Chapter 193: Chapter 194: The Alliance
"Quickly! Call the maester!"
Loras Tyrell threw himself by Lord Renly's side, shouting frantically.
Princess Arianne snapped out of her shock and immediately called for a servant, instructing, "Fetch Maester Caleotte, now!"
As she prepared to check on Lord Renly's condition herself, she was blocked by Daven Lannister, who spoke in a wary tone.
"Stay back. Don't go near Lord Renly!"
Arianne stopped, surprised, and then understanding his implication, felt both angry and humiliated.
"You think I poisoned him?"
Daven didn't move an inch. "And who was it that publicly ordered the death of Ser Gregor Clegane?"
Arianne found herself speechless.
"House Martell may take lives, but if you intended to kill Lord Renly, at least give him the chance to hold a sword. Poison is a coward's weapon!"
"We did not poison him!" Arianne protested, but her words lacked conviction.
Just then, Maester Caleotte hurried over, temporarily halting their argument as everyone refocused on Renly.
The maester cut away Renly's clothing and carefully examined him. He spent a long time checking his complexion, but his brow remained furrowed throughout.
Meanwhile, Renly had stopped coughing blood, but it was obvious his condition was far from stable. His face was discolored, with a bluish tint; his lips were drained of all color, and his body trembled uncontrollably. He seemed to be struggling to speak, but his breathing was so weak that he couldn't manage a single coherent sentence.
It was obvious to everyone: he was poisoned.
The foul smell of vomit hung in the air, nauseatingly sweet and suffocating.
Unable to bear it, Arianne stepped out into the hallway.
She stood there, lost in thought, until she heard footsteps approaching.
Turning, she saw Prince Doran in his wheelchair at the end of the hallway.
"Father." Arianne quickly went to meet him.
She opened her mouth to explain, but Doran cut her off.
"I already know what happened."
"Father, it wasn't me who poisoned him!" Arianne hastily defended herself.
"And Gregor Clegane? Was he not killed by your orders?"
"Yes." Arianne admitted plainly. "That beast brutally murdered our aunt and her children years ago. When he dared to show himself in Sunspear, of course I had to seek revenge!"
"Foolish girl!" Doran snapped. "This is Tywin's trap! You killed an envoy publicly, and if another envoy dies here in Sunspear, who do you think they will blame?"
"You mean…" Arianne's face paled as realization dawned. "Tywin poisoned Renly?"
"What do you think?" Doran replied, clearly irritated. "Did you believe he just fell ill?"
Arianne felt as if she'd plunged into an icy lake. After a long pause, she muttered, "But… but why would Tywin want Renly dead in Sunspear?"
"I don't know." Doran massaged his temples in exhaustion. "Something significant must be happening outside the walls for Tywin to risk such a move. But we're trapped here, cut off, and unaware. And you acted recklessly!"
Arianne's shoulders slumped. "Then what do we do now?"
Before Doran could respond, a sorrowful cry rang out from the meeting room.
Arianne shivered, instantly realizing that Renly Baratheon was dead—and his death would undoubtedly be blamed on House Martell.
Just then, a figure burst from the meeting room.
"Doran Martell! I demand that you pay with your life for Lord Renly's death!"
"No!" Arianne screamed, trying to explain. "We didn't kill him! I swear on the honor of Sunspear!"
But Ser Loras Tyrell, beyond reason, charged at Prince Doran, sword raised.
Guards quickly moved to intercept him.
"Don't kill him!" Arianne ordered.
At her words, one of the guards lost an arm to Loras's sword, crying out in agony.
Undeterred, Loras pressed forward.
A second guard stepped up, clashing swords with Loras in a rapid exchange of strikes.
A third guard joined the fray.
"Ser Loras," Arianne attempted to reason, "it was Tywin Lannister who poisoned him! He's trying to drive a wedge between Storm's End and Dorne!"
"Absurd!" Daven Lannister emerged, eyes blazing. "You murderers dare to accuse Lord Tywin! He sought a peaceful resolution to this dispute, while you Martells only thirst for blood!"
Loras, consumed by rage, continued to cut down guards in his way, his bloodshot eyes locked on the prince in his wheelchair.
His sword flashed in the air, moving as swift as lightning.
But in the next instant, a massive battle-axe came crashing down.
Clang—
With a grating ring of metal, Loras's sword snapped in two.
The axe continued its descent, carving a gruesome wound across his chest, causing blood to spurt out in a fountain.
"No! Don't kill him!" Arianne screamed.
The axe rose again, poised to strike Loras's head.
"Hotah, stop," ordered Prince Doran.
The axe froze in mid-air, mere inches from Loras's blood-streaked face.
"Prince commands; Hotah obeys." The captain of the guard, Areo Hotah, withdrew his axe.
"Maester Caleotte, tend to him!" Arianne called out, both worried and irritated as she looked at Loras lying in a pool of blood.
Prince Doran turned to Daven Lannister.
"Ser Daven, I assume you're the true envoy sent by Lord Tywin. Come with me; let us speak elsewhere."
