INTERLUDE - ACROSS WESTEROS (Final Part)
Doran Martell - The Night of Ormond's Folly
"Do you understand, my lord?"
"Yes, my prince." Anders Yronwood's voice was quiet as he spoke, his eyes dulled by grief. "I understand."
"Good," Doran said. "That is good, Anders. I understand how you are feeling. I understand more than you know."
For a moment, Anders' eyes brightened with anger, but the young lord was quick to lower his gaze. Doran did not begrudge him that. Any would still feel such resentment only hours after their father's death.
Areo Hotah's shadow standing just behind him soothed any concern about a potential violent outburst by Anders. Doran Martell was no martial man. He knew his limitations better than anyone else. Knew that many already spoke of the weak boy that would follow his weak mother upon the dornish throne. But he knew a prince need not wield a spear to stab his enemies.
"Do you not think I felt this same anger," he continued, "when I realized your father, a man I considered a good friend of my house, had poisoned my mother?"
Anders' brows furrowed. "But my father…"
"Enough," Doran said with a sigh. "Like you, I wish it wasn't true. I wish this was some foreign plot by a rival kingdom, but the evidence so far points to the contrary. You must accept it."
The lines on Anders' face deepened at those words, and Doran hoped this seed of doubt would quicken in the man's mind. A seed he would be glad to water.
Slowly, he would work to shift Anders' feelings away from blaming House Martell for his father's demise, from blaming Doran, into ascribing the whole ordeal to Galladon Tarth's meddling in Dornish politics.
It would not be so hard either. Anders Yronwood already despised the boy, he could see that clearly. And in the years to come, even as Doran worked to further isolate House Yronwood from the other Dornish lords—most who were already aggrieved after Ormond's naked ambitions were brought to light—he would reach out with a hand of friendship to the new Yronwood lord.
Eventually, the young lord would have no ally to rely on but Doran and House Martell. As much as he wanted to rid himself and his family of the ever-present threat of House Yronwood, to do so would weaken Dorne overly much, and he needed all the strength possible for his future plans.
"You may leave now, Lord Yronwood," Doran finally said. "Rest for now. Carry your father's body with you tomorrow and give him an honorable burial."
Anders Yronwood nodded sullenly, bowed, and left the solar. Doran allowed himself a breath, leaning back onto his cushioned chair.
The papers had already been signed and sent out with a rider toward the Yronwood camp. With the orders coming directly from Anders, and with the contents being carefully curated by Doran himself, the knights would disperse and the road would be cleared in but a few hours.
In a way, it was fortuitous that Galladon Tarth had brought Gerion Lannister when he did. At first, Doran had been certain they would only ruin his own plans. An unaccounted element introduced late into the narrative he had been building for months. Years, really, ever since Oberyn's exile.
Yet the Tarth boy had helped me more than he would ever know.
It had not been hard to push Ormond into visiting the pirate the boy had brought. Lord Yronwood had an animal-like cunning to him, it was true, but he was not a clever man.
One whispered word by one of his household knights, one who was deep into Doran's pocket, and the Bloodroyal had rushed to check if the pirate that had poisoned Gerion Lannister was one of the hunters he had unleashed on the seas around Sunspear.
Ironically, it had been that same knight that, on Doran's orders, informed Lord Yronwood of Oberyn's impending return. Soon, he would have to see a proper reward for the man to buy his silence. The knight was already starting to ask for much, so a bolt to the heart would serve him fine.
Doran had known the Tyroshi pirate was not one of the hunters involved, of course, as had Ormond after went to visit him. Undoubtedly, the man had been relieved that it hadn't been one of his own that poisoned a brother to Tywin Lannister. But the rest of the Dornish lords didn't know that.
A servant going into the cell to poison the pirate after the Bloodroyal's visit had been a simple thing, then Galladon Tarth and his own sister finished the job for him better than he ever could.
How could his lords not believe the tale Doran had spun when a Stormlander boy with no connection to House Martell confirmed Ormond's treacherous nature to them?
"Thank you, Areo," Doran said, then pointed to the exit. "I need a moment to think by my lonesome. Guard the door and let none inside."
The huge Norvoshi man inclined his head and stepped outside, silent as always. Doran knew that nothing other than an invading army would get past Hotah to bother him for now.
Nodding to himself, he stood and made his way to a spot on the wall beside the crackling hearth. Night had already fallen in Sunspear and the breeze could carry a chill despite the heat of the day.
Behind the grand tapestry of Nymeria, he found the hidden seam on the sandstone, pushing it just so until the wall rumbled and the opening appeared. Darkness awaited inside, and Doran plunged into it without ceremony.
He walked confidently through the gloom, fingers running through the cold damp stone to measure his progress. His mind turned to what he had to do now. He'd already sent a raven to his uncle at the Water Gardens explaining what had happened, and soon Oberyn would return home.
Hopefully soon enough to save the Lannister man before he passed. Despite being entirely blameless for it, it would not be ideal for a lion to die poisoned in Sunspear. Rumors would fly after his death, fly and shift and grow, and soon men would be saying over their cups that the deceitful dornishmen had killed the Hand's brother.
After just a few minutes, his fingers ran into a recession in the wall. The mechanism was much the same as in the solar, and soon Doran opened an entryway into the room of the ruling princess of Dorne.
None alive but himself and his mother knew of this passage, one that ran from the prince's solar, to their rooms, and all the way out of the Old Palace itself and beyond the Winding Walls.
Stepping inside, Doran left the gap in the wall open behind him. His visit would not take long. Faint fingers of moonlight streamed through the windows, but otherwise the room was covered in shadows.
With the confirmation of poison being used, the command had been given that none but the maester, Doran, and Elia could come into the Princess' rooms. Maester Caleotte had already left for the Spear Tower to prepare Gerion Lannister for Oberyn's arrival, and Elia, tireless and caring as she was, had already been coming to feed and wash their mother daily.
But she was not here now. Doran had made sure of it. He was alone.
He walked closer to the bed. Princess Mariah Martell lay peacefully before him, her thin form like a small bump under the covers.
He could not see her features in the gloom, but Doran could easily imagine her face in his mind's eye, the way her cheeks would dimple when she smiled, the exact shade of her brown eyes, how she would pull her dark hair back into a braid when she was angry with her children.
Reaching down, he found her hand resting on her chest, bony and wrinkled now, and laid a kiss upon her knuckles.
A week ago, Doran had been glad Ormond had been so thorough in blocking Oberyn's path to Sunspear. It meant that he would not see their mother waste away in bed. That he would not notice the characteristics of the poison rushing through her veins. That he would not recognize it as a Martell blend one of their ancestors had concocted and kept as a family secret.
But plans changed and now Oberyn had to return to save Gerion Lannister. And that meant Doran had to rid himself of loose ends.
With one hand still holding her skinny fingers, Doran reached into his coat's pocket with the other, took out a small glass vial, and unstoppered it. There were no more than a few drops of clear liquid inside, expensive and rare and Bravoosi, and these he poured into his mother's mouth, massaging her throat with loving care to ensure the poison took.
Storing the vial back on his person, Doran let out a sigh. He ran a finger on his mother's cheekbones, a sad smile curving his lips.
With time, Oberyn might have put the pieces together. He might have found the inconsistencies on Ormond's timely meeting with the princess, the poison he might have used, how long it took her to succumb.
But he would not have that time.
By morning, even if her youngest son came to check on her as soon as he arrived, Princess Mariah would pass away peacefully in her bed, and Doran Martell would weep for her alongside his siblings.
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