold to give you leniency.”

“What do we have to do?!” The prisoners exclaimed in synchrony.

“You gentlemen are sailors, are you not? Well, I got a task for you. Gulltown needs a fleet and captains to pilot the ships.” At the time, Sowyer thought it was too good to be true. He learned from Marq’s demise that he shouldn’t trust and blindly follow anyone, let alone someone who are complete strangers. Yet Sowyer kept on listening, with desperation fuelling his will to cling unto hope. A hope of escaping the hell that was their cell. “My name is Petyr Baelish. From here on now, you all work for me. For the betterment of Gulltown.” The former pirate couldn’t tell why he saw Marq in him, but it made him recall how he recruited them so many years ago. Marq promised them wealth and glory in return he would turn his head when they broke the King’s Peace. But Lord Petyr appealed to their morality. Appealed to better the lives of the people of Gulltown. Lord Petyr called for everyone to work as hard as they can so that their wives, daughters and sons would live in greater prosperity. This made him more trustworthy in his eyes. A leader who perhaps deserved his loyalty more than Lord Marq.

“Captain! It’s one of those green doves!” He was shaken from his reminiscence when he heard a high pitch yell from one of the cabin boys. Sowyer looked down from the aftcastle and bid the boy to hand him the dove. He inspected the unusual bird and despite working with them for a few months, he couldn’t help tingle in fear and disgust as he held the sickly-green dove. Sowyer has caught and eaten many birds in his life from pigeons to falcons and not once has he seen a bird this unnatural. The dove had bright-blue veins as they snaked and bulged across its body. The skin emanated a dizzyingly green haze that caused him to blink a few times. Whatever those alchemists did to these birds, it made them fly quicker and made ‘em hella smart.

Sowyer had a hard time working with the abominations, the alchemists liked to cook up, yet he couldn’t deny the strategic importance of said dove. They were an affront to the gods and the Faith wouldn’t look too kindly at people who use them. This didn’t stop Lord Petyr as he forbade any use of the birds on land when they could easily be spotted. However, the sea was different. The sea was large and away from prying eyes. And those catching sight of the bird; well the light sometimes plays an illusion in the mind especially when you’re far out in the sea.

The captain looked at the dove’s claws and pulled a scroll from its silver cylinder and read the message.

To Captain Sowyer,

I have a task of great import. Whatever Maribelle has asked of you, forget it. My order takes precedence. Do them with haste and due diligence. I know I’m asking a lot from you, but your records and achievements precede you. I want you to sail to Sunspear and enter negotiations with Prince Oberyn Martell. I want you to put your mummer’s act and pretend to be a squire for Ser Darry. He’s the knight harbouring Prince Viserys and baby Daenerys in Braavos. I want you to persuade him to kill Jon Arryn.

Sowyer’s eyes bulged at that. Killing a Lord Paramount and a Hand of the King, no less. He should’ve thrown it in the ocean and pretended the order didn’t get to him. But the damnable birds were too smart. They remembered faces and ships. There was no way he could’ve escaped from Lord Petyr’s scrutiny and wrath. So, he kept on reading.

Persuade him by playing his hatred of Lannisters. To further convince him - tell him the Tyrells will ally with them as they prepare to betroth Margaery to Viserys. Good luck. May his death avenge Lord Marq.

- Littlefinger

That was the crux Sowyer needed to do the unthinkable. The deed that would shroud his name into infamy if he was unlucky. He wanted to avenge Lord Marq. The former Grafton Lord wasn’t a perfect man, but he uplifted many of his brothers out of poverty and many of his sisters from the predations of whore houses.

One thing that worried him was his ignorance of some parts of Petyr’s letter. “Oi! You there!” He pointed at a man seeing through his spyglass. “I want you to pilot the ship, I’m gonna be busy. Sail us to Sunspear! We should have enough supplies to get there!”

The navigator panicked as he looked left and right, he was about to refute Sowyer but was too late as he stomped down the stairs. Sowyer looked back at his stricken look and shook his head and sighed. Perhaps I can petition Lord Petyr to make more of those fancy schools. Maybe a school to teach sailing and navigation. “Oi, lad! If you need help just ask Ylfred, he’s good with his sums and a damn good astrologer.”

