Bab 29: Chapter 27 - The Fox's Due, Part I
1 BC
Eyarha Plains
The news of the Reach's resounding defeat in Dorne sent shockwaves throughout Westeros.
Many refused to accept the fact that a Princedom of raiding, pillaging, whoremongering heathens could defeat the Kingdom of Chivalry, renowned for fielding the largest armies and strongest knights in all of Westeros. Many believed it a mere hoax, a lie spread to create the illusion of Dornish invincibility and shatter the credibility of Reach strength.
Many lords utilised their connections and spy networks to discern the truth of the matter, and for them it was both shocking and troubling to learn the truth.
The Dornish under House Rada had indeed broken the might of the Reach Army at the Eyarha Plains, costing them over two-thirds of their numbers and killing many of their prominent commanders, and the honourable and brave King Mern IX Gardener was slain by the hand of the Black Fox himself.
With such a devastating loss, all dreams of Dornish conquest by the Reach were shattered by the hand of fate. With such a victory, Dorne amply demonstrated to the world that it shall never be conquered by foreign nations so long as House Rada endured, that it can and will take the Reach head-on in fair battle, and that the achievements of House Rada in a few years surpassed the achievements of House Martell in centuries.
Yet no victory is without cost, and House Rada paid a heavy price for its victory; fully half its army was slain in battle, and to fund his campaign, Arin had to nearly bankrupt his finances and empty his granaries to supply his army over longer distances, digging deep into his reserves. Now, he had no coin reserves left and very little food, and without payment of any sort, Arin's dreams of unity would die of starvation.
No Reach Lord learned the true extent of the losses Arin Rada suffered thanks to Sainalia's scrupulous work and that of the Tian Feng Huang, but that could change with the chaos of the times.
Hence here he was in a tent, negotiating with the captured Reach commanders.
"You have to be joking; you want the Reach to pay you gold and food supplies in exchange for our release, and for Crown Prince Edmund to visit you in Rhoyehom for further negotiations?" Brandyll asked incredulously.
"Well, you are at my mercy, so it's only fair I try to obtain something in exchange for releasing you all," Arin Rada flatly answered, "And besides, I need something to make up for my losses."
Many of the arrested commanders grumbled underneath their breaths, fixing the harshest glares they could muster on Arin who sat on a chair while facing Brandyll.
"In all honesty, do you really think His Highness or any in the Reach would accept those conditions?" Brandyll questioned, "It is a little late to say this, but with your killing of His Grace, the Reach shall never truly accept any sort of peace deal with you now and until the last of your days. I daresay any messenger you send to Highgarden shall be rejected, perhaps returned to you in pieces along with a declaration of war. You won this battle, but you will lose the war with us."
Many Reachmen smiled at Brandyll's words, and Arin's own commanders bit their tongues harshly upon hearing the truth in the young nobleman's words, glaring at the Reachmen in return. Arin remained passive, outwardly failing to react, though his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Let us face it: You overplayed your hand and cost yourself dearly," Brandyll shrugged, "You can either release us or kill us, but you will gain nothing in the end."
Arin heaved through his nose, staring incomprehensibly at Brandyll for pregnant moments.
"Who is to say I cannot secure my ransom through other means?" Arin asked.
"Because you will have your hands full with Dorne," Brandyll answered calmly, "And let's say even if you do secure a ransom, what then? Do you truly think the Reach will take this defeat lying down? I cannot claim to be a cunning politician or possessed of great intellect, but I believe they will attempt to sabotage the payment before it even reaches Dorne's sands."
Arin's mouth curled slightly as he took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair slightly as he stared at Brandyll. Neither Arin nor Brandyll spoke anything for many seconds, each gauging the other, each waiting for the other to break the silence.
"Do you truly believe I overplayed my hand, Brandyll?" Asked Arin.
"How else? Our army outnumbered you twice over, and our cavalry were superior to yours," Brandyll stated matter-of-factly, "Although, to be honest at first I could not fathom why you chose to withhold your water magic until the last possible moment. It's dependent on water, is it not?"
Arin said and expressed nothing.
"Which means that old fashioned might had to win the battle," Brandyll concluded, "And to be honest, it was not a kind of battle you won easily - your wounds speak for themselves."
Arin observed the bandages covering his arms, torso and face, and simply nodded at Brandyll's words.
"Untie Lord Tarly," Arin ordered, "And have everyone else leave the tent. Lord Tarly, my inner council and a few trusted guards shall stay in the tent."
"Milord?" A guard questioned.
"Do as I say," Arin reiterated.
