By the time a servant came to inform Jon Snow and Edric Dayne that they were to head to Blackhaven for the banquet, the two finally realized that the sky outside had already sunk into complete darkness.
Even the candles burning in the tent were nearly spent.
Bronn, long since forgotten by the two, was sitting off to the side, drinking Dorne's red wine until his eyes were glassy and his face flushed red, leaning lazily against the wine table, swinging his legs in satisfaction.
"Didn't think I'd ever go back to Blackhaven again… I thought I'd never return there in this lifetime."
After thanking the servant, Edric spoke with a trace of emotion in his tone.
Jon found it a bit curious, seeing this small boy speak like a grown man.
"The Lord of Blackhaven is Beric Dondarrion, I think. He came here with us."
"But I seem to recall you mentioning him before—something that happened when I first came to visit you?"
Jon wasn't clear about Edric's connection to Blackhaven, so he found it strange that the Lord of Starfall would seem to have such a close relationship with the Lord of Blackhaven.
One was a vassal of House Martell of Dorne, the other of House Baratheon of the Stormlands.
Even Prince Oberyn Martell had mentioned this earlier.
But because Jon had just learned news of his mother, he hadn't paid it much attention at the time.
Now that everything had been made clear, Jon began paying extra attention to the matter.
Seeing Jon bring it up, Edric Dayne showed a faintly bitter smile.
"Lord Beric Dondarrion is actually my liege—"
"When I was seven, my aunt Allyria Dayne was betrothed to Lord Beric Dondarrion, and after that, I followed her to Blackhaven."
"There, Lord Beric Dondarrion took me in as his cupbearer. I'm ten now, and he was originally going to make me his squire—"
"But I refused him, because before that, I was already the Lord of Starfall. That is the honor and duty of House Dayne. So I returned to Starfall in Dorne, gathered my soldiers and vassals."
"I thought that when we met again, we would stand as enemies."
As Edric Dayne spoke of his connection with Blackhaven and Lord Beric Dondarrion, his expression carried both bitterness and relief.
Then he lifted his head, smiling brightly at Jon.
"For this matter, I should thank you, Jon."
"The gifts you brought ended the war and allowed our friendship to survive."
Hearing Edric's words, Jon hadn't expected there to be so much behind it.
As Edric continued speaking, Jon understood more clearly why Kal had urged him so hastily and emphasized the importance of this mission.
He had simply thought it was a means to bring the war to an end.
But he hadn't realized that behind the end of the war lay so much more.
After this brief exchange, Jon's mood unconsciously grew more solemn.
He instinctively glanced toward Edric Dayne, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his waist.
"Ned, if possible, you could become my squire."
"Lord Kal Stone made me his squire, and before the Iron Throne in the Red Keep, he conferred knighthood upon me."
"So I think, if you're willing, perhaps you could become my squire as well."
Facing Jon's good intentions, Edric Dayne thought for a moment before ultimately choosing to decline.
Although he knew that becoming the squire of his milk brother would still allow him to become a knight in the future, before that—as he had said himself—he wished for his friendship with Lord Beric Dondarrion to continue rather than end like this.
If Lord Beric Dondarrion were willing, he still hoped to go on serving as his squire.
Jon was neither saddened nor angered by Edric's refusal.
On the contrary, he praised Edric for his conduct and stated that he would always keep a squire's place reserved for him.
Their mutual modesty only made their already pleasant moods even better, and soon, the two linked arms and set off together for Blackhaven to attend the banquet convened by Renly Baratheon.
Meanwhile, not long after Renly Baratheon had departed, Oberyn's bastard daughters—Obara Sand, Nymeria Sand, and Tyene Sand—entered the great tent together from the nearby military encampment.
As the eldest three of Oberyn's daughters and the famed Sand Snakes, they had also led troops on this campaign, accompanying him in this military action.
Casting a glance at the three who stood silently after entering, Prince Oberyn Martell said nothing. He remained lounging sideways on his chair, savoring the wine in his cup.
Yet upon the table before him were no longer lavish fruits or meats, but a large, ferociously grim human head.
