14 Chapter 12: Reverberations - Part 1

Braavos, a week after the battle of Starpike

As he was lounging around inside the stateroom of his mansion in Braavos, Prince Oberyn Martell was deep in thought over recent events.

Dorne.

That was the only thing that anyone could speak about in the last few days. Dorne. Starpike. Prince Quentyn Martell. These were the only things that anyone either in Westeros or Essos would speak of from the last week onwards.

As the details about the now legendary battle of Starpike became known all over, it was as if someone had given the very world a gut-punch. A battle with such a lopsided result had not been seen since the fall of Valyria or after the death of the Targaryen dragons. His nephew had become one of the most sought-after beings in the world after his stupendous victory. 13,000 men killed against a loss of less than 900. Even the armies utilizing the famed Unsullied soldiers could not boast of such a result.

He grinned. Apparently, his nephew's memories from his previous life had granted him far more than one could have expected. Great Heaven indeed, Oberyn mused, I wonder how it would have felt to fight in the battles he fought as Riboku. Armies numbering hundreds of thousands of men! It must have been a magnificent sight.

He was a little peeved of course. This was the greatest battle that Dorne had yet fought since the times of the conquest, and he had missed out on it. It rankled sorely, but remembering their end-game, he persevered. Lost as he was in his thoughts, he did not notice as his manservant came inside the room.

"My lord …"

"Hmm … yes, Uther, what is it?"

"Beg pardon, My Lord, but there are quite a few people who are here to visit you," the servant replied.

"Visitors at this time? Who?"

"Emissaries from the free cities, My Lord."

"The Free cities! Which ones?" Oberyn asked as he leaned forward in interest.

"Uhm … all of them, I think …" was the reply.

Oberyn was dumbfounded. "All of them?", he asked in a hoarse tone, at which the servant nodded in agreement.

"Well … fuck," he responded, as his mind began to race through the implications. It would appear that his nephew's victory had elicited a sort of competition between the free cities. Each wanted to be the first to approach him, and thought to approach Oberyn in the middle of the night itself to pre-empt others. Only thing was, all of them had thought in the same vein, and he now had a gaggle of visitors in the middle of the night.

"Admit them in, four at a time, by their order of arrival. And have some wine, and refreshments put out," he ordered, even as he stood up to prepare himself.

As he stood up, his eyes fell upon the message sent by Quentyn through raven, which had arrived three days prior.

When the meat lies red and raw upon the field, vultures will swarm. Kick out the vultures and take in the eagles which will also arrive. Quentyn.

THE IRON BANK, BRAAVOS, 3 days after the Battle of Starpike

"We don't know for sure yet, but I am seriously concerned," Mario Dragar, the chief keyholder of the bank spoke, as he chaired the latest meeting of the main leaders of the Iron Bank's governing council.

"What is the particular problem today?" Bessaro Reyaan, one of the keyholders asked.

"We have a number of loans and other contracts due in Westeros in the coming months. Ordinarily I would expect them to proceed normally, but our spies warn that there might be a problem."

"Who are these spies?" Noho Dimittis, one of the representatives of the bank asked.

"Mainly minor sellswords and merchants, and also owners of whorehouses spread throughout the seven kingdoms. Almost all of them are Westerosi. But, they are wise in the ways of common men, and can learn a lot that eludes the notice of the nobles, and their advice is something that a wise man listens to carefully," Mario said soberly.

"Whoremongers are the curse of Westeros, nay, the world itself," Dimittis observed. An extraordinarily prude and conservative man, he abhorred such practices and openly reviled them.

"Perhaps so, noble Dimittis, but if you do business with Westeros, you need such people, and they are useful in explaining the conditions there. Whipping the messenger may get you more pleasant news, but it won't necessarily be accurate," Reyaan replied.

Dragar nodded and smiled at that. He like Reyaan. The man spoke the truth more truthfully than those who were supposed to listen for it. But he kept his peace.

"Anyways," he spoke up once more, "Our people report that we can now expect a renewed bout of warfare in Westeros, after the recent battle between the Dornish and the Reach. Our people estimate that it will be another 2 years before everything settles down. But there is one difference, this time they cannot predict who will win," he concluded crossly, as the faces of the others in the room darkened at the news.

"Just when we thought that everything would settle down, this boy-prince has upset everything," Reyaan observed dispassionately. "All that anyone can say is that if he had thrown in his lot with Rhaegar Targaryen during the battle of the trident, then things would have been very, and I mean very, different."