The guards obeyed albeit reluctantly, and Brandyll slowly stood up and massaged his wrists, rubbing the sore areas the hemp rope rubbed against. A guard brought a wooden stool, which he unfolded and placed in front of Arin.
"Take a seat," Arin offered.
Confused by this gesture, Brandyll nonetheless obliged, and he saw Arin take out a tray bearing crystal-clear glass bottle filled with a deep red liquid and two glass cups. Arin opened the bottle, poured the drink into the cups and offered one to Brandyll.
"Want a drink?" Arin asked.
Brandyll remained highly cautious of Arin's offer, while the others were bewildered by Arin's actions. Slowly he drifted his hand towards the glass before taking it, and he saw Arin raise his glass. He mirrored the gesture and drank, and instantly felt a burn down his throat.
"This is strong," Brandyll admitted.
"Omsyak, our trademark liquor," Arin explained, "I offered it to Theo Tyrell."
Reminding the Reachman of the poor commander's ill-fate seemed a ballsy move, and one that stirred anger in Brandyll Tarly, but Brandyll held his anger and simply stared at the drink as if it was a poisoned chalice.
"For what it's worth, I am not killing any of you here today," Arin clarified, much to Brandyll's confusion, "We've shed enough blood between us today, and I want there to be peace between our two peoples."
Brandyll flatly stated, "Did you not hear what I said earlier?"
"I heard you clearly, and despite the bad blood I still wish to sue for peace. Continued conflict will do neither of us any good," Arin put forth, "I think you yourself know the ramifications."
It was hard for Brandyll to ignore the other threat on their doorstep: The Targaryens. Brandyll bit his lip at the memory of the news of the Burning of Harrenhal; of the fall of the Riverlands and then the Iron Islands to the Targaryen conquerors; of the surrender of the Vale when Lady Visenya occupied the Eyrie atop her dragon Vhagar.
It would not be long before they turned their greed and ambition upon the Westerlands and the Reach, two powerful kingdoms who could still oppose their armies on land and their navies at sea.
And with the Reach having lost four-fifths of its military and its king, it was doubtful either Prince Edmund or Prince Gawen or any of King Mern's sons had the political savvy or clout to secure an alliance with King Loren Lannister of the Westerlands.
Perhaps in the first place, they should have secured such an alliance, so that they could envelop Dorne's armies with the suffocating strength of sheer numbers and avoid such a catastrophic defeat. Such was King Mern's confidence in his warcraft and the Reach's logistics that they invaded Dorne alone.
"Even if I were to support making peace with Dorne, there would be a great many in my homeland crying for blood," Brandyll pointed out, "King Mern's sons will never forgive you killing their father, countless Reachmen will not forgive you killing so many of their fathers, sons and husbands, countless people in Westeros will never accept you killing your uncle, no matter your reason."
"The price of my ambition," Arin nodded, taking another sip from his glass.
"If I may ask: Why did you kill Rhodry yourself?" Asked Brandyll, "I know you said it was because of Rhodry's actions towards his family, that he imprisoned and abused them, and I know others already asked you this, but could you not have had someone else do the deed? Rather, why allow the spreading of the news of your kinslaying in the first place? Most politicians would prefer that such heinous deeds never see the light of day."
Arin sighed heavily, looking downcast as he stared at his cup of Omsyak.
"I was really angry at him," He admitted, "When I saw the broken, bruised forms of his wife and children, who did nothing to anger him or humiliate him or inconvenience him, I lost it. I wanted so badly to kill that monster myself, and I admit… I derived great satisfaction. I also saw how much he lost himself to his greed, his envy and hate, his spite… he was jealous of me, and hated his unfair treatment at the hands of his in-laws. I think he… ceased to care at that point, about anything in general save his position as Lord of his house."
"So it became personal, and he was too great a threat to let live," Brandyll interjected.
"Yes, it was," Arin answered, "And as for your question about the spreading of such news, I did not orchestrate it, I just let the people spread rumours normally."
"You know, my pa once said: 'Rumours can be a powerful weapon against the greatest of generals or the most cunning of politicians'," Brandyll said, drinking deeply from his cup.
Arin offered him a refill, which Brandyll gratefully accepted.
"I will say this: There are pests I need to take care of, and I need suitable bait," Arin answered.
"That so?" Brandyll said, "Well, handle it your way, then."
Arin took a deep gulp of his drink, grimacing at the burn down his throat, before he poured himself another cup.
"You know, it's really funny how fate works," Brandyll mentioned, his expression turning melancholic, "You know yourself how many times we and the Stormlands have been raided by your kind before the coming of House Targaryen. Many times we wished to invade Dorne, to put an end to its raiding ways, but each time we tried to, our other neighbours would ally with each other to keep us from doing so - the Westerlands, the Riverlands, the Stormlands. If not for both House Targaryen and you, our dreams would never have become a reality."