Drinking beside that head, Prince Oberyn had already finished an entire jug of fine wine.
Still, he was not alone in the tent. Beside him sat a maester, hunched over the desk, holding a quill and writing fervently.
After signaling his three daughters to wait for a moment, Oberyn's lips curved into a playful smile as he turned his gaze toward the maester.
"How are the letters coming along?"
Swirling the wine in his cup, Oberyn asked the question casually.
The maester did not answer immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the parchment as he checked once more for any mistakes before taking up the three sheets and handing them to Prince Oberyn Martell.
"Your Highness, please have a look."
Oberyn accepted them in one hand, gave them a little shake, and inspected them carefully—each line faithfully recorded the words he had dictated earlier, not a single one missing.
Once he confirmed everything was correct, Oberyn nodded and passed the letters back.
"That's it. Those will be the messages sent to Sunspear. I imagine Doran will be quite pleased with this news."
The maester said nothing more. He gathered the letters, folded them neatly, and then drew three small, finely crafted tubes from his sleeve.
After placing the letters inside and sealing each one carefully, he took a few ravens down from the rack behind him and tied the tubes securely to their legs.
"Your Highness, I'll be taking my leave now."
Rising to his feet with the three ravens in hand, the maester instinctively glanced toward the Sand Snake sisters before quickly averting his gaze and bowing in farewell to Oberyn.
Oberyn merely waved his hand lightly, signaling for the man to leave.
Beside him, Obara Sand—with her mouse-brown hair and long, shapely legs—remained silent as she watched the maester depart.
Instead, she turned her head and gave a nod toward her younger sister.
Fair-skinned and beautiful, with golden hair and blue eyes, Tyene Sand noticed her sister's signal. A sweet smile appeared on her lips as she nodded in understanding and quietly left the tent.
As the daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell and a septa, Tyene Sand was one of the Sand Snakes known for their cruelty.
Her knowledge of poisons rivaled that of her father, and she was equally meticulous.
Oberyn continued drinking his wine quietly, paying no attention to his daughters' movements.
Seeing her father's pleasant mood—and how he could be so utterly enraptured by nothing more than a severed head—Obara Sand's gaze also drifted toward Gregor Clegane's head.
Obara Sand was not as beautiful as her younger sisters. Her eyes were set close together, giving her face a strange and dangerous look. "Father, you called for us?" Obara Sand asked respectfully, bowing slightly.
She was dressed in a pair of long trousers and an embroidered tunic—light and breathable—accentuating the length of her legs.
"Yes, there's something I need you to do," Oberyn nodded, gesturing toward the head on the table.
Looking at it, Obara tilted her head slightly.
"This is Gregor Clegane's head. A gift sent specially to us by the Iron Throne," Oberyn explained leisurely. "It is the price they offer for our withdrawal."
"And this head?" Obara asked, puzzled.
"It will become a noble keepsake of House Martell."
Prince Oberyn answered his bastard daughter's question unhurriedly, his tone filled with elegance.
Then he raised his eyes, fixing his gaze upon her with a smile.
"I want you to personally escort it back to Sunspear, and ensure it is neither lost nor damaged."
Upon hearing that, the nearly thirty-year-old Obara Sand frowned slightly.
She caught the hidden meaning in her father's words.
"Father… you're not returning?" Obara Sand asked, puzzled.
The war between Baratheon and Lannister had ended. They no longer had any reason to remain here.
Moreover, the Iron Throne had even sent them a gift because of it.
Yet her father seemed intent on staying rather than returning to Dorne, which she could not understand.
At her words, a faint smile appeared at the corner of Oberyn's lips.
He withdrew his gaze and looked again at the wine in his cup.
The liquid swayed gently, his reflection breaking and blurring amid the ripples.
After two seconds of silence, a soft chuckle rose from his throat.
"I don't plan to return to Dorne for now. King's Landing will soon see far more thrilling stories unfold—and I've decided to go there."
Having said that, Oberyn lifted his head again to look at his daughter.
"I've already told my brother Doran in my letters. Arianne should also head for King's Landing. I believe he'll approve of my suggestion."
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