"It does us no good to ponder upon past events. Let us look to the here and now," Dragar curtly ended that line of conversation.

"With this renewed bout of hostilities, we must think to our own stake in this matter. We agreed to fund the Rebel forces in Westeros upon the guarantee that the new dynasty in Westeros would bank exclusively with us, and on the condition that they repay all the debts that House Targaryen held with us. These were the terms agreed to between us and Jon Arryn of the Vale as the representative of the Rebellion. All of which is now in jeopardy, because of the boy-prince in Dorne," Dragar concluded.

"With the renewed bout of hostilities by Dorne, and against their own erstwhile companions during the Rebellion, the Reach, we can safely conclude that we are no longer dealing with a Rebellion in Westeros, but a civil war," Dimittis observed.

"Agreed," Dragar nodded his head in acceptance, "Which makes our situation even more perilous. There can be no doubt that the boy-prince is waging this war not for the sake of vengeance for his foster mother and dead cousins as everyone in Westeros believes, but to secede Dorne from the Iron Throne and re-establish it as an independent kingdom."

"And if that happens," Reyaan concluded, "it is safe to assume that Dorne will no longer pay its share to the coffers of the Iron Throne, the same coffers from which the Iron Throne repays our debts. We are looking at a very steep loss here."

"How much does Dorne pay as its share in the debt of Westeros?" Dimittis asked.

"Ever since the reign of Aegon the third, House Targaryen has deliberately reduced the amount of money it borrows from the Iron Bank. Even the notorious mad king distrusted us, especially since we had a dispute with the Iron throne over the debts of his father, King Jaehaerys. As of now, the Iron throne is in debt to us for the tune of two million golden dragons, of which Dorne is liable for five hundred thousand, all of which we can expect to write off as a loss if Dorne manages to secede from the Iron Throne," Reyaan replied.

"That cannot be allowed. A loss of that magnitude will make us look weak in the eyes of the world. It matters not to us who sits on the Iron throne as long as we get our due. Dorne must be made aware of this," Dragar concluded, but paused as he noticed a servant arrive and hurriedly pass a note to Dimittis.

Dimittis opened the note and began to read. His face began to colour up as he read through the contents and with a roar, he banged his hand on the table. "This is lunacy," he growled, even as the others looked at him askance.

"Anything you would like to share with us, noble Dimittis?" Reyaan asked quietly, while Dragar became silent.

"The boy-prince of Dorne it seems, has approached the Rogare bank of Lys, for negotiations to fund his war," he all but snarled, as the others in the room stared at him in shock.

"This is a message from the boy to the world, of that, there can be no doubt," Reyaan retorted harshly after reading through the message.

"Message? Regarding what?" Dimittis asked crossly.

"That Dorne is now breaking up with the Iron throne. And more specifically, it is meant as a warning to us," Dragar spoke in a cold tone. "The Rogare bank is our ancient enemy. During the regency of Aegon the third, the Rogare bank eclipsed even us, but fell into decline after that period. This is a warning to us by Prince Quentyn Martell. As we are known as the financial backers of Robert Baratheon, he has now approached our rivals to fund his own war campaign. It serves two purposes. It is a declaration to the world that Quentyn Martell has now directly challenged Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. It is also a declaration to us, that though we may be the largest bank in the world, we are not the only ones. He has no intention of honouring the debts that the Iron Throne has, and is telling the world that he does not recognize the debts of the Iron Bank," Dragar concluded, while the others simmered in anger.

"Can he prevail against Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark?" Dimittis asked after a few minutes of silence.

"If you had asked me this before the Battle of Starpike, I would have said no. But now, I honestly cannot say," Reyaan replied with a shrug.

"Then our course is clear," Dragar replied, "A messenger must be sent to Quentyn Martell, to remind him that the Iron Bank will not tolerate the reneging of our debts. The Iron Bank will have its due."

"I will so inform Tycho Nestoris," Reyaan replied with a nod. "He is coming along nicely in his training as an envoy for Westeros. He will do well. Oberyn Martell is still in Braavos. We can approach the boy-prince through his uncle."

"See to it," Dragar ordered and concluded the meeting.

