When faced with Jon's sincere offer, Edric Dayne paused to think.
The young lord of Starfall stood silently for a moment, his expression thoughtful. The offer Jon had made was generous—far more generous than Edric had expected.
If he accepted, he would become Jon's squire.
For most young men in Westeros, such an opportunity would be impossible to refuse. Serving as the squire of a powerful lord was often the first step toward becoming a knight.
Yet after a moment of careful consideration, Edric slowly shook his head.
"I'm grateful for your kindness, Jon," he said politely. "But I must decline."
Jon raised an eyebrow, surprised but not offended.
Edric continued with quiet sincerity.
"If I became your squire, I know I could still earn my knighthood one day."
He paused before adding:
"But before that… I want to continue serving Lord Beric Dondarrion."
Jon studied the young boy's expression and quickly understood his meaning.
Edric's loyalty was admirable.
Just as he had said, he did not want his friendship with Beric Dondarrion to end simply because a better opportunity had appeared.
"If Lord Beric is willing," Edric added, "I want to remain his squire."
Jon was not disappointed.
On the contrary, he admired the boy's loyalty.
"A wise choice," Jon said with a small smile. "Loyalty is the foundation of knighthood."
Then he added warmly:
"If you ever change your mind, my offer still stands. There will always be a place for you."
The humility shown by both young men only strengthened their friendship.
Soon afterward, they walked together toward Blackport, arms slung casually over each other's shoulders.
A grand feast had been prepared there by Lord Renly Baratheon, and the celebrations were already beginning.
Meanwhile, in another part of the camp.
Not long after Renly Baratheon had departed, three women entered a large military tent from the adjacent encampment.
They were the infamous Sand Snakes.
Obara Sand.
Nymeria Sand.
Tyene Sand.
These three were the eldest bastard daughters of Prince Oberyn Martell, known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as the Red Viper of Dorne.
Each of them had inherited their father's dangerous nature.
And each had come to war alongside him.
Inside the tent, Prince Oberyn reclined lazily on a cushioned chair, a goblet of wine in his hand.
He appeared relaxed, almost bored.
Yet the sight before him was anything but ordinary.
On the table where fruit and food would normally be displayed…
There rested a severed human head.
The massive head of Gregor Clegane, known across the realm as The Mountain.
Its enormous size and grim expression made it a horrifying sight.
Yet Oberyn seemed perfectly comfortable with it.
He had already finished an entire pitcher of wine while staring at the grisly trophy.
But he was not alone.
Across the tent, a thin scholar sat hunched over a wooden desk.
A quill scratched rapidly against parchment as he wrote.
After briefly acknowledging his daughters with a nod, Oberyn returned his attention to the scholar.
"How are the letters progressing?" he asked casually, swirling the wine in his goblet.
The scholar did not answer immediately.
Instead, he carefully reviewed the parchment before him.
Only after confirming that every word was correct did he rise and present the letters.
"Prince, please review them."
Oberyn accepted the pages with one hand.
He scanned them quickly.
The scholar had written exactly what Oberyn had dictated earlier.
Not a single word was missing.
Satisfied, Oberyn nodded and handed them back.
"That will do."
He leaned back comfortably.
"Send the news to Sunspear."
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"My brother Prince Doran will certainly enjoy hearing this."
The scholar bowed.
Without rechecking the letters, he rolled them carefully and placed them into three small bamboo tubes.
After sealing them securely, he retrieved three ravens from a nearby perch.
One by one, he tied the tubes to their legs.
"Prince, I will take my leave."
As he passed the Sand Snakes, he briefly glanced at them before quickly lowering his eyes.
The reputation of Oberyn's daughters was well known.
He left the tent quickly.
Oberyn merely waved a dismissive hand.
Obara Sand watched the scholar leave.
Her mouse-brown hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her long legs were visible beneath her light Dornish clothing.
She turned slightly and gave a small signal to her youngest sister.
Tyene Sand noticed immediately.
Beautiful and fair-skinned, Tyene looked more like a noble lady than a warrior.
Golden hair framed her delicate face, and her blue eyes sparkled with innocence.
But appearances were deceiving.
As the daughter of Oberyn and a septa, Tyene possessed an expert knowledge of poisons.
Her cruelty was as refined as it was deadly.
She smiled sweetly, nodded to Obara, and quietly left the tent.
Oberyn did not even glance at her departure.
He continued sipping his wine.
Obara's gaze drifted toward the head on the table.
Gregor Clegane.
