Making his own entrance as well, is Lord Aryard Manwoody. The tall mountainlord is dressed meticulously as always, wearing a robe of black linnen with a long sash of ivory-coloured silk from his right shoulder to his left waist. A small spear insigna of the Sons of the Spear is attached to it. The crowned skull-buckle of his belt grins brightly as the light falls on the gold-and silver jewelry. Several of his retainers follow behind the Lord of Kingsgrave as to stress his position and prestige.
Liane Uller has come to the Tower of the Sun for the Prince’s audience. As usual she is in her colors, and someone has taken special care to see that every detail of her appearance is just so. She stalks through the growing crowd, searching for someone as she goes. Eventually she arrives near the Lord Bailiff, who receives a smile. A place taken, she considers the other nobles as they prepare for court to begin.
There is another flutter of activity form the door and the Wyl party enters the throne room: fearsome Dread Daven; the grey-robed maester, Kennos; and the heir to the Boneway himself, dressed in his finest silks for the occasion. Coran Wyl smiles as they enter, pointing out this lord or that lady to his brother as they go. And when the Wyls come to a halt, it is by Ser Galwell and Lady Liane. He turns that easy smile upon the pair. “Good morning,” Coran says softly, before turning his attention to the Prince.
As his family moves off to one side, near to the dais, Marence himself mounts its steps and seats himself upon the throne beneath the great, gold-inlaid spear of the Martells. The consort’s seat remains empty next to him. Then old Ser Perros comes forward, the Seneschal of Sunspear, and beats a stave of goldenheart three times on the ground. “Marence Nymeros Martell, the Lord of Sunspear and by the grace of the gods the Prince of Dorne, holds audience,” the aged knight states. “He will speak before hearing petitioners!” And so he turns and bows to Marence, and moves away, to leave him the focus of all eyes.
Ser Cullen walks beside the Lord of Kingsgrave. Cullen’s is arrayed in a robe of black linen, like Aryard’s, round his waist a belt of bone vertebrae from some specimen of large snake, the vertebrae polished to a brilliant luster. The skull at the center of his belt looks like a human skull, in miniature-carved from bone of the same hue as the vertebrae. His black sand silk cloak is pinned back with a smaller, crowned skull with infinitesimal rubies and sapphires set in a golden skull. Cold green eyes move across the court taking the measure of the assembled lords, ladies, and princes.
A soft jingle heralds the announcement of Tamara Fowler as her plated anklets under her rich sapphire robes clang together. She stands at the back pulling her long sandy blond hair over her shoulder idly she scans the persons present. Once her hair is placed she fidgets with her bracelet out of anxiousness spinning the jewelry that is sister to that of the one that rests on her ankle around and around on her wrist..
At the side of Ser Mavros, now that he’s departed the prince’s retinue, is his bastard daughter. Robes of sandy yellow, accented with red, garb her lithe form, her fiery red hair confined to a braid of more intricacy and elegance than usual. A few quiet words are exchanged between father and daughter, then her eyes move to Prince Marence and those surrounding him. Her lips press together ever so slightly.
As his family moves off to one side, near to the dais, Marence himself mounts its steps and seats himself upon the throne beneath the great, gold-inlaid spear of the Martells. The consort’s seat remains empty next to him. Then old Ser Perros comes forward, the Seneschal of Sunspear, and beats a stave of goldenheart three times on the ground. “Marence Nymeros Martell, the Lord of Sunspear and by the grace of the gods the Prince of Dorne, holds audience,” the aged knight states. “Let petitioners come forward!” And so he turns and bows to Marence, and moves away, to leave him the focus of all eyes.
Galwell gives both Liane and Coran a smile of greeting and bows his head. “My lady, my lord,” he says in turn before he falls silent when Ser Perros calls for petitoners to step forward.
” See that old snake there? The one next to the rehead. Mavros Uller. Don’t forget that face.” Aryard whispers to Cullen as he nods in the direction of Mavros. As the Senechal speaks, Aryard points his ears and smiles. Lacking the patience of his uncle, a better courtier than he’ll ever be, the Lord of Kingsgrave moves forwards. In front of the dias, he forms a most elegant bow, one you would not expect from such a tall man.
