Olenna VIII
"The queen isn't wearing her newest jewels," Lord Bolton noted.
"It would be remarkably careless of her," Olenna reminded him sharply. "Valyrian jewels gifted to her by Lannisters would make it appear she was in their camp."
"Ah yes, that would be unfortunate."
"As unfortunate as letting young Viserys leave the city?" The City Watch on the streets were reinforced with the King's Men, not with their colleagues from the docks. The only remaining male Targaryen could hardly have boarded a ship without being noticed - he wasn't exactly a subtle young man.
"The timing is suspicious," the man admitted. "However, the King's orders were very firm. As long as he didn't take his sister with him, the City Watch weren't to stop Ser Viserys from leaving the city just to report where he went to."
"Which was?"
"Tyrosh. My men suggest it was less by intent than a matter of that being the destination of the next ship to leave the port."
"Tyrosh." She shook her head. "I really don't understand the King's thinking. Viserys has been kept secure under crown protection for ten years. And now, when he's of age to be a credible threat, he's allowed to leave?"
"One has to wonder," Bolton said in a non-committal tone.
Their conversation was cut short as Robert strode to the throne and seated himself. Ser Mandon Moore pounded twice upon the floor with the butt of a halberd. "Call silence," the man bellowed.
The lords and ladies' remaining murmurs died away. Olenna looked at the king's face. She didn't think he really enjoyed being on display but he almost always wore a smile anyway. He wasn't smiling now, and Olenna realised that there were threads of grey in his black hair.
"My lords and ladies, we are gathered because allegations have been made. One of our great lords is dead and Master Pycelle has made the accusation that it is poison. And he has named House Martell as the responsible party."
That was no surprise to anyone. But he had to start with the obvious.
"As is his solemn obligation, and with the permission of Lord Tywin's brothers and children, Grand Maester Colemon has examined the body. Your report, Grand Maester?"
The thin-faced Maester rose and bowed to the king before speaking. "Lord Tywin's sickness was not uncommon of in King's Landing ten years ago. The improved drainage has made it almost unheard of. And he had lived here before for years with no such illness. On examination I found traces in his kidneys of certain medicines that in limited quantities can ease digestive difficulties. In much larger quantities, on someone who isn't experiencing sudh difficulties and on someone who is of an advanced age... It would be a dangerous prescription for a Maester to make. Life endangering, in fact."
He sighed. "As I have reported to your grace, and to Prince Stannis and to..." He searched for a suitable title and failed to find one. "To Sander Clegane, Master Pycelle's conclusion as the cause of death is... incorrect only in the most specific of senses."
The aged maester standing near to the Lannisters stroked his beard. "I believe the words you're looking for, Colemon, are 'Maester Pycelle was correct'."
"You were close enough for a layman," replied Colemon tartly. "And without conducting more than the most cursory of examinations."
"That will suffice. This isn't a debating chamber in the citadel." Robert made a dismissive gesture. "Stannis, I believe Clegane stands ready to report on his own investigation."
"He is. Clegane," the Master of Laws ordered.
The investigator, wearing the three black dogs of his house on a tunic over a leather brigandine, stepped up onto the dais. It gave Olenna a good look at the horrid burns that made a ruin of his face. She didn't think he was a kind man beneath those scars. But she had met men as hard who hid their nature behind pretty faces - Tywin Lannister had been very handsome in his youth, to name one.
The man they called the Hound turned to face the lords. "According to the Grand Maester, these medicines would be introduced as a liquid, most commonly in strong wine to hide the taste. I've interviewed Ser Kevan Lannister and the servants in attendance on Lord Tywin from the time of death back to two days before he first fell ill. Everything he ate or drank after he fell ill was tasted by at least one servant to ensure it was suitably prepared to Maester Pycelle's advance. None of them have showed any signs of dysentry or similar conditions."
"Prior falling ill, Lord Tywin attended the Royal Tourney and three feasts. No guest or servant at the feasts fell ill and he had no dishes or wines that weren't served to others. Poison is not, I am assured, easy to deliver discriminately. At the tourney, however, wine was provided by pages in goblets on request. This is the most opportune method that Lord Tywin could have been poisoned."
"Drugged," Coleman corrected pedantically.
The Hound shot him a glare. "There were twenty pages in service to Westerland and Reach houses assigned to the arena boxes that Lord Tywin was present in. By descriptions taken from the guests there were twenty-one individual pages actually present. The twenty-first was almost certainly the poisoner."
"An anonymous assassin?"