The Hightower Host, Tyrell Army, Starpike camp, 3 days after the battle

The plains of Starpike burned. Great plumes of greasy, black smoke rose up into the clear sky. The fields were littered with broken bodies, of men and animals alike. Thousands of broken weapons lay scattered upon the field. The shattered husks of dead soldiers roared with flames as the living worked in a feverish pitch to burn the dead, as there was a real risk of disease and plague running rampant if all the dead carrion was not disposed of in due haste.

In Leyton Hightower's tent, the remnants of the Tyrell war council convened. Leyton and his son Baelor, Alester Florent, Axell Florent and Aerys Oakheart were all that remained. House Cuy and nearly half the members of House Florent who had perished in the battle were conspicuous with their absence.

"We have formed a separate detachment to roam throughout the battlefield to search for any survivors. The healers are already being overworked beyond capacity. As many of our men who can be spared for assistance have been ordered to assist," Baelor reported, as the others listened.

"We have sent word to the citadel for extra maesters and acolytes to help, but it is doubtful if they can arrive in time to help," he concluded and sat down.

Leyton remained quiet. His eyes wandered over to the empty chairs which were used by the now deceased members of his war council.

"We need to decide our next course of action," Alester Florent replied, his injured arm tied up in a sling, but his eyes were still alert.

"I have informed Mace of what has happened here," Leyton replied after a moment's silence. "I only hope that his mother can restrain him from doing anything more foolish."

The reaction to that sentence was muted and punctuated by a few derisive scoffs.

"We have sent requests for reinforcements from all nearby Reach Lands. It will take time to reorganize. Even though half our force is still intact, they are now next to useless. They are very disheartened and frightened. If we force them to battle again, we run a real risk of mutiny," Aerys Oakheart replied, at which all members in the room grimaced.

"I severely underestimated the boy. And thousands of innocent Reach men have paid the price," Leyton sighed heavily.

"You are not the only one," surprisingly, this came from Alester Florent. "None of us expected this …," he paused as he struggled to find words to explain what they had suffered.

Leyton nodded, "I fear we will need Randyll Tarly himself to come and deal with this. I know when I am outmatched. I cannot prevail against this boy. His abilities are beyond mine by a very long shot. I will only be harming us if I take to the field against him again," he concluded dispassionately.

There was an awkward pause before it was broken by Aerys Oakheart.

"If I may ask, what were our losses in men and material?"

"Final numbers are not out yet, but out of 15,000 men, over 12,000 are dead," replied Axell Florent who was in charge of organizing the army. "We can further expect it to increase as it is obvious that quite a few of the wounded will succumb to their injuries as well. Strategically speaking, we have lost over half of our force in the opening battle."

"It is still an overwhelming loss, not seen since the Gardener Kings were wiped out in the Field of Fire," Alester pointed out. "I am worried about morale. The whole of the Reach will be seen as ripe for pickings by everyone, and not just the Ironborn. Pirates, Slavers, Raiders all of them will try to take their pound of flesh from us now."

"How will the forces of the Rebellion react to this, I wonder? Can we expect any aid from them, now that Mace has bent the knee to them?" Axell Florent asked.

"No," Leyton replied. "They will not move nor will they aid us. For now, they will observe keenly and make a move only after the Dornish and Ironborn make their next move. For now, we are alone, my lords."

At that moment, Leyton's squire entered the tent and bowed. All conversation ceased.

"Yes, Andar, what is it?" Leyton asked the boy who seemed nervous.

"My Lord, we have received a message from Prince Quentyn Martell," he replied, flinching at the immediate glares that were levelled at him, even as he passed a message scroll to Leyton Hightower.

"And what does the Monster of Dorne want from us?" Alester asked in a carefully calm tone, while the others tensed as Leyton Hightower began to read the scroll in silence.

"He wishes to meet with me and my war council to discuss matters of mutual interest. He offers bread and salt and states that he will be waiting in the middle of the battlefield. He says that he will bring 50 guards, and that we shall be allowed the same. If we breach this, then he says the battle will continue," Leyton replied with surprise evident in his voice as he read through the message.

"What will we do, my Lord?" Aerys asked after a moment's pause.

"We will go and see what the Prince of Dorne wants," Leyton concluded, and everyone got up.

Two hours later, in the middle of the battlefield, the leaders of the Dornish and the Tyrell armies met. On one side was Quentyn Martell, accompanied by William Dayne, and the entire Tyrell leadership on the other side, each with 50 guards as agreed. Both sides stood silent, gazing at the others and trying to get their measure.