He entered his room and started to clumsily look for his notes. Dozens of drawers and ledgers lay haphazardly on the floor when eventually he huffed in relief. Out from the piles of rubbish, he took a leather-bound book. He grimaced as he remembered his time in one of Petyr’s schools. They were forced to learn their sums and letters. Then they were taught how to correctly lay the information out and give precise and brief reports. It needed to be brief otherwise the green-dove monstrosity wouldn’t be able to carry it. Luckily, he was already capable of this because Sowyer was used to remembering information and since he couldn’t read nor write, he was forced to orally relay the information back to Lord Marq. This greatly helped his memory.

The privateer skimmed through the book and found what he was looking for. A chapter about the houses that stayed loyal to House Targaryen even after Rhaegar had died. He found House Darry. A major house situated along the river Trident and one of the most powerful banners of the Tullys of Riverlands. Raymun Darry chose to ignore Hoster Tully’s call for mustering and instead sided with the King. Sowyer trembled with tears leaking out as he cursed the unfairness. It wasn’t fair that Raymun was spared by Robert and pardoned whereas Marq was instead killed. His chest caved in as the brute drove a warhammer through his breastplate.

Raymun’s uncle, Ser Willem Darry, chose to remain loyal to House Targaryen even after the fall and sack of King’s Landing. He fled with the two remaining members of the royal family, Prince Viserys and the auspicious Princess Daenerys. A baby girl who apparently summoned a sprawling storm in thin air destroying half the Baratheon Fleet led by Stannis. Whispers speak of magic leading many to call her ‘Stormborn’ but frankly, to Sowyer, it was nothing but ridiculous superstitions spread by desperate nobles who harbour secret Targaryen sympathies. Surely, magic doesn’t exist. He then violently shuddered thinking of the green dove.

He then went on to another book detailing the sack of King’s Landing in great detail and Sowyer prayed to the Seven again for giving Marq’s son the wisdom of the Crone. If it weren’t for Lord Gerold’s careful consideration of his people then Gulltown would’ve been sacked like King’s Landing. He couldn’t fathom having his wife and sisters raped, beaten, and killed. I hope I can survive this assignment so I can be with you, Lorna! I hope you’re taking good care of the kids. I miss those little buggers already.

The captain carried on reading despite his growing revulsion. The thought of having Princess Elia Targaryen nee Martell, watching her son getting his head crushed by Ser Gregor ‘The Mountain’ Clegane, disgusted him. He couldn’t fathom the cruelty she has witnessed as after seeing Aegon being brutally killed, she saw her daughter, Rhaenys, getting stabbed nearly seventy times by Ser Armory Lorch. Both are loyal vassals to Lord Tywin Lannister. It seems Lord Petyr wants me to use this tidbit to increase my chances. He read the last sentence, ‘The bodies of the three were presented to Robert. He along with Jon Arryn smiled. Robert was reported to yell, “At last, no more dragonspawn!”. Jon seemingly agreed, “With their deaths, peace at last.”. Sowyer was suspicious because this information has coincidentally made his job much easier. He didn’t know if they were the truth but regardless he was going to use it. He just needed to rile the Red Viper’s anger and encourage him to kill Jon Arryn. Oberyn Martell was reported to be brash and reckless.

He could do this. Sowyer once was sent by Marq to negotiate terms with House Sunderland who ruled the Three Sisters. A house that ‘allegedly’ sponsored raids on Gulltown shipping. Sowyer knew he would be facing death if he questioned Sunderland’s innocence yet he trotted on and through guile and wit, managed to come out alive with a treaty beneficial to the Graftons. If he could do that, then this was easy pickings.

~ ~ ~ ~

The former pirate ordered his crew to resupply and purchase as much spice and Dornish Red as possible. He gave them an alibi that he’ll take a quick visit to one of the finer establishments to ‘relieve’ himself. His crew were relatively green boys and didn’t know him like most of his former crewmates hence they choked it up on him being an unfaithful husband. An unfortunately common trait in most married men. Sowyer didn’t like pretending like this but for the sake of the mission, he’ll have to keep it in. It made it worse as he was telling the truth about going to a brothel. He wore a cotton headscarf managing to cover his head and most of his face, shielding him from the roaring sun and concealing his identity.

