Domeric VIII

"You know, I really don't understand what Brandon Tully's problem with me is."

"Brynden," Lord Tytos Blackwood corrected. The position of his castle, Raventree Hall, made it more convenient for him to accompany the Vale army north. They'd follow the Kingsroad, then split once they passed the God's Eye and reached Harrenhal. The lean, tall man was better company than most. Everyone wanted to get their turn patting Domeric on the back, his old foster family, the Redforts, most of all. Thankfully, Lord Horton was busy fending off marriage proposals for his sons. The guy was really starting to cramp Dom's style. Don't get him wrong, the Redforts weren't a bad sort, but the praise was getting tiresome. Neither battle was ever in doubt. They had more and better men.

"Whatever. If he fought with us against the Kingslayer, he'd know what scum those sellswords are. They broke and ran just as soon as the battle turned, before even. Ser Jaime got into a little trouble, and off they rode. Hunting them was just about the most tedious task you can imagine. I've got very fine scouts. Lord Moonfort was a chieftain of the mountain clans, as I'm sure you're aware, but those foreigners have the survival instincts of rats and cockroaches. Wiping them out completely wasn't possible."

Lord Tytos nodded along at his explanation. He reached into a saddlebag for a wineskin, took a long pull, and offered Domeric some. Well, why not? The wine was not particularly good, but nobody was in a rush.

They had pride of place, riding at the head of a huge column of men, spread out over leagues. Wagons loaded with plunder and prisoners lagged behind, and the dust was awful.

"I believe, Ser Domeric, that he is still wroth with you for killing his nephew Edmure in a tourney," Blackwood pointed out.

Oh. Domeric had forgotten that. "Well, I didn't mean to. I hit him hard, but I hit everyone hard. If you can't take it, don't enter the lists."

"True enough. Will you tell me of the battle? It was done before we arrived. All I ever saw was a red river and Valemen looting bodies."

"Well, let me say Tywin Lannister's reputation as a general is much exaggerated. Our outriders spotted his van making a thunder run for the city, and they blundered right into an ambush. Archers feathered them from two directions, and there were pits, sharpened stakes, and so forth. Some spearmen, no longer battle maidens, saw them off. They fought a lot better in their second battle, let me tell you. I had charge of the van as we came down the High Road and the Kingsroad, but Lord Horton let me lead the heavy horse once we faced the West. Imagine four thousand knights of the Vale at your back. Our foot and archers broke up their formation, then we couched lances and rode right over them." Domeric indicated his squires behind him with a little turn of the head. "My squires, Alesander Frey and Elia Frey, captured some notable knights. Al took Addam Marbrand in single combat, and Elia Flement Brax, among others. Mostly, I just killed everyone I saw. Al had to remind me they were trying to yield."

His squires preened, and Lord Blackwood chuckled. "I should have liked to see that. Is what you said about blood making weirwoods grow true? We've got a big one at Raventree Hall, one of the biggest, but it's dead, I fear."

"Oh, it's true," Domeric confirmed. "You'll be able to see for yourself. We planted one in Harrenhal's godswood. It was up to my waist when we left. Prince Oberyn's daughter Sarella will have been measuring it every day. Has your heart tree rotted? Turned to stone?"

Blackwood shook his head. "No. Weirwoods live forever, they say, unless godless men cut them down or burn them. But it has not had leaves in a thousand years. It's dead, but the ravens remember."

What a sad story. Those Brackens were monsters. A sudden realization took him. One thousand years? He had one thousand prisoners. Could it be? He'd been planning to do the big sacrifice on the Isle of Faces, but those trees were alive, and finding enough boats would be a problem. Maybe this meeting was a sign.

"My lord, I have a proposal for you."

***

The road was even busier once they reached Harrenhal. The North was here too! Oh, how mad they were at being left out of the war. Even Uncle Oberyn came!

"Your aunt sends her love," he said when they embraced. "I shall have to tell her she was right."

"Right about what?" Dom asked.

"What a greedy boy you are," Oberyn chided him. "Really, leaving none of the fun for me?" He hugged Elia fiercely, and they whispered excitedly to one another. When they broke apart, the prince's eyes looked a little misty.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Unc. I wouldn't say that at all." Domeric turned to Al. "Is the cargo concealed?"