Brandyll took a small sip before continuing.
"If not for you, House Wyl would have continued being a nuisance. If not for you, men like Rhodry Qorgyle would have been allowed to live. If not for you, Dorne would still have remained under the rule of an impotent and incompetent house like Martell. Why is it then, that only cruel men like you make good kings and live to write a glorious history, while good men like His Majesty die as a stepping stone for your path to glory?"
Brandyll's anguished, accusatory tone made Arin's guards slightly on edge, but Huang Xue chose that moment to step forward.
"Lord Arin, if I may speak?" He asked.
Arin Rada gestured for him to do so.
"To answer your question, Lord Tarly, it is simply the way of the world," Huang Xue answered sympathetically, "We love upstanding paragons of virtue and those who rule by impartiality and compassion, that is our nature. However, it is also Human nature to lie, cheat and steal from each other. Nobility have done that for aeons since the dawn of time, and as… cruel as it is to say, horrible men make good kings while good men make horrible kings."
"And what is it supposed to mean?" Brandyll asked.
"That more often than not, kings are not remembered for their character or their generosity, but by the results they obtain which benefit the people," Huang Xue clarified, "House Martell, overlords of Dorne as they claim to be, did little to nothing for the people despite centuries of rule. Lord Arin caused much bloodshed, suffering and destruction to Dorne, especially its nobility, so that the people may benefit without their interference. He brought many improvements that enriched his people, and rewrote all customary laws into a new comprehensive code of law, so that the people may be governed and arbitrated justly and fairly."
"...To build something new, you must destroy the old?" Brandyll inquired, looking pensive and thoughtful, "Is that what this is all about, Arin? You want to destroy the old system so you can change the very political system of Dorne for the better?"
"You saved me the trouble of saying it," Arin shrugged with a smile.
A deep rumbling emanated from Brandyll's chest, and for a moment everyone wondered what was happening to Brandyll. Suddenly he broke out into a laugh, full of amusement for some inexplicable reason.
"And to think it took someone as violent as you to do this… to end the threat Dorne posed," Brandyll mused, chuckling under his breath, "I wonder if this is what they call 'reaping what you have sown'. After all, Dorne lies broken and wasted after our actions. Not just your side's or ours, but all of ours."
"I think it might be Mother Rhoyne's way of teaching us of the consequences of our actions," Arin acknowledged, "With so many dead in battle, I learn the price of my ambition. With Dorne devastated, the Dornish learn the price of their forefathers' actions. No matter where we go, no matter what else happens, we all pay the price for our actions in the end."
"Yes… Yes, you all do. We all do," Brandyll nodded, his smile fading, "I pray you never forget that lesson."
"And I pray you never invade Dorne again, at least in my lifetime," Arin shrugged, "Shall we toast to a lasting peace, for what it is worth?"
"For what this peace is worth," Brandyll raised his glass.
And they clinked their glasses together, downing them in one shot.
"You know what? I'll release you all," Arin casually stated.
"You planned to do that from the very beginning, did you not?" Brandyll pointed out.
"I planned to make peace with the Reach as soon as I defeated you and drove you out of Dorne," Arin clarified, "Though of course, I never expected how many we'd kill, how many we'd lost, and the fact I killed King Mern in the heat of battle. I'll say this: I actually wanted him alive."
"Guess we can't have everything we want in life," Brandyll shrugged, "I will see you again, Arin. This will not be the last time we see each other, be it in person or elsewhere."
"I know," Said Arin.
Brandyll returned his glass, and Arin gestured towards Franklyn who listened closely.
"Have all the prisoners released and sent on their way towards the Reach," Arin ordered, "And send a letter to my sister Nymeria; have her and the best songwriters in Rhoyehom compose a song about the brave last stand of King Mern IX Gardener and send it to Crown Prince Edmund. Make sure to include every single detail without exaggeration: His bravery, his strength, his tactical brilliance and shining charisma, and the fact he brought me to my knees and came very close to killing me."
"As you order, My Lord," Franklyn bowed, "Is it pertaining to upcoming peace talks with the Reach?"
"I hope to influence it in a more positive direction," Arin nodded, "At least, Mother Rhoyne willing, I hope they will be more willing to entertain peace."
"I hope to influence it in a more positive direction," Arin nodded, "At least, Mother Rhoyne willing, I hope they will be more willing to entertain peace. And send letters to the Targaryens requesting for additional money and supplies; we need every scrap we can get."
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