He snaked and plodded across the alleys and roads of Sunspear, and he couldn’t help but look around. The people were downcast as they went about their days. Whispers and annoyed grumblings spread across the streets decrying the legitimacy of the new king and swearing bloody vengeance against the Lannisters. He was surprised by the sheer vitriol these common folk threw out since normally they would’ve not minded the business of nobility. To see the people of Sunspear in an uproar about the death of Elia Martell, though a Targaryen yet the smallfolk regarded her otherwise, either proved that House Martell were competent and just rulers or were master ‘propagandist’, as eloquently argued by Lord Petyr. Eventually, he managed to find what he was looking for as he looked up to find a lewd painting of a woman with massive bosoms performing a Meereenese Knot. The image of the woman looked comely enough but the way she contorted her body made him uncomfortable. Why can’t men appreciate normal sex instead of nonsensical pageantry like that? Sowyer shook his head and thought of his wife.

Soon I’ll be home. Wait for me, Lorna. Over the past few days of sailing to Sunspear, he requested as much information as possible that the Marketing department were willing to give. He scoured endless amounts of information relating to Oberyn’s movement and daily routine and the traders kept reporting that he frequently visits Katherin’s Consort. A high-class brothel located inside the inner walls of Sunspear. Getting through that wall required a vouch from the dockmaster confirming that he was a merchant. A rather wealthy one. It would’ve blown his identity if it weren’t for Maribelle’s scheming. A good blackmail here and there would prove more useful than loyalty in some cases. He was going to thank her for ‘convincing’ the poor dockmaster to our cause. Well, Lord Petyr’s cause.

Sowyer was waved in by two big and burly bouncers brandishing a blunted mace menacingly.

A few scanning glances revealed what he was looking for. A man with raven black hair and tinted brown skin was being served by two ladies and a feminine-looking man – or at least it looked like a man given his flat chest and narrower hips. He gulped and with a sudden leap of courage approached the man prompting the prostitutes to brusquely walk away.

“Sorry for disturbing you like this, Prince Oberyn. But I bring important news.”

The prince seemingly ignored him as he reached out for the wineglass only to stumble. Sowyer walked up and propped the man up and noticed his flushed cheeks and distinct breath. Good. He’s drunk but not too much in the deep end. This’ll make my job easier. Sowyer grabbed the wineglass and proceeded to pour him a mega pint.

Oberyn grabbed it and gulped it down in mere seconds. He burped then rapidly gazed at Sowyer. The privateer was about to flinch, but he managed to control himself. “What do you want? If you’re one of Doran’s men then I suggest you back the fuck up before I gut you. Do you understand?”

“No. I’m a squire working for Ser Willem. He suggested me to seek you so that justice may be done.”

He instantly sobered up and looked inquisitively at Sowyer. “You’re looking too old to be a squire. Spit it out. What do you want and what’s your name?”

“It seems I’ve forgotten my manners, my lord. My name is Soren of house Darwen. We’re a knightly house in service to House Darry,” Sowyer lied then bowed his head in mock grief. “I and many others mourn the loss of Princess Elia and her children. I know it wouldn’t do much, but you have our condolences.”

Oberyn burst out in laughter then sobbed and choked. “I’d rather have spears than mere words, squire Soren.”

Sawyer gravely nodded as he hid his growing smirk. “Then you’ll have our spears.”

“Yes! Exactly, you can’t do shit now fuck off-,” he paused and blinked his eyes. “What?”

“Robert hasn’t won yet. The Gods sides with House Targaryen. Fitting too as a massive storm wrecked much of the Baratheon army.”

“I thought it was the fleet.”

