The moon hung low, a silver blade slicing through the dark sky. The cold courtyard was draped in a pale, ghostly light, and towering oaks swayed their limbs, clawing at the air like restless spirits. Shadows cloaked the hidden corners, where the night's insects chattered as if conspiring in unseen schemes.
"Sam..." From the moment the terrifying events had unfolded in the banquet hall, Nathalie hadn't released her grip on Samwell's hand, clutching it with a desperate intensity. "Lord Jon… he's going to be all right, isn't he?"
Samwell gently patted her hand to reassure her. "Don't worry. Maester Gilmore has three silver links in his chain for medicine. With his skills, he should be able to heal Lord Jon."
Despite his words, Samwell knew the truth. Jon Arryn was unlikely to recover.
Littlefinger would ensure that the old lord's fate was sealed.
Yes, from the very moment Jon Arryn had collapsed, blood spilling from his mouth, Samwell had recognized this as Petyr Baelish doing.
Not Oberyn Martell—the obvious suspect in everyone's eyes.
In the original events, it had been Littlefinger who had convinced his secret lover, Lysa Tully, to poison her husband. But in the original timeline, Jon Arryn's murder had occurred about a year later, when he uncovered irrefutable proof of Queen Cersei's affair after poring over The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. The evidence had forced Littlefinger's hand, and he skillfully pinned the blame on the Lannisters, igniting a conflict between the Westerlands and the North that would throw the entire realm into chaos.
Now, events were unfolding in an eerily similar manner, albeit earlier than anticipated.
Only this time, it wasn't the Lannisters bearing the blame—it was the Martells.
Oberyn was the perfect scapegoat, his fearsome reputation and old grudges with Jon Arryn making him the ideal target. His attempts to negotiate using aggression had only dug his grave deeper. And Lysa's piercing accusation had been the final blow, cementing his guilt in everyone's eyes. Now, the "Red Viper" had been stripped of his weapons, his reputation, and his defense.
Only Samwell knew the truth. But he couldn't exonerate Oberyn—he had no proof, and Littlefinger had concealed his schemes too well for anyone to suspect him.
Since the day Littlefinger had first set foot on Eagle's Nest, under the guise of auditing the crown's finances, Samwell had sensed he was laying the groundwork for a larger scheme. Samwell suspected that Littlefinger was here to stoke tensions between the Reach and Dorne, but despite his knowledge of the man's nature, he had been unable to avoid being drawn onto the man's stage, trapped with the rest.
Littlefinger's "cast" included Ulric Sand, Arianne Martell, Lord Randyll Tarly, and Alester Florent—each unknowingly playing a role within his plot.
And as the final act took shape, Jon Arryn himself had entered the stage to play his part, along with Oberyn Martell, positioned to take the fall.
Of course, Littlefinger wasn't omniscient; he couldn't predict every step.
But he didn't need to.
The events on the stage may have varied, but the ending was predetermined. With Lysa Tully as his pawn, Jon Arryn was bound to die, and Littlefinger had merely crafted a performance around it—a show to redirect suspicion and use the fallout for his gain.
In this, he had succeeded.
Oberyn Martell now bore the blame for Jon's poisoning, and with the Hand of the King dead, the tensions between the Reach and Dorne would flare to a breaking point. The stability of the entire Seven Kingdoms might hang in the balance.
"Sam," a voice broke through his thoughts as Lord Randyll approached.
"Father."
Stepping closer, Lord Randyll lowered his voice. "Given the situation, I'll need to return to Horn Hill and gather our forces. Alester will return to Brightwater Keep to raise his as well. While we're gone, you need to stay here and keep an eye on Oberyn Martell. Make sure he doesn't slip from your sight, understand?"
Samwell understood his father's concerns; he suspected Dorne might have hidden motives. But he knew that Oberyn was just as blindsided as everyone else.
Still, without a way to explain it, he could only nod silently.
As Lord Randyll and his companions left, Oberyn Martell, stripped of his armor and spear, caught his eye, calling out from where he was surrounded by Arryn guards.
"Hey, Reachmen! There's no need to raise armies—I swear on the Sun, Spear, and the Seven, I came here alone with only a single spear and left my squire back at the inn. I feel as bad as any of you about Lord Arryn, but I had nothing to do with it!"
"Silence, Red Viper!" a guard snarled. "You should pray to the Seven for Lord Jon's recovery—if he dies, so will you!"
"And if he dies, the real killer will go free."
"Are you not the killer?"
"I told you, I had nothing—"
"Uncle!" Arianne Martell cut in, trying to calm him. "Please, stop talking."
Oberyn's gaze shifted, incredulous. "You too? Do you really think it was me?"
"No." She shook her head but hesitated, her voice uncertain. "I only think… perhaps we should wait for the maester's diagnosis. Maybe the old man simply… coughed up blood from exhaustion?"
"Lord Jon's never had a cough!" a guard shot back. "His health has been fine!"
Oberyn retorted, "He's seventy-some years old, for the gods' sakes!"
"Uncle!" Arianne shot him a warning look, as if pleading for him to stop before he worsened things.
With a heavy sigh, Oberyn went quiet, realizing that his attempt to appear intimidating in negotiations had backfired in ways he hadn't imagined.
In a mocking twist of fate, the gods had left him cornered.
Just then, the door to Jon Arryn's chambers creaked open, and Maester Gilmore stepped out with a grave expression.
"How is Lord Arryn?" The crowd's tension was palpable.
Maester Gilmore sighed heavily, shaking his head as he spoke. "The time the gods have granted Lord Jon… is running out."
"What?" A murmur of shock rippled through the hall.
Gilmore tried to calm the crowd. "Please, noble lords, enter quietly. Lord Jon has final matters he wishes to settle."
"Then we go," said one of the Reach lords, and they began filing into the room.
Arianne Martell, after a glance at the guards, was also permitted entry.
But as Oberyn moved to follow, the guards barred his way.
Maester Gilmore interrupted. "Lord Jon specifically requested Prince Oberyn as well."
The Arryn guards exchanged looks of uncertainty before reluctantly allowing him entry.
Oberyn muttered to himself, "At least he hasn't gone completely senile…" He shot the guards a final glare and, with a heavy step, disappeared into the dimly lit room.
(End of Chapter)