The man responsible for the brutal death of Princess Elia Martell and her children.
Even now, the memory burned within the Martells.
"Father," Obara said respectfully, bowing slightly.
"You called for us?"
She wore light Dornish trousers and embroidered garments suited for warm climates, emphasizing her long powerful legs.
Oberyn nodded.
"Yes."
He gestured lazily toward the head.
"This is Gregor Clegane."
"The Iron Throne sent it to us as a gift."
"A condition for our withdrawal from the war."
Obara frowned slightly.
"And what will happen to it?"
Oberyn's smile was elegant.
"It will become a treasure of House Martell."
Then his gaze sharpened.
"I want you to escort it personally to Sunspear."
"Ensure that it is neither lost nor damaged."
Obara frowned more deeply.
She immediately understood the hidden meaning behind her father's words.
"You're not returning to Dorne?" she asked.
The war between House Baratheon and House Lannister had ended.
There was no reason for them to remain.
Yet Oberyn seemed to have other plans.
He chuckled softly.
"I will not return to Dorne for now."
His eyes gleamed.
"Because I believe more… interesting events will soon occur in King's Landing."
"I intend to witness them personally."
Then he added:
"I have already written to Doran."
"I suggested that Arianne Martell travel to King's Landing as well."
Obara blinked.
"Arianne?"
"Why?"
Oberyn leaned forward slightly.
"The king currently has no queen."
He smiled.
"This may be Arianne's opportunity."
Understanding dawned on Obara's face.
Arianne Martell was not only Doran's daughter.
She was also the heir to Dorne.
By Dornish law, inheritance passed through the eldest child regardless of gender.
That made Arianne the future ruler of Sunspear.
And therefore…
A suitable candidate for queen.
Just as Princess Elia Martell had once been the wife of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.
In truth, Arianne's status was even higher than Elia's had been.
If she became queen—and gave birth to a royal heir—
Dorne would once again stand at the center of the realm's power.
Nymeria Sand's breathing quickened.
"Father," she asked eagerly, "does Arianne truly have a chance?"
"There will surely be many rivals."
Nymeria was twenty-five years old.
Unlike Obara, she possessed striking beauty.
Her pale skin, long black braided hair, and dark eyes gave her a captivating appearance.
But beneath that beauty lay deadly cunning.
She carried more than a dozen hidden weapons on her body at all times.
Oberyn narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
"Arianne will have many rivals."
His smile returned.
"But I believe in her."
However, he did not elaborate further.
Instead, he drained the wine from his goblet.
"Oh yes," he said suddenly.
"Since the Iron Throne has given us a gift…"
"We should return the favor."
Nymeria and Obara listened closely.
"It's time for this war to truly end."
"I will write to Arianne and Quentyn."
"They must end the war in the Narrow Sea as soon as possible."
He chuckled softly.
"Let the mercenaries return home."
"But before that…"
His smile turned sharper.
"Our fleet should break the stalemate at Dragonstone."
"And if possible…"
"We should earn the friendship of Stannis Baratheon."
Obara frowned.
"And the mercenaries?"
"If they are not paid enough gold, they may turn against us."
Oberyn laughed quietly.
"That is not our concern."
"All we must do is inform our allies of our decision."
"As for the rest…"
"Our friend will handle it."
Then his eyes returned to the severed head on the table.
"We still need some preparation."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"It will be soon."
Like a venomous snake waiting in the sand.
Obara did not fully understand.
But she nodded.
"I will prepare immediately."
"I will return to Dorne with the army and deliver the Mountain's head to Prince Doran myself."
She stepped forward and placed the head carefully into a wooden chest.
Just as she turned to leave—
"Wait."
Oberyn's voice stopped them.
Nymeria and Obara turned back.
"Nymeria and Tyene will stay with me."
"They will accompany me to King's Landing."
Obara frowned.
"What about me?"
She looked genuinely unhappy.
"Father, I want to go with you."
"I can be your spear."
"Just like when you made me choose between my mothers."
Oberyn laughed warmly.
Gone was the cold, venomous expression from earlier.
Now his eyes were filled with fatherly affection.
"Obara," he said gently.
"The task I give you is far more important."
"I want you to return to Dorne."
"Wait for Prince Doran's command."
"Be ready."
His eyes gleamed sharply.
"We may soon have much work to do."
Obara straightened.
Her brief jealousy vanished instantly.
She was a warrior.
Not a pampered lady.
If her father said her duty was important—
Then that was enough.
"I will await your orders."
"And Prince Doran's."
"At any time."
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