“No, no. Robert was keen on eliminating every dragonspawn through whatever means necessary. He tasked his brother to sail that army and take the Dragonstone stronghold,” Sowyer then slowly approached the grieving prince and sat beside him. “The rest of the realm cries in anger at the injustice suffered by Elia and her children.” He noticed Oberyn’s back straightening and he knew he had him. “People said that Jon Arryn and Robert celebrated the death of your nephew and niece. ‘With this, the war is good as won,’ said the Hand of the King. Imagine that. The person negotiating with your brother right now, whose supposed to be ‘High as Honour’ clapping at the deaths of your sister, nephew and niece.”

Oberyn shook and screamed and started to claw his forehead and hair. He tried standing up but swayed back and forth then stumbled on the bed. “That cunt! The old fart said he mourned the ‘tragic accident’ that poor Elia suffered through! He was lying then!”

“Well of course. He didn’t condemn Tywin Lannister,” he paused and surveyed Oberyn’s expression and the mere mention of Lannister got the prince’s blood boiling only pleased Sowyer. “Instead he chose to reward Tywin instead. Currently, the negotiations regarding the marriage of Cersei Lannister and the usurper was due to his influence. It only stalled when his wife got kidnapped by bandits causing him to redirect his focus.”

“The Lannisters want to get into the Iron Throne?” Oberyn asked calmly but Sowyer was sure it hid a razor-sharp tone.

“Yes. Despite them being late like Walder Frey, they got rewarded. Jon Arryn wants this marriage to stabilise the realm and to isolate the Reach and Dorne. But what if I tell you if Jon Arryn dies now, his efforts to stabilise and legitimise the Usurper’s reign would fail. Catastrophically so.”

“This sounds too good to be true. You still haven’t answered my question. What. Do. You. Want?” Sowyer cringed at this but managed to hide his discomfort. Shit. I thought he was drunk. No matter. I got this.

“We want to put the Targaryens back into the Iron Throne. By brain and through swords, the Targaryens will be on the Iron Throne.”

“ ’We’. Huh?” Oberyn chuckled. “You. A mere squire representing the will of the dragon sympathisers. Do you even have the right to speak on their behalf?”

“Do you know why I haven’t been knighted yet?” Sowyer looked at Oberyn shaking his head. “It’s because Ser Willem still doesn’t believe I have the honour to become one yet. He disdains the… The lesser and dishonourable means that I regularly partake in. So, yes. I do have the right to speak on their behalf because it is I who takes the risks if their plan fails. Who would the executioner believe? A bunch of powerful lords with a great deal of influence or a lowly squire?”

Oberyn grunted at that. “So, you want me to kill the Hand, eh?”

“They precisely told me that. Yes.”

“So, the risk transfers from them to House Martell and the rest of Dorne. How rich of them. I need guarantees that as soon as I off the old man, they would raise their spears in support of House Martell. Now, do you have that guarantee?”

“Nearly all Reacher Lords quietly seethe in rage against the Usurper. Mace Tyrell has been negotiating with Ser Willem to marry off his daughter to Prince Viserys.”

“I’m not sure if you’re a mummer’s –, “Oberyn chuckled causing him to sweat cold iron as he grimly thought his cover was blown, “jester but you sure do act like one. You’ve made me laugh in the past ten minutes more than others have in the past months! But the Reach are nothing but poncy cowards the lot ‘em. Stayed to besiege Storm’s End instead of marching with us to the Trident! They can’t stand against Robert’s combined Northern, Riverlander and Stormlander armies.”

“The Riverlands are ravaged by the war and won’t be able to muster as much men against you. The North is too isolated. And half of the Stormlander army is beneath the ocean. The Reach has 70,000 swords. There’s a slight chance if you kill Arryn now, the marriage between Cersei and Robert won’t come to pass.”

“Slight chance.” The prince scoffed. “Meaning they most likely act against us to further indebt themselves to that fucking Stag.”

“You seem to forget that the Lannister army has no real experience against a real battle. Maybe against underequipped Goldcloaks and screaming women and children in King’s Landing. But that doesn’t scream like an experienced army to me.”

Oberyn grinned like a feral cat. “Fine. You have a deal. I’ll kill him.”

“May I ask how?” Sowyer silently celebrated.

“A most tragic accident.”