” My prince… ” he starts. For a moment he seems to have lost his words but then he continues. ” ... They say it takes great courage to lead an attack oneself instead of letting ones officers take that role. They say it takes great courage to face the Stranger and smile back. But the gods know it takes more to face a man and ask for his sister’s hand.” he stops, pauzing to let the court capture the weight of his words. ” As your loyal servant I would like to ask you, my prince, the permission of courting Princess Ariana.” The gray-green eyes of the stony lord shine brightly as he looks to Ariana before shifting back to Marence, awaiting his lord’s answer.
The heir to the Boneway shifts at Lord Manwoody’s petition, turning his studious gaze from the Prince to the Lord. A smile tugs at his lips, this man who has been courting the princess for a year. But he says nothing—indeed, he doesn’t look at Ariana—as his attention falls upon Prince Marence once again.
Cullen’s right hand falls upon the hilt of his sword, as his cousin makes a petition before the Prince. His face is as emotionless as a stone death mask-his eyes lock upon Mavros Uller-the snake, as his cousin termed it-but there is no hint of sentiment, save perhaps a feint look of scorn in his eyes.
Lilah rocks back and forth on her heels slightly, the half-smile still there as she glances to the Princess, but her expression doesn’t change otherwise. There is perhaps more humour in those dark green eyes, a little more humour pulling at the corners of her lips, but the Gargalen remains quiet.
Liane stands at ease with Coran and Galwell, glancing about as no doubt the rest of the courtiers between the Manwoodys, Ser Mavros and his daughter, the princess and her royal brothers. “Not unexpected.” she says quietly, perhaps mostly to herself. She looks momemtarily to Lilah as well, but there is too much happening for her to spare much more than that at the moment.
A flutter of sound from where Princess Ariana stands—she herself is quiet, though there’s a perceptible widening of her eyes; the noise instead comes from her ladies-in-waiting, who seem quite taken with the notion of rival suitors seeking their princess’s hands. Marence… well, he seems more startled than anything. He looks to his sister, and then to the Lord of Kingsgrave.
“I would gladly give it to you, Lord Aryard,” the Prince of Dorne announces, “but my sister’s hand has been promised to another.” That sinks in a moment, and there’s more sounds, whispers, and eyes are looking to Coran Wyl.
Having gained her attention via the seneschal, Tamara brings her icy eyes forward to listen to Lord Manwoody’s petition to Prince Marence. Her gaze flits between the Lord of Kingsgrave and Marence. “This should be most interesting.” She mumbles aloud to herself thinking of the day she met Ariana and Aryard on a stroll through the Godswood. She sighs when the Prince makes his announcement, “And there it is.” she mumbles once more.
Aryard had been warned yet about the possible consequences of his actions so he’s not entirely surprised either but still… While he keeps control over himself, his face still runs slightly red as he narrows his eyes. ” You deny me the honor?” he asks, almost a whisper. ” Who?” he inquires although /that/ he knows as well. While his uncle had expected it and planned ahead, Aryard still struggles to believe he’s set aside by Coran Wyl.
Ser Cullen is more composed than his cousin. Again, his face might be wrought from black whorefrost for all the emotion he displays, his eyes cut across the throne room from Aryard to Coran then lock upon the much sought-after Princess, Ariana.
After Prince Marence’s response, and Lord Aryard’s subsequent reaction, Samara glances briefly at her father. Those at court who suspect Ser Mavros of having a hand in most everything that happens might wonder at that look, followed as it is by her lips pressing together slightly yet again.
If Coran is uncomfortable with all the eyes, and Lord Mandwoody’s ire, upon him he doesn’t show it—for the prince holds the heir to the Boneway’s attention. And even though there are some whispers from the Wyl party, Coran pays them no mind. But he does nod as the words are spoken.