"Not very anonymous. We had an artist draw pictures, over and over, correcting them according to instructions of everyone who saw the indentified page." Clegane produced a sheet of parchment. "The hair is long but if the boy cut his hair short afterwards we'd only have the face to identify him."
Robert looked at the parchment and sighed. "Prince Doran, please have your son Quentyn step forwards."
There were exclaimations from the crowd.
"This is a farce!" Oberyn Martell stepped between his nephew and the king. "This westerland dog makes an accusation and you condemn my nephew. What of your cousin who fled the city after the Lannister died?"
Robert glanced down at the parchment again. "I really don't think this looks like Viserys. The nose is larger and the jaw too square. See for yourself if it looks like your nephew."
The Red Viper leapt up onto the dais, causing Moore to bring his halberd to the ready. The man took the parchment from Clegane.
"This is -"
Clegane's fist caught Martell below the ribs and threw him down from the dais. The Dornish prince barely kept his feet. "I may be a dog, viper, but I'm the King's first."
"That'll do. Both of you."
Oberyn looked at the parchment and then flung it to the floor. "If you're accusing Quentyn then he has a right to trial by combat."
"If you take that picture as an accusation," Robert looked past Oberyn to where Quentyn Martell stood frozen, brown curly hair cropped close around his skull, "Then I would say that you are agreeing there's a resemblence here."
Prince Doran rested one hand on the boy's shoulder. "Quentyn, did you disguise yourself as a page and give Tywin Lannister poisoned or drugged wine?"
"No father."
"Why would he do such a thing!?" snapped Quentyn's sister. Arianne Martell had cut a devastating swathe through the young men at the Grand Council, leaving a string of broken hearts behind her. Everyone from Renly Baratheon to Walder Frey was said to have approached Prince Doran regarding the girl's hand.
An exageration, Olenna thought, but the girl was pretty enough that the count might reflect those who had thought of doing so. "You hadn't met Lord Lannister, had you?" she asked sharply.
"The man who had my aunt mur... dered?" Arianne trailed off as she realised she'd just explained a very plausible motivation.
"I regret to say," King Robert said firmly, "That I believe the accusation is made, Prince Doran. Since Quentyn is quite young, do you wish to call for trial by combat on his behalf."
Doran locked eyes with the king and then dipped his head. "Your grace, I do. My brother stands as his champion."
Obara I
Obara could see that Quentyn was pale as he stood in a box overlooking the arena floor. Two of the City Watch were there with him and six of the King's Men surrounded the box. She knew from having visited him that he hadn't been harmed or treated harshly... but he was never left alone and all the guards reported to Sandor Clegane.
That man worried her. He seemed to care nothing that his investigation would leave a twelve year old prince facing execution. That this could lead to a war. He only cared that he believed he had found the guilty and viewed the trial as an inconvenience that might waste all his work.
"That worries you?" her uncle had asked with a cool disdain when she said as much. "You surprise me, Obara."
Trumpets sounded as Obara's father walked out on the sand. He wore his usual leathers and carried a spear with an ironwood shaft. He'd bought it on arrival in King's Landing from a Northern House, spending a fortune, but as he had told her, better for his weapon to cost coin than his life.
Then the other champion walked out to face him and Obara took a deep breath. Jaime Lannister.
There weren't many men in Westeros who might pose a challenge to Oberyn Martell. But the Prince of the Rock was one of them. If there was one mercy, the sword he carried wasn't Fire. A Valyrian sword might have been sufficient to shear through the spear.
A Septon, one of the High Septon's particular coterie, stepped between the two men. "In the sight of the Seven-Who-Are-One and before the eyes of all men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of Quentyn Martell, who stands accused of murder by poison. May the Father grant justice as is deserved."
The king, his own box distant, rose to his feet. The golden crown on his head shone bright in the sun. "Bring me their weapons," he ordered.
"What's he doing?"
"Whatever it is, your father isn't happy." Arianne was gripping the rail of Dorne's box in the arena. She was right - the darkly handsome face was snarling as two King's Men claimed the spear and a long dagger before carrying them to the royal box where they joined those carrying Jaime Lannister's sword.
Queen Alysanne took out a white cloth and wiped down the sword, the spear's blade, both the daggers.
"She's checking for poisons," Doran instructed them quietly. "Oberyn's reputation at work. Watch the cloth."
Alysanne shook out the cloth and handed it to her husband before taking a bowl and washing her hands. Robert raised the cloth and showed the white to the arena. "The weapons are unstained," he announced, "like the honour of the men before me."
Tyene frowned as the weapons were carried back to the champions. Obara gave her a suspicious look. Even with her father's reputation, the implication was insulting.
"Did you see?"