Then Quentyn snapped his fingers, and a servant dismounted from his horse, and brought out a plate from his satchel and placed bread and salt upon it and approached the Tyrell commanders.

As the servant approached, Quentyn spoke, "Lord Leyton, it would be a terrible misunderstanding if you thought there was poison in the bread and salt that is being offered. But to put your heart at ease, I will partake it first to prove our sincere intentions to talk in earnest, if you so desire."

Leyton's eyebrows rose while his men fidgeted. "I have never thought of such a thing. You there, bring the plate here," he ordered the servant, who came forward. He took a piece of bread and dipped it in salt and ate it. Soon afterwards, both sides followed suit.

During that period, a few servants had brought out a few small but sturdy chairs, and placed them on the ground. Soon Quentyn and William Dayne sat on one side, while the rest of the Tyrell contingent sat on the other side.

"Now then, Prince Quentyn, let us hear your intentions," Leyton Hightower spoke, while an eerie silence befell the area.

"Lord Hightower, I do not believe further strife would benefit us, should we continue this war. As such, I am now offering to negotiate peace with the Reach," he spoke in a smooth tone, while everybody on the other side jerked back in shock.

"Then evidently, you have realized the futility of this war," Leyton spoke with as much dignity as could be mustered. "Though you have won this battle, and won it magnificently, the Reach still can call upon far more reserves and has far more material reserves to wage war. Even if this war continues to wage for five years, the Reach will never surrender," he concluded curtly, while his companions nodded in agreement.

"Besides, Prince Quentyn, you were the one who started this war in the first place, by invading us treacherously. If you wish to stop the fighting, then it is for you to retreat."

At that, Quentyn laughed with mirth, which righteously offended the other side. After a moment, Quentyn composed himself and spoke, "My apologies, My Lord, that was ill done. But when you speak of treachery, that is a two-sided blade that stabs both sides. All I did was invade you before you could treacherously invade us, as per the advice of the good Lady Olenna," he concluded, while the Lords of the Reach jerked back in shock.

"Come now, My Lords, it is not that big of a surprise, one does not need a spy to predict the behaviour of the Matriarch of the Reach. It is remarkably easy to predict the steps a woman will take when she decides to wage war. After the death of my uncle, Prince Lewyn, and the banishment of my other uncle, Prince Oberyn, to Braavos, she had theorized that Dorne had no capable commanders standing up to Randyll Tarly. And if you were to invade and subjugate us for Robert Baratheon, then you would get in his good graces the same way that Tywin Lannister did after butchering Rhaegar's family. You would escape harsh penalties for daring to siege Storm's end. At least that was the conclusion she came to, am I not right, Lord Leyton?" he asked with a casual shrug.

Lord Leyton and his fellows were dumbfounded, and a few had become slack jawed. The boy had repeated word for word the same facts that Olenna Tyrell had spoken during the council of Highgarden when they had received the news of the invasion of Starpike.

"How did you know …" Axell Florent whispered hoarsely, while the others were thunderstruck.

"Come now, Lord Florent," Quentyn replied casually, "Above all, a woman like Olenna Tyrell is concerned with gaining the maximum benefits for minimum loss. In essence, she is like a fisherwoman haggling for the best price for her fish. Robert Baratheon may have accepted the Reach's surrender, but there is still bad blood between them and your people because of the siege of Storm's End. By conquering Dorne, she was trying to gain favour in the new regime, perhaps a position in the small council, with one of her daughters married to Robert's brother Stannis and some lands from Dorne added to the reach. As such, she concluded that this is a worthwhile venture, much to be gained and little to lose," he explained, while the leaders of the Reach shuffled awkwardly, at having their barest thoughts laid bare for all and sundry to hear.

"Unfortunately for her, she is hilariously easy to predict. I knew that she would do this, and therefore I invaded Starpike to pre-empt her. And you now see the result. Olenna Tyrell may be well suited for inner palace intrigues, but that does not by any stretch make her another Visenya Targaryen or Nymeria Martell. She is not as capable as she thinks she is. Next time, I suggest you allow people who are capable of waging wars to make such plans, instead of leaving them in the hands of a woman, especially the one who caused you to lose the Rebellion in the first place," he ended with a curt tone, even as few of the Reach Lords faces coloured up.