“I would deny the honor to the Warrior himself, my lord,” Prince Marence replies, stiffly, “when the choice is already made. It would dishonor my sister and yourself, both, to court where there is no hope at all.” And there are more looking to Coran Wyl, and there’s whispers and talk about him and his brother, their lord father who stayed out of the fighting when Lady Yronwood expected him to join her in rebellion…
“I had meant to announce the betrothal agreement after petitions,” the prince goes on, frowning through his beard. “But I must need do so now.” The hall now grows quieter, the better to hear. The prince gestures to Coran Wyl… and says, “As many of you know, my lord of Wyl has been a guest at Sunspear with his brother these last months, and we have spoken of tying our houses together once more, renewing our old friendship. You also know that Lady Yronwood, not long after, did commit an outrage against me by seizing my personal envoy despite the peace banner he carried. Before we marched, my lord Coran approached and suggested a course we might take, with his full support.”
Lilah shifts slightly, her sandsilk whispering as she does. Her gaze flicks to Ariana, catching the Princess’ gaze. Eyebrows arching, she purses her lips, and then still with that grin, wriggles her raised brows before lowering them. When Marence begins to speak, she sobers and listens.
Even now, Coran Wyl is silent. He nods again to the prince—and if the smile on the heir to the Boneway’s lips is an indication of his approval of this course, there would seem to be some dissent amongst the Wyls: for Dread Daven is scowling and shaking his head.
Liane looks to Ser Galwell then to the Wyl heir, but then thr Prince continues. “Hmm.” she mutters. She adjusts a fold of her robe as the explanation is made, her eyes move back to the Manwoodys to consider their continued reactions. Her expression could be thought to be an amused one.
Cullen’s expression darkens, the shadows in rounds his face deepen as he stares at the Prince, then turns, once more, to the Princess. The soft creaking of muscle upon leather and steel is, doubtless, heard by any within close proximity of the knight.
Galwell’s usually stony expression is lightened with the faint curve of a smile on his lips as he watches the drama play out infront of him. Shifting his gaze from the proceeding to Liane he raises his brows to show his amusement before turning back to the scene in front of him.
The prince pauses, perhaps unsure how to put what comes next. He looks uncomfortable, there, with all eyes on him, with an angry lord waiting. But then he presses on: “Gracious and wise, my lord Coran put aside his claim on Princess Ariana’s hand… freeing me to negotiate the betrothal of the heir to Yronwood, Lady Linett’s son Farien, to my sister.” There. It’s said and done. And perhaps knowing what will follow, he adds with a touch of haste, “Who will come to Sunspear, to serve at my court as a squire, until he wins his spurs.” Ah. Not just a betrothal… a hostage, too.
And yet, an Yronwood, for all that. Son of the woman who outwitted the Martells and their host, who trapped them and, some might already suspect, forced this betrothal. If the prince had been prepared for it, had already forseen the possibility…
And with that announcement, Lilah blinks briefly, caught off-guard. The smile flickers back onto her face easily, unforced, as she regains her composure - and then begins to wend slowly through the crowd, to move closer to the Princess Ariana and her ladies, and even to stand with them if she is permitted.
Coran steps forward and speaks. “I serve the realm, my prince,” he says as he bows low before the throne—and then he steps back into the group, his smile remaining even as his brother’s scowl deepends.
A bark of a laugh escapes Liane’s lips, she covers her mouth with a hand as she brings herself under control, though her shoulders shake as she snickers mostly silently… though any further noise she makes is likely missed in the murmur that will erupt from the crowd after the Prince’s announcement.
Outplayed and outmatched, Aryard looks beaten for a moment before his eyes flash from Coran to Marence. The pieces his uncle hadn’t figured out fall together now and his expression reveals a sign of understanding. As his narrowed eyes widen, a wolfish grin breaks through his lips. ” A squire?” he asks, irrationally amused by the whole concept, the Lord of Kingsgrave barks a laugh.
Somehow the stony lord cannot help but smile amused as he shakes his head. ” Well played, my prince.” Aryard says as he looks up to the Prince again although his smile has melt away again. With a short glance to Marence, the Lord of Kingsgrave bows again although the elegance of before has been exchanged for a slow nod. As he turns, he reveals the results of the education he had and faces the court with nothing but a neutral expression n his face as he moves towards Cullen. The silence of Aryard makes one thing sure. Marence will have to pay not only the Wyls to accept this bethrotal.