Sowyer puffed his chest out and shook Oberyn’s hand. He looked at the window beside Oberyn and noticed black splotches swerving out from his eyesight, on the roofs next door. He shook his head and dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. He scored a fantastic victory and hoped Lord Petyr would knight him for this. Perhaps he can pass that title to his kids and then his grandkids. The future looked bright for Sowyer.

Doran I

He woke up to a sudden and frantic knocking on his door and quickly opened his eyes. The negotiations for lasting peace took a toll on him. Doran nursed his swelling foot and cursed the pain. His maester told him that it was an early form of gout and if he ate less meat then it will eventually disappear. He longed for the day the infernal pain would disappear. Doran stopped nursing his foot as he grew irritated by the sharp knocking on his door. “Just come in.”

A man with broad shoulders came in wearing a distinct Norvosi armour and bowed to him. “My prince, I bring grave news. Lord Arryn is dead.”

“Areoh… How?” Doran instinctively denied it.

“We’ve found his room in a mess. His body was stabbed by a spear right into his left arm. It would’ve been easily survivable but seeing his necrotic arm and parts of his left shoulder being dissolved… I know what causes that. It’s manticore venom. It seems the assassin wanted him to suffer before he died.”

This was a disaster. A man died under Guest Rights… Under his roof. The complications of this would spread across the realms further blighting the reputation of House Martell. Perhaps encouraging the Demon of the Trident to march his armies and raze Dorne to the ground. Despite the troubling consequences of Jon Arryn’s death, he couldn’t get himself to be angry. A part of his soul seems to be relieved believing that Elia and her children were justly avenged.

But he knew it was wrong. He knew the people responsible for her and her children’s death. It was Tywin Lannister, not Jon Arryn. He scrambled in his thoughts, zoning Areoh Hotah, his loyal Captain of his guards, out of his sight. Doran only knew one person who used a spear and coated it with manticore venom. His own brother. He couldn’t fathom how he wasn’t caught during the act. He was sure he hired the best of the best, carefully trained in the art of stealth by Bearded Priests of Norvos, to stalk and observe Oberyn. Doran grunted and tensed his legs causing the pain in his foot to escalate forcing him to lay on his bead. Areoh was about to rush forward but was stopped by him.

I told them to only observe him. Not to stop his foolish endeavours. Doran wondered what possessed his brother to commit such lunacy. Doesn’t he know this will bring war upon Dorne? Robert won’t stand for having his foster father casually murdered under their halls and with Guest Rights to boot.

“Areoh, has your Nightcloaks reported anything about Oberyn.”

The guard sighed and grinned. “Way ahead of you, my lord. I just heard a report of Oberyn killing Jon Arryn.” Areoh nodded at him, “And it seems you’ve already known.”

“Of course. Who else kills with manticore venom?”

“As you say, my lord.”

“But what I don’t get is why now. He could’ve done it two weeks ago when he arrived in Sunspear. But why now?” Doran had to double the surveillance of his rash brother to prevent him from doing anything stupid. He and the Nightcloaks succeeded but, he had to sadly admit, they’ve grown complacent. And in the complacency led to the death of the Hand of the King. Prompting a war that would probably ravage Dorne for generations and because of that, he wanted to know why Oberyn did it.

“We’ve apprehended Prince Oberyn and confined him to his room if that pleases you, my prince.”

“I want to know why he did it.”

The guard demurely shook his head. “It is not my place to question your brother, my prince. But before committing the assassination, the Nightcloaks have spotted him talking to someone. They’ve apprehended him as well and he’s in the dungeon for your pleasure.”

Doran widened his eyes at that. He knew his brother was arrogant and was used to having his own way. There was no way he got manipulated into killing Jon Arryn. “Interesting. I’ll have to visit him once I’ve finished wringing Oberyn’s neck.”

He took his cane and wobbled through the grand halls of Sunspear. Passing through ornate tapestries lining the wall as they flapped every time the wind gushed through the wide and open windows. Eventually, he gestured for the guards to let him into Oberyn’s room. He didn’t even bother to knock.

“Brother.”

“I know what you’re going to say. But I did what I could to avenge our sister and her children!”

Doran noticed the smell from the room and looked at Oberyn lying sprawled on his back. “You’re drunk?”

