"My Lady," Prince Doran said, once the pleasantries of welcoming Lady Olenna Tyrell were over. "I can honestly say I never expected to see a member of House Tyrell in Dorne in my lifetime."
"Yes, well," Olenna said, smoothing down her skirts. "If you had been content to leave my family out of your games, mayhap you would not have had to deal with my presence. But as my granddaughter is positioned to pay the price for your folly if things go wrong, I should very much like to know what exactly it is you and the Daynes have cooked up."
Doran Martell's face did not betray anything. He was silent for a long while, considering her. "To be perfectly truthful with you," he said at last. "I do not know what you mean. I have not been in communication with Arthur Dayne for well above a decade, and his brother is no plotter. Do not tell me your son knows every movement made by the younger brothers of all Lords in the Reach."
Olenna put on a pleasant smile. Inside she was seething. She could not seem to see through him, see whether he was being honest or not, and it made her uncertain of the situation. There was little she hated more than being in a situation she was not sure of, and the feeling had grown all too common in recent years. "We certainly keep track of the important ones," she said. "For instance, I know Ser Gerold Hightower is gallivanting around Essos. Apparently he won a company of unsullied in a duel, and has fashioned them into a sellsword company.
Last I heard, Whent was somewhere over there as well, though he is Hoster Tully's to concern himself with. But Dayne did not go with his sworn brothers to Essos. Nor did he return here, to serve his own family or yours. For the past eleven years he has dedicated himself to his bastard nephew, a nephew who has certainly risen high in the world.
And on Dragonstone, he is directing a mummer's show grand enough to have placed the Lords of Crackclaw Point and the Narrow Sea firmly within Jon Stark's pockets. Jon Stark now has command of more than half the Royal Fleet. His men-at-arms number at five hundred already, with more being trained every day. His marriage will bind my family and all the Reach to him. And you wish to tell me you had no hand in this plot?"
Doran Martell frowned, but that still did not tell Olenna anything either way. Was he displeased something had surprised him, or merely displeased he had been caught? "I am happy for Ser Arthur," he said at last. "I hear he loves his nephew very much, and although I would never turn down a man of his merit, Arthur has not truly been of Dorne for a long time. I do not know what he plans."
Olenna could admit that she might have been wrong. The plot might not have originated from the Martells after all. Arthur Dayne, it had been said, loved Rhaegar like a brother. The Rebellion had cost him much. Mayhap he had never required a liege lord's instruction to plot his own revenge. Or mayhap, a voice reminded her from deep within the back of her mind, he had not trusted Elia Martell's brothers with the identity of Rhaegar's remaining son out of fear that Doran and Oberyn would take their wrath out on the boy.
No, she reminded herself again. It was both too fantastical and too obvious. It would take more than a mummer's farce for her to believe in Dayne's pretty picture. "What, then, will you do when Ser Arthur uses his nephew to overthrow Robert Baratheon and take the Iron Throne? Will you stay hidden in your deserts and hope someone else is kind enough to send you the head of the Mountain that Rides?"
Prince Doran did not respond for several long, tense moments. "I have no interest in another Usurper's War," he said at last.
"Whatever our own feelings may be at the thought of a Stark and Dayne bastard on the Iron Throne," Olenna said when it was clear he did not mean to continue. "It may be a good thing. Our kingdoms have both lost power since the War. And Jon Stark is a good boy. Strong and clever beyond his years. He might certainly be an improvement to Robert Baratheon." She had not had much opportunity, herself, to get to know the boy, but he and Loras had spent countless hours together before she left Loras to squire for Ser Arthur. While much of Loras' assessment of the young Lord Stark's character was coloured by youthful infatuation, her grandson was not a bad judge of character.
He had attended Jon Stark's lessons, and admitted they were more advanced than his own, despite their age difference. He was also in awe of the answers Jon Stark had given to the maester's questions, though not as much as he was of the boy's abilities as a swordsman and horse rider. More than anything, it was because of Loras' words of Jon Stark's kind and gentle nature and sweet disposition that she had discarded the idea of simply getting rid of the boy to get Margaery out of her planned marriage. It was still a feasible last resort, for if Arthur Dayne lost control of his plotting and looked like to fail and bring them all down with him, but now she would do it sadly and reluctantly rather than eagerly.
"If the opportunity arose when we might attack the Lannisters without fear of reprisal, I doubt I could hold back my bannermen, let alone my brother," Prince Doran said at long last. "But I have no desire to see more Dornish lives wasted in a conflict that will change nothing for us."
Olenna nodded briskly. She would return to Highgarden, weigh her options. "I should like to meet your daughter," she said at last. If it did come to war, the least costly option was to have Dorne behind them. As loathe as she would be to give up Garlan to the merciless sun and desolate sands of Sandspear, being Prince Consort to the heir of Dorne was certainly not the worst fate she could imagine for him. And if Prince Doran had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, by his own family, Olenna would still do her best to make sure Dorne was not just waiting to stab her House in the back.
War, she realised as she was introduced to pretty, young Arianne Martell. She was planning for war, as though she had already decided this would be the course. A chill ran down her back. Caution. She would need to exercise caution. And there was still the chance that fickle Robert would call off Margaery's wedding and they could sit it all out, or even that Arthur Dayne came to his senses or that Jon Stark himself stopped the conflict before it had a chance of happening. She hoped and prayed for that every day. The last thing she wished was to see her family enter another bloody war, unless she could be absolutely certain of the outcome.