Arianne's voice was low as she answered her father. "They switched the cloth as Alysanne gave it to her husband."
"Yes. It was well played."
"He protects the Lannister," muttered Tyene.
"This isn't an assassination, you foolish girl." Doran leant forwards. "The King is protecting our honour as best he can. Didn't it occur to you that no one asked where Quentyn got the poison?"
Both Arianne and Tyene stiffened. So did Obara. "What have you done?"
Neither girl met her eyes. Her uncle did. "You're either a better actress than these two or you weren't involved. I'm sure you can guess the rest."
Trumpets drew their attention back to the floor of the arena. They were barely in time to catch the first clash of steel as Oberyn whirled his spear to strike at Jaime Lannister, who caught the blow on his shield, slipped it aside and thrust with his sword. Obara's father side-stepped and the dance began.
In his lighter armour the spearman had more speed and agility, as well as the reach advantage. In exchange, although the swordsman was solidly on the defensive, his shield and sword moved smoothly and the plate armour beneath shed glancing hits. There was no sign of panic on his part.
"He's as good as they said."
"At Harrenhal he was good, despite his youth. Twelve years ago, when he was your age, Arianne. Now... it's like watching Barristan the Bold at his best." Doran shaded his eyes and focused on the pair.
"Will father beat him?"
"I don't know."
If not, Obara would lose a cousin and her father. Doran would lose son and brother. "Father, beat him," she prayed.
"Kill him," concurred Tyene bloodthirstily. "Kill him."
Doran glanced aside briefly, not at Tyene but at Obara. Their eyes met and Obara flinched away. Why would Arianne have put her own brother at risk, if she was the one who arranged for him to carry out the poisoning? She was the first born, the unquestioned heir. And Quentyn was far too open and honest to challenge that.
Down on the sand the Lannister was no longer entirely on the defensive. Now his sword thrust more often and Oberyn was having to parry more often where he'd have dodged before. A lesser spear than the ironwood haft might have failed him by now. It was fortunate that he wasn't facing Fire - a valyrian blade would have...
"Damn!"
"What?" asked Arianne.
"I just realised why Lannister isn't using that Valyrian greatsword his brother brought back from the east."
"Why?"
"He's not used to the balance yet. He's a longsword user by preference and he'd have to give up his shield too."
"Is that a bad thing? At least without the blade..."
"Father's new spear is heavier than he's used to. That's why he was pressing so hard early on, he wanted to win quickly."
"But he didn't."
Obara shook her head - and then inhaled sharply as the first blood of the duel spilled onto the sands. There was a cry of excitement from the public benches.
Oberyn was limping now. That said nothing for his prospects. He took second blood, managing to slam the butt of his spear against the other prince's helmet and break the skin beneath. The Lannister backed up a step, his head no doubt ringing and blood dripping down his face and into one eye but neither his sword nor his shield wavered and when her father tried to use that as an opening.
She grimaced as a stab caught Oberyn's arm. His sleeve was parted almost from wrist to elbow. If that had caught a vein... and it was bleeding.
Oberyn's next two thrusts were blocked by the shield and then Jaime rushed in close, smashing the edge of his shield against the Dornishman's inner arm. The sword came up and half of Oberyn's helmet fell away.
So did one ear.
There was a lot more blood now, but the Lannister didn't stop. One armoured boot almost caught Oberyn's psuhing him to skip back and then there was another wound, high on the chest. More blood on the tip of the Lannister's golden sword.
Oberyn's spear flickered at the face of his opponent, a feint that forced him to raise his shield and then descending, stabbing down into the Lannister's boot.
With a cry, Jaime brought his sword around in a short arc and the Red Viper was left sprawled and twitching on the sand.
Dropping the sword, the westerland prince took the spear with both hands and yanked it out of his boot. Blood trailed behind that foot as he limped over to Oberyn and drove the weapon down again... into the sand beside the fallen man's chest.
The trumpets sounded again. Quentyn Martell leant over the rail of his box and threw up.
Quentyn's father stared bleakly as the Grand Maester and his assistants rushed out onto the sand. "Obara."
"Yes, uncle."
"I would prefer not to have a kinslayer ruling in Sunspear, even if it is kinslaying through incompetence. Until I decide how to my handle my daughter, you and your half-sisters are no longer welcome in Dorne. Your father's paramour and her children may remain with him but not at Sunspear or the Water Gardens."
Obara glanced at her cousin and then at her Prince. "I understand."
"The Wall is the traditional refuge of those politically disadvantaged. And as matters stand it need not be a life sentence." Doran rose. "I should speak to my son before..." He shook his head heavily and left the box.