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Alesander looked around to make sure nobody was watching. "Secure, but a little beaten up," he admitted.

Domeric sighed. "I guess that couldn't be helped. Come on, Tyene has all her supplies ready. There are chambers beneath the Wailing Tower where nobody will disturb us. I hope she hasn't wasted too much on her...experiments."

Plainly, Oberyn looked suspicious as Alesander dragged a covered wagon behind them. While they threaded their way through the crowd, he told Domeric some choice gossip. "Jynessa Blackmont is staying at Barrowton right now, waiting to wed young Robb. Her ship arrived just as we were leaving. She's already showing."

"Well, it's good she made it safely through Lannister waters, considering the war and all. From what I hear, many a marriage between the North and Dorne is in the making."

Oberyn chuckled. His daughter Elia took his arm as they walked. "And many a babe, I think. The other one, Lord Stark's boy Jon, is headed down to Hellholt." His nose wrinkled. "Ghastly place, with a ghastly smell, but Ellaria's niece Carmyn writes how excited she is. That one is much in love, and Jon is a beautiful boy, with a look that's rare in Dorne."

"Good for them. Mayhaps I can send the weirwoods along with young Jon. Nym was going to see to it, but she doesn't wish to go back."

"Aye," Oberyn confirmed. "She had said she wished to have her babe in Dorne, but my Nymeria has grown comfortable with your other ladies. They are delightful company, and raising the babes together might be for the best."

"I'm glad," Domeric said. Having Lady Nym with Alyx and Mordaena would make his life so much richer. How Domeric longed to return to them. He took the wagon from Alesander and led them all into a servant's entrance to the Wailing Tower. Tyene was there to greet them.

"Is my Conn all right?" she asked. The girl was dressed in white finery with golden embroidery, as richly attired as a queen. Those silver mines must pay well.

"Yes, and he has taken many a scalp for you, I hear. Now come on, is the chamber prepared?"

"What chamber?" demanded Oberyn, "and what is in that cart?"

Domeric said not a word, not until they descended into the depths of the tower, the dark place where neither light nor sound could escape. Tyene lit an oil lamp, and a rack of sharp instruments hung from the wall, and many glass phials sat on a sideboard.

Once they were well and truly alone, Domeric began his explanation. "Alesander was the one who caught him. He'd ditched his armor, shaved off his side whiskers with a dagger, and was playing dead. As far as the world is concerned, he is dead. I told the king he fled into the river and drowned."

Hope danced in Oberyn's eyes. "Who?" he asked, but Dom could tell he knew. Well, since his uncle no doubt guessed, there wasn't much point in dragging this out.

Domeric removed the cover of the little wagon, just a dirty linen blanket, nothing to take special notice of. "I give you Tywin Lannister."

The Old Lion was bound and gagged, covered in bruises, with wide eyes full of fear.

Prince Oberyn leered over his prey, pupils dilated until his eyes were nought but pits of black cruelty. There was exaltation there, and trembling excitement. He was breathing heavily, and for a moment Domeric was afraid he might have a heart attack.

"Tyene has all your poisons ready to go. You can take as long as you want, weeks even. I'm going to be busy at Raventree Hall before we head home. Sarella will want to come, but the rest of your daughters can join in."

"I want to go with you, Ser," Elia said.

"That's fine," Domeric answered. "Actually, if it works, and the Great God lives again, I have a mind to knight you both before it."

"You would knight a girl?" Elia asked in confusion. Did she think he would take her to squire with no plans to ever make her a knight?

Domeric shrugged. "Who's going to stop me?"

Nobody had an answer for that. Unc had gone completely silent, laying out bottles of this and that, organizing them in some arcane way known only to him. He had needles and a sharp little razor. Once all was to his liking, he turned to Alesander. "You were the one who captured him for me?"

Al swallowed heavily. "Aye, goodfather."

Prince Oberyn smiled his most evil smile. "If you were not already wed to my daughter, I would give her to you." The Dornishman surged forward like a striking cobra and planted a kiss right on Al's lips!

Alesander's wife Elia was kind enough not to laugh, though it was a close thing. They said the screams coming from the Wailing Tower were particularly loud that month.