With that, the guards wheeled him away, and Daven followed.
They entered a private room.
The moment they were inside, Daven spoke out.
"Prince Doran! You poisoned Lord Renly! The gods will not forgive you!"
"He was poisoned by your people!" Arianne retorted, seething with rage.
Doran held up a hand to silence his daughter, knowing that arguing over the details now was pointless.
Having openly killed the Mountain, House Martell was certain to be blamed for Renly's death, poisoned in Sunspear.
The Martells would not escape this accusation.
What he needed to understand now was Tywin's intentions behind such a move.
"Ser Daven, if I'm not mistaken, something major has occurred outside the walls. Otherwise, Tywin would not have taken such drastic measures. Tell me what's happened, and then we can discuss terms."
Daven's anger dissipated instantly, and he dropped the pretense, recounting everything that had happened in Skyreach.
Princess Arianne listened in shock, astonished that so much had changed in the world beyond their walls in just one month.
Prince Doran remained calm throughout, though his eyes briefly flashed when he heard of Samwell Caesar managing to hatch a dragon. But he soon resumed his composure.
When Daven finished, Doran gave a cold chuckle.
"No wonder Tywin wanted Renly dead in Sunspear. This clears the way for his grandson—or rather, his son—to the Iron throne."
Daven merely smiled, neither confirming nor denying it, and responded,
"Prince Doran, Lord Tywin seeks only to ally with House Martell, and he has already presented you with a significant gift. I trust you appreciated it when you received it outside the Old Palace."
Arianne, knowing he referred to Gregor Clegane, flushed with embarrassment and anger.
"You think we'd ally with you after such treachery?"
Daven shrugged, unperturbed. "If not, prepare to face the wrath of Storm's End. Outside these walls are thirty thousand Stormlanders who seek vengeance for Lord Renly. If they press the attack regardless of losses, how long do you think Sunspear will hold? And if the city falls, will they not vent their anger by slaughtering its people?"
"We'll tell everyone that it was you Lannisters who poisoned Renly!" Arianne spat, trembling with fury.
Daven merely chuckled. "Then find someone willing to believe it."
He paused, then added with a persuasive tone, "But if Dorne agrees to an alliance, Lord Tywin will provide yet another gift—a true one this time."
"What sort of gift?"
"A great victory."
"A victory?" Arianne seemed to understand.
With Eddard Stark's rebellion, it was likely that the Riverlands, the Vale, and Storm's End would rise against the Lannisters.
The Princess narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Are we to trust the Lannisters to lead us into battle against these three regions? Why should we believe this isn't a trap? House Martell won't fall for your tricks so easily."
"Lord Tywin anticipated your doubts," Daven explained, "so there's no risk for you. The Lannister forces will withdraw under cover of night and send agents to set fire to the enemy's supply lines. Additionally, the strongholds we've captured—Skyreach, Ironwood Keep, and others—will be returned to Dorne."
Arianne's breath quickened. "With their supplies cut off and retreat blocked, you're leaving them to perish in the desert."
Daven grinned. "I hear that Dorne's most formidable weapons are the sun and the spear, and the former is deadlier. Does this gift please House Martell?"
Arianne couldn't hide her interest. Although she understood that Tywin was clearly using the Dornish to eliminate his enemies, the prospect was hard to resist.
House Martell desperately needed a victory like this.
Since their devastating defeat at the Battle In StarFall, Dorne had suffered blow after blow, and House Martell's prestige had diminished. A significant victory would lift morale, restore their standing, and solidify House Martell's authority in Dorne.
Moreover, any prisoners taken in such a victory could be ransomed, helping to recover Dorne's losses in this protracted war.
Even if allying with the Lannisters meant alienating the other Realms, the reward might just be worth the cost.
So, Arianne glanced eagerly at her father, waiting for his decision.
Prince Doran was silent for a long time, deep in thought, before he finally spoke. "Agreed. But I have two conditions."
Daven raised an eyebrow. "Let's hear them."
"First, Princess Myrcella Baratheon must marry my son, Trystane."
"Done," Daven agreed without hesitation, evidently authorized by Tywin to make this promise.
Prince Doran's expression remained impassive as he continued, "Second, you will hand over the man who murdered my brother. Meet these terms, and House Martell will ally with House Lannister and fully support King Tommen."
"No problem at all!" Daven agreed readily, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. He had long harbored a grudge against Caesar.
Caesar had nearly driven him to flee for his life on Arbor Isle. The Lannisters, whether for vengeance or the Dragon Caesar had hatched, had no intention of letting him slip through their grasp. Handing him over to the Dornish would be easy.
"Thank you for your dedication to peace in the Seven Kingdoms." Daven bowed, smugly pleased.
Prince Doran nodded, a faint smile on his lips.
"May friendship between House Martell and House Lannister endure."
As Arianne observed, for the first time in many months, her father's hands—so often shaking due to his gout—were steady. He held, clutched tightly in his grasp, a chess piece shaped like a dragon.
(End of Chapter)
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