Aryard’s shadow takes a position slightly behind and abreast of him. Ser Cullen’s turns to stare at Marence—but he does not bow or give tender any honors to this man. He leans in close to Aryard to whisper something.
Noting the princes words Tamara shakes her head. “A betrothal hmm? A cell without no lock I should think.” She says to a noble that stands near by who just stares at her. Tamara shrugs and mumbles to herself. “Joris is likely drinking himself into a deep sleep in the celebration of this notice.” Tamara chortles lightly with a shake of her head. “That sharped tongued bastard was right.” She mumbles to herself.
“It is no game, Lord Aryard, but I thank you for your support in this,” replies Prince Marence, after the noise and the surprise—and even, yes, a few shouted protests from among the crowd—dies down; and despite that, it’s true, Manwoody’s offer has occupied some thoughts, and the focus of the court is perhaps a shade less about the betrothal than it might otherwise have been. “But I thank you for your support in this,” he repeats, raising his voice, meaning it for everyone. “Princess Ariana is the most precious treasure of our family, and this decision was not made lightly. I have met the youth, have spoken with him, and I judge him as promising a youth as any in Dorne. He shall brighten our court with his presence, and one day—if the gods are good—he will be a brother.”
And with that, it seems it is time for another petitioner. Ser Perros raps the golden rod against the floor once more, calling forward the next who would speak to the prince before the court.
Cullen whispers to Aryard, “He ... ... ... the ... levies.”
Aryard whispers to Cullen, “... ... worked ... ... ... ... full scale ... ... ... choking ... ...”
Turning his head a bit as to get a view of Mavros, Aryard frowns for a moment as he ponders before facing Cullen again.
Aryard whispers to Cullen, “... ... has ... go. ... ... in ... for ...”
Cullen whispers to Aryard, “... ... ... ... ... ... ... intellect ... ... -old ... in ... ...”
Aryard smiles at Cullen as he shakes his head. ” That old woman…” he says although his intonation is soft enough that only the nearby nobles around his own retinue could be able to hear it. ” ... lured the Young Dragon into a trap before her own castle.” And even softer, almost a whisper ” I won’t be the last who underestimated the Bloodroyal.”
“My turn.” Liane says, though likely only those about her hear. Ser Perros calls the next petioner and that brings Liane Uller out of the assembled courtiers and nobles. Perhaps surprisingly, the Master-at-Arms also steps forward. She puts her hand on Ulwyn Uller’s arm as they approach the dias together. “My Prince…” she begins, offering her best curtsey. “... I come before you today with my kinsman to ask a boon of you. You hold my uncle’s natural daughter Alyx Sand as a prisoner, but you have not announced her fate.” Perhaps strangely, she does not mention Red Rhys at all. “Our house has served you and Dorne… in return we would ask that you return her to us alive and well.”
Coran shifts again, as Liane approaches the dias and makes her petition. The heir to the Boneway listens with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, and whispers to Galwell, leaning close. “... ... is ... of ... ... ... than ... last.”
The discussion of Ariana’s betrothal drew little reaction from Samara, but as Lady Liane makes her petition to Prince Marence, the bastard Uller glances at her father again, something akin to a frown on her face.
Galwell leans in and replies in the same hushed tones.
Galwell whispers to Coran, “This comes as a surprise for me as well.”
The old master-at-arms moves more stiffly than he once did in his youth, and he’s thicker about the middle as well. But he stands straight enough, as he looks on the prince of Dorne and lets the heir to Hellholt speak first. Marence looks between the two, frowning, and remarks, “That was another topic I was to make an announcement on. I am forestalled again.” Others might be able to turn it into a joke, a casual smile thrown in, but not Marence. He raises a hand, rubbing at his bearded jaw a moment, and then turns to Ser Perros and says, “Have them brought in, ser.”