“Nah. Just hungover. It’ll go away in an hour or two if you leave me - the fuck - alone!”

“I want to know why you’ve done this.”

Oberyn buried his face into the pillows. “You and your pet Norvosi probably already found out. Now leave me alone!”

“You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you?”

“I’m going to be exiled.”

Doran sniggered then burst out laughing. Like wildfire being primed, his laughter caused him to violently choke. Oberyn squirmed from this as he wasn’t used to his brother laughing considering his normally serious and stoic persona. Doran breathed and calmed down. “War. And you’ll be leading my army.”

“Me?”

“Who else? Uncle Lewys died at the Trident. You’re the only one who has the respect of the Yronwoods, Qorgyles, Jordaynes, Daynes and the Wyls. I’m going to call their banners since ours has been dangerously depleted. I want you to lead their combined army and defend either the Bone Way or the Prince’s Path. I trust you to wisely choose which paths. You’ve always been better at me at matters of warcraft.”

Doran mirthlessly grinned seeing his foolish brother widening his mouth and guffawing like an idiot. “I-I. You sure?” Oberyn composed himself. “Not the Prince’s Pass. The Bone Way is the one.”

“May I ask why?”

“You already know why. I saw your Nightcloaks kidnap the man.”

Doran clicked his tongue. “Just tell me. I haven’t had the pleasure of talking to a man that manipulated my little brother. Played him like a fiddle too.” The Prince of Dorne braced for his brother to explode in anger. But it never came as Oberyn calmly stood up and relayed everything the ‘squire’ said. Doran listened with rapt attention.

“So, the Reach is going to ally with us. It’s no use guarding Prince’s Pass then.” Doran sighed then unexpectedly punched Oberyn in the head. “I could’ve negotiated better terms. Mayhap, betrothing Mace’s heir, Willas, with my Arianne. It would’ve solidified our alliance even more instead of relying on hearsay from a man who claims to be Ser Willem’s squire.” Doran huffed then slumped. “I don’t think the old knight even has a squire.”

“Wait… What?”

“What I’m saying to you, Oberyn,” Doran lightly headbutted him and levelled his gaze. Oberyn tried to flinch back but was forced back into position by Doran’s arm. “That you’ve been swindled and lied to. You bloody idiot.” He reached out for his cane and struggled to get up. “Now. Let’s go down the dungeon to hear what the ‘squire’ has to say for himself. Soren was it? Of house Darwen?” Doran chuckled. “Never heard of it.”

Oberyn had the decency to blush. “I was drunk.”

“Of course, you were. But that’s the past. We can only look to the future now. This time I expect you to wipe your own shit this time instead of relying on me.”

“Y-yes, brother.”

As they descended down the stairs towards the dungeon, they heard wails of excruciating pain echoing up the hall. They saw what was causing it. Oberyn recognised him as the man who spurred him into action. The man was sprawled across the rack with his joints stretched to the limits as he pleaded and whimpered.

“So, Soren of house Darwen, care to tell us of your real identity?” Doran asked to break the ice.

“Please! It’s breaking my arms and legs!”

Doran nodded to the torturer, and he immediately loosened the ropes by turning on the wheel. The prisoner sighed in relief. “I’m so sorry for… The lack of hospitality but your actions have led to the death of the Hand of the King. I’m obligated by law to punish you on behalf of the King.”

“But I haven’t done anything! My name is Sowyer and I’m a merchant from Gulltown! I came here to buy spices and Dornish Red! My crew can attest to this!”

“Was this the man you’ve talked to Oberyn?” The man in question didn’t visibly react. No micromovements and Doran noticed his eyes didn’t dilate. Perhaps they had found the wrong man and they’ve been torturing someone innocent. Or he could be a master mummer.

“It’s him.” His brother angrily pointed at him. “You said you were called Soren Darwen! A squire of Ser Willem! You’ve lied to me!” He strode forward and grabbed the man’s collar and started to pull him upwards.

“Y-your wrong! You’ve got the wrong man! Please, I’ve got a wife and children waiting for me!” This caused Oberyn to look at him in shock and quickly dropped him down the rack.