"What do you mean by she caused us to lose the Rebellion?" Leyton Hightower asked after a moment, at which all the Lords of the Reach paused for a moment.

"Yes … boy, I too would like to hear of this," Alester Florent spoke, with his eyes having a curious glint to them, as he leaned forward, followed by the other Reach lords.

"Come now, my Lords, you should have all realized this by now," Quentyn waved his arms around, as if he was admonishing unruly children, "Simply put, what was the need for 60,000 men to surround a single castle? Even if it is a castle like Storm's end? A force of 10,000 would have been sufficient to ensure a siege and to prevent any reinforcements from reaching the Rebellion. Stannis Baratheon barely had enough men to man the walls of the castle. He couldn't have prevailed against those 10,000 men with the meagre number of men he had with him. With another 50,000 men at his hand, Rhaegar Targaryen could have wiped out the rebellion. But all of you sat at storm's end, feasting in front of the besieged castle. The Reach can call upon 100,000 men, and yet you summoned only 60,000 and the only thing you did was besiege a castle. Do you not find that strange? Why would Randyll Tarly, the only man in Westeros, who managed to defeat Robert Baratheon himself in battle simply stand aside in such a meaningless siege? All of you are Lords of the Reach, you should have realized the machinations of your liege lords by now," he concluded, even as the Reach Lords absorbed his words, and began to ponder upon them.

After a few minutes, their countenance changed, as they began to understand what Quentyn was trying to convey.

After a few moments, Alester Florent got up in a fury, and kicked his chair aside with a roar, "that miserable old shrew! That fucking cunt! I swear … that greedy mother and idiot son will be the ruin of the Reach!" he cursed up a storm, and began to swear uncontrollably. The others were far more restrained though.

"I see that you understand, My Lords," Quentyn spoke, "Simply put, under the Targaryen's the Tyrell's had gained no special favours, no royal marriages, no positions in the Kingsguard or the small council. If the rebels won, they would claim that they were only following orders under duress, and show that they simply besieged Storm's end, and caused no harm to Robert Baratheon's brothers. Weary of battle, and madly desiring peace, Jon Arryn would have accepted their terms and the Tyrell's would retain their lands and titles without losing anything. Which has happened, I grant you. This will give them an opportunity to ingratiate themselves with the new regime, as they try to raise themselves further. On the other hand, if the Targaryen's had won which is a moot point now, they would have given you the orders to storm Storm's end, and would have claimed that they had obeyed orders to the letter and would reap the rewards with minimal losses. Either way, they would be the only ones who would have lost the least in this war. It took me just half an hour to conclude these facts after reading the reports of the Rebellion," he finished, while the Lords of the Reach now looked very cross indeed.

"It is ironic," Quentyn paused before continuing, "if she had only permitted Tarly to join the battle of the trident, Rhaegar would have won, and House Tyrell would have reaped rewards beyond recognition. Despite all her scheming, she is remarkably short-sighted. She did not allow the Reach to fight in the Rebellion, and as a result lost far more than she has gained by remaining neutral," he concluded, at which the Reach Lords began to simmer in anger at the now revealed actions of the matriarch of the Tyrell house.

"While this is all very illuminating, Prince Quentyn, it still does not cleave to the matter at hand. What terms do you offer?" Lord Leyton spoke after a lengthy pause.

"It is simple, My Lord, I wish for equitable peace between us. To that extent, I will speak terms with Mace Tyrell only. I would ask you in good faith to convey my message, and ensure that he comes here to speak with me without his mother's presence. I do not want our negotiations to be ruined by his mother's overbearing interference."

There was silence as everyone digested those words.

"It is not easy, my good-son is a very prideful man," Leyton spoke with a very careful tone, "and I am afraid that after this battle, he will be even more recalcitrant to deal with you. It is going to be a monumental task just to get him to accept that we have lost this battle," he was remarkably understating the point that he had made, and he knew it. Everyone present knew it.

"I agree, which is why I will be making this offer. I shall return Starpike to House Tyrell, regardless of whether he agrees to my terms or not. But that will be so, only if he comes to speak to me first. As long as he agrees to come and speak with me, I will return Starpike to the Reach. Whether he accepts my terms or not is immaterial. I have only two conditions. Mace Tyrell must come here to speak with me. And Olenna Tyrell must not be permitted to interfere. That is all."

In an instant, every Reach man shot up to his feet, looking at him in shock.

"WHAT?"