And with that, Perros turns to a page, and sends the lad scurrying off, as the prince regards the two Ullers before him. “You are faithful to your kin, Lady Liane, and I thank you for it. Ser Ulwyn, you have served Sunspear and Dorne for many years. You, and your sons as well. I have not forgotten. But—”
“Prince,” Ser Ulwyn speaks up, with his rough, old-man’s voice. “I know my daughter has done wrong. I will not deny it. But for the blood that her brothers spilled for you—that of your enemies, and their own, too; you know Ser Dylan died fighting in Dorne’s cause—and for the blood I’ve spilled in my days when I could fight as well as any man, for you and for your lady mother, the gods rest her… I ask mercy for Alyx. She is a fool, I’ve always known it, but she comes by it honestly: she thought she was fighting for Dorne, in her way.”
The whispers between Lord Manwoody and the newly arrived Cullen Manwoody stops for a moment as the Uller’s make their request. Aryard frowns as well as his eyes flash with interest between Ulwyn and Marence as the master-at-arms speaks. With his own pride wounded by the prince, Aryard does find a bit of pleasure in the fact Marence isn’t getting it easy.
“Yes, and she swore an oath to defend Dorne if we were invaded.” Liane continues. “We were too young to really know what that meant when she promised before the gods… but she kept her promise.” she says. “Your gambit to take Red Rhys was clever, all must admit. Still, she is our kin and we would have her back. The banditry is at an end.”
The doors of the chamber open, and eyes turn that way before Marence responds. Guards bring in Alyx Sand, the Witch, her hands free. Red Rhys, on the other hand, is chained hand and foot—big and burly, a muscular man, and not a handsome on. He gives Mavros Uller a had look as he passes him by, and glares out at all the rest. When he’s before the prince with Alyx, he deliberately stares at him… and then bends his neck to spit on the floor. Alyx’s lips thin as she presses them together at that, throwing Rhys a warning look.
“You cousin and father ask clemency,” Prince Marence informs Alyx. “You have been a bandit against our laws, even after the Young Dragon was expelled. Your kin tried to see you safely home, free of your crimes, and I allowed it… and yet you never so much as hesitated in your crimes.” He sounds stern, reminding Alyx the Witch of what she had thrown away and what she had done. She’s stoic, in the face of it. “By all rights, you should hang, as Red Rhys will hang…”
A pause, and then, “But out of respect for Ser Ulwyn’s years of service, for the brother who serves in my household and the brother who died in my service, so be it. I release you to your father’s custody, Alyx Sand.” And then, his gaze turns on Red Rhys, and the brown eyes are hard now. “As for you. You will hang from the battlements, _ser_, for your countless crime—not least leading Alyx Sand astray—so that—”
Alyx the Witch interrupts, her voice crystal clear as she raises it over the prince’s. “No,” she says. “Beg your pardon, Prince Marence, but if Rhys hangs, you may as well hang me next to him.” Ser Ulwyn’s eyes bulge at that and he hisses at his daughter as he grabs her arm, “Hold your tongue, daughter!” before he turns an apologetic gaze to the prince, starts to explain—but she shakes him off.
Those tilted eyes of Samara’s have narrowed now, and closely followed the entrance of the two prisoners—one being her own cousin, too, and according to some rather uncannily like her in appearance—and their wait as Prince Marence makes his proclaimation. Now they widen in surprise at Alyx’s response, if only for a moment. She casts another sidelong glance at her father, then looks back at the two prisoners, her expression thoughtful.
Bending to Cullen, Aryard nods to the two prisoners as they enter. ” Heard of what those two did in the Boneway. Killed thousands of the Young Dragon’s army when they retreated and look at them now. Poor bastards.” He states with a whisper.
Liane leaves off decorum completely. “I _knew_ you would do this, Alyx. He is just a man. You will throw your life away for him? You have satisfied any sense of honor that anyone could have.” she seethes. “Have you not danced with him enough? Now you want to dance with him on the end of a rope?” She rubs her forehead hard with a palm. “Now you want me to regret keeping you in my heart and in my thoughts all this time… they win again.” She looks to Marence. “If you will hear me one last time, my Prince… if she wants to throw herself off the Sunspear with a throat about her neck, that is her business… but I would ask that you not have her executed.” She pats Ser Ulwyn on the arm and turns to step away.