“Are you sure this is him?” Doran planted his arm on his brother’s shoulder to reassure him. “I don’t know why I’m asking you.” The Prince waved his arms and suddenly a man embroidered in dark-black cloth appeared out of nowhere.

“You’re the Nightcloak that saw him with my brother in Katherin’s, right?”

He bowed and with a heavy norvosi accent replied, “Yes, your princeship.”

“Well, well. You seem to be a master mummer.” Doran beckoned the torturer to come forward.

The prisoner saw his masked torturer, the one who tormented him for an entire night, coming close and panicked. “Wait! Wait! Please no more!”

“That can be arranged if you answer my questions.” Doran paused and was satisfied when the swindler nodded. “You’ve told me who you are. Now, who do you work for?”

The man trembled but didn’t say anything even when his tormentor started to crank the wheel. He squirmed and let out a yell. Yet he shut his mouth for ten minutes which Doran can respect. Such loyalty to his master is commendable. His shoulders and knees started to creak until he couldn’t take it anymore. “I work for Lord Petyr Baelish!”

Doran tilted his head. “Who?”

“He’s the one pulling the strings in Gulltown! There I said it please let me go!”

“Gulltown, huh. In the Vale?” Doran whispered. “Interesting. I’ll have my maester brief me about him.”

Oberyn stepped forward. “So, brother. Do we know anything about him?”

“Not yet.” Doran smirked. “Not yet.”

“So… I didn’t kill Jon Arryn. He did. This Baelish guy.” That got him another punch in the head. “Oi! If you keep doing that I’ll lose my wits! Permanently.”

“Looking how stupid you are already, it probably wouldn’t change much,” Oberyn was about to retort by Doran cut him off. “No one would believe us. Throwing a random name would make us more unbelievable. Make us seem more desperate. And desperation is a sign of weakness.” He tightened his knuckles. “House Martell can’t afford to look weak.”

Oberyn shivered as he nervously slicked his hair back. “So… What do we do?”

“You defend the Bone Way. Wait for my instructions to go on the offensive. And I do mean wait for my instructions! We can’t act without the Tyrells.”

“But what do we do if they don’t do anything. Even worse, what if the Tyrells ordered their men to march through the Prince’s Pass?! That thing!” Oberyn aggressively pointed at Sowyer, “could be lying!”

“I wasn’t lying, my lord! Lord Petyr has a plan! He always does!”

“Wow. You seem to put so much trust in this person. May I ask why?” Doran asked.

“He fought a war against the local nobility and won in less than two weeks! He’s much more capable than any lord I’ve served with.”

Interesting. I don’t know why, this Petyr fellow, ordered the death of Jon Arryn but I would love to eventually know. Who knows? Perhaps I could meet him.

The man in the rack whimpered, “What happens to me now, my lords. Please show mercy, I was only following orders!”

“So, you’re a slave?” Oberyn bitingly chipped in causing the man to stutter endlessly. “I’ll assume you’re a free man then. You could’ve disobeyed his orders and ran away but you chose not to.”

“Because he’s a dangerous man! And… He has my family as hostages. I had no choice.”

“We’ll let you go if you sign this document,” Doran added as the Nightcloak pulled out a scroll with a quill and ink. He waited for a few minutes for the prisoner to read it.

“Wait! I didn’t kill Jon Arryn!” He struggled on the rack. “You did!” Sowyer pointed at his brother prompting Doran to click his tongue. “This isn’t my confession! If I sign this, I’ll do so under duress! It’ll be unlawful under the eyes of the Gods.”

“Well… It’s a shame we’re underground then. Makes it much harder for us to be seen.” Doran then walked out of the cell and beckoned the torturer to come to him. “Make sure he signs the confession.” Then he looked at the Nightcloak, “When he finally does – kill him. We need to send a strong message to Petyr Baelish.”

Doran started to walk up the stairs but struggled. Oberyn supported him as they climbed together. “You, brother. By tomorrow, I want you gone from here as you’ll be busy cleaning after your shit.” Oberyn cringed at this. “You’ll be riding for war. Make sure you say goodbye to your daughters.”