"ARE YOU JOKING WITH US?"

"DO YOU TAKE US FOR FOOLS?"

"I never joke about such things, My Lord," Quentyn spoke softly, though his eyes had hardened as he gazed at all of his opponents.

"I mean every word I say," he finished softly, while the others looked at him dumbfounded.

"Why? You are the victor. What could you possibly gain by doing this?" Lord Leyton asked after deliberating upon the offer.

"I have my reasons, which you need not know. All I ask is that you convey my message to Mace Tyrell," he spoke and stood up, to indicate that the meeting was over.

"I will wait to hear from Mace Tyrell, Lord Hightower," Quentyn finished, even as he got up on his horse, and his retinue prepared to depart.

The Reach contingent stayed upon the field long after they had left, with their minds filled with far more questions than answers.

As they rode back, William Dayne asked Quentyn, "Is that wise? Offering Starpike back to House Tyrell like that?"

"It is not an issue," Quentyn replied after a moment, "Starpike was never my target from the beginning. My target has always been Mace Tyrell from the start."

William Dayne paused, and as he absorbed the words his face widened in shock, "Then … this battle was …,"

"A message to Mace Tyrell and to all of Westeros, that anyone who points their sword at Dorne will be destroyed. Frankly speaking, if I had asked for a meeting with Mace Tyrell before this battle," he paused, at which William Dayne nodded his head understanding the point.

"He would have laughed and ignored it outright, thinking you a green boy. Now …," he paused, as Quentyn continued.

"Now, there is no ruler, either in Westeros or Essos who will dare to ignore a message from me. They cannot afford to," he concluded with a smile, while William Dayne began to sweat as he understood the implications. He butchered all those men, just to send a message. What a monstrous mind he has …

"But why go for all this effort, to secure a meeting with Mace Tyrell?" William asked even as he swallowed nervously, at which Quentyn smiled.

"Because Mace Tyrell is a man who has been under the thumb of his overbearing mother for too long. That old shrew has always denigrated and humiliated her son in front of everyone as a means to retain her power over House Tyrell. And by doing so, she has destroyed any sense of self-worth or any latent abilities that Mace Tyrell may have. I need him to be away from her smothering influence for my plan to work."

"Which is why you went to such great lengths to explain the failings of the queen of thorns," William realized, as he eyed the prince with wonder in his face.

"Exactly," Quentyn nodded, "Now that at least some of the Lords of the Reach are aware of the failings of Olenna Tyrell, they will be keen to ensure that she does not damage the Reach's standing further. And Leyton Hightower is Mace Tyrell's good-father. He is not a man whose words Mace can ignore. Once he learns of this, he will come here to speak with me. He will have no choice. And I deliberately insisted that Olenna be left behind. If she now insists on coming, Mace will have no choice but to refuse her. If he does not, he will lose all respect and credibility in the eyes of his banner men. Enough to even risk his position as the ruler of the Reach. No, he cannot afford to ignore my invitation. He will come."

"And once he is here, without her presence …," William realized the implications.

"He will be far more susceptible to our words and our schemes, and can be persuaded to join us," Quentyn replied.

"Joi …," William Dayne paused in shock as he looked at his Prince.

"That was what you wanted all along! You never wanted Starpike. You have been after the whole Reach from the beginning!" he exclaimed, even as Quentyn smiled graciously and nodded.

"Despite the resources that we have gathered, and with all the new additions to our army, we are still outmatched by the Rebellion. I estimate that we can fight only two more battles on our own, before we run out of resources to wage a protracted war. But with the Reach and its resources on our side, we can win outright," Quentyn replied curtly.

"And if Olenna Tyrell were to realize this …," William Dayne paused, even as Quentyn continued.

"She would have extorted us to the hilt with unreasonable demands, in essence, she would have asked us to swear ourselves to her house in all but name, which I will not permit."

"So that is the reason why you discredited her in the eyes of the Lords of the Reach," William realized.

"Yes, and without her here to guide him, Mace Tyrell will be incapable of understanding these subtleties, which will make it far easier to convince him to join in an alliance with us," Quentyn replied.

"In the end, Lord Dayne, would you not say that it is a good deal to offer one castle and gain an entire kingdom in return without shedding any more blood? Especially when said castle was not even yours to begin with? Unlike a woman who is too cautious, this is how a real general wages war. Remember it."

Author's note: More reactions next time, including House Lannister!