Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 92: Baratheon-Martell Peace Talks (Part 2)

—Dorne—

Sunspear — Water Gardens...

The second phase of the diplomatic peace talks between Dorne and the Iron Throne were about to begin underway again; after the whole fiasco during the first phase, the revelation of Ariyana spying on the King on behalf of House Martell caused quite a bit of stir if not risk everything falling apart. Daveth stormed off in anger, only to be met with an assassination attempt on his life. Even Doran Martell—Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne—knew that if something were to happen to the King then Dorne would again be dragged into another war. Of course, he was also concerned about the well-being of his son and heir Trystane, as well, and how he was protected from harm too.

Back in the meeting room, Doran shifted in his seat to ease the discomfort in his legs. Gout had not been kind to him over the years; it swelled and reddened the joints of his knees, toes and hands. Oberyn stood next to his older brother with Ellaria Sand, their daughters and Doran's wheelchair in case Doran needed to move around.

Ariyana, still under investigation, couldn't meet Sansa's gaze—who sat across from her. Even veteran Kingsguards such as Lucius and Jaime still hadn't forgotten Ariyana's involvement in spying on Daveth.

"This meeting would be more productive if the King were to join us," Ellaria complained.

Sansa looked at her with a calm, composed demeanor. "My husband will be arriving soon," she told her. "But what does concern us is the apparent lack of security which allowed the assassins to slip into Dorne undetected."

"My captain of the guard Areo Hotah is already seeing to it that no more outsiders try to enter my country in secrecy again," Doran told the Queen. "Remember, I'm more concerned about this since my son Trystane unknowingly had gotten himself involved in the altercation."

Olyvar poured Sansa a cup of wine, glancing back at Tyene. "We've identified the culprit behind the assassination attempt, my lords and ladies. I've seen this man at least once after we took back Moat Cailin. Locke."

"He's one of Roose Bolton's bannermen. What could he have hoped to gain from this?" Sansa suggested.

"Difficult to say, Your Grace, but the King believes it was his bastard Ramsay Snow who's really pulling the strings. Says Lord Bolton is 'too smart for his own good to jeopardize his house's standing'."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"Because Ramsay's worse than a monster. Worse than anything you could ever imagine."

By then, Daveth had already made his presence known.

"Ah, Your Grace," Ser Lucius acknowledged. "Forgive us, we started without you."

"So I see," he stated plainly. "Trystane. How fares your jaw?"

Trystane shrugged it off. "A fleabite," he answered.

Daveth didn't buy it one bit. What a poor excuse. You got your ass knocked out with one blow. As the Young Stag sat beside his wife, the negotiations could once again continue. Sansa observed his posture, examining his body language; when he first stormed off, Daveth was slightly hunched forward and his hands curled into tightly-balled fists. Now, his posture was straight and shoulders less tense, more composed. Let's just hope it stays this way until things have settled down for a moment longer.

"Allow us to extend our sincerest apologies for this mishap," Doran begun.

"We both know who's to blame for this outrage, Prince Doran. Rest assured, the assassins were only puppets. Our true enemy merely pulls the strings from the shadows."