Cullen’s stony face breaks, for the first time. He looks to the Prince, then to the outlaws—then to the Prince again. His eyes brighten with amusement, his lips arch like the angles of a curved dirk—and there is a hint of his pristine teeth, white as the bones of his belt. Clearly, he is quite amused as this japery.
Cullen tilts his head to Aryard.
Cullen whispers to Aryard, “... ... has milk in ... ... to ... both ... ... ... offices ... ... men—not ... What else ... ... do beside ... ... ... indignant ... ...”
The courtiers glower and shake their heads at this display from Alyx, and there are some who’d be happy to seen her strung up as well, or to let her kill herself if that’s what she prefers; after all, it was Rhys and Alyx who helped give Lady Yronwood the chance to trap the prince’s forces, to extort ... whatever she extorted from him, betrothal included.
And then the hulking Rhys speaks. “I’ll take the black,” he says, voice loud in the hall. “The Witch can live with that, and so can I; better my stones frozen than my neck stretched.” Alyx gawps at him and starts to protest, and he shuts her down with a short, ugly laugh. “Enough. The prince isn’t going to let me live, not in Dorne, and they don’t take women on the Wall, so you’ll stay here, Witch.”
There are those who hate that suggestion even more, and there are calls for them both to hang, calls that are not entirely silenced even when Marence announces, “So be it. Ser Rhys of the Scourge, you will be taken to the first ship that can bear you north, to take the black at the Wall.”
There’s a brief furrowing of Samara’s brow at that, and something appears to have prompted her to lean in and whisper something to her father. He whispers something back to which she nods, then turns her attention back to the two former bandits. What might that have been about? No doubt some will wonder, given Ser Mavros’s role in capturing the two in the first place.
At the whisper of Cullen, Aryard gives the man a warning frown. ” Watch it, cousin. You speak too freely.” he reproaches before turning his attention back to the scene in front of him. As Rhys is granted the black - for as much it can be seen as a gift…- Aryard nods in acknowledge. The law has been righteous to give a man the option to join the Wall. His eyes however linger for a moment on Mavros as well to gauge his reaction.
“Lady Caitrin will be so pleased.” Liane says deadpan towards Alyx as she offers Marence another curtsey and then steps away from her kin and the Martells. She stalks back into the crowd to where she began the audience. She looks to the Lord Bailiff standing there, she shakes her head sadly as she arrives near him and the Wyl heir.
If Alyx still wants to protest, Ser Ulwyn prevents her, hurrying her away and whispering furiously in her ear as he does it. Rhys is led away behind her, still in chains. Marence watches… and once the door is shut, he says, “I believe there are no more petitions. I will be brief, and not strain the patience of my lords and ladies.” A moment’s silence, and the prince says, “King Baelor has communicated with me his intention to send an embassy to Sunspear, to further the cause of peace between our realms. And I have returned to him the promise to do the same: to send an embassy to King’s Landing, for the same purpose.”
Tamara has—up until now—watched the goings on with a bit of a bemused look upon her face. Still caught up on the news of the betrothal of the princess to the young Yronwood. Then the news of an embassy. Tamara cocks her head to the side and stares at the prince, softly, “It is as if King Baelor asks for murder. ” she says to no one in particular. Shaking her head and giving a soft sigh, “This will not go well.” she murmurs to a lady standing next to her.
Like a hawk who had just noticed its prey, Lord Aryard’s face turn abruptly to the dias as Marence speaks of an embassy. ” Northerners here at court?” he exclaims. While Mors Manwoody would turn in his grave, his son’s eyes almost flash of anger. For a man who’s house has been on the edge of extinction due the Targaryens, it’s almost impossible to remain silent. The blood that runs to his head has him become almost deaf at the rumour that rises. For a moment the Lord of Kingsgrave, known to be a profound hater of anything that smells of Targaryens and their puppets, remains silent… among all the shouts and whispers that come from the courtiers. And then he turns, clearing a path through the group of nobles around him -very visible from the dias- and leaves the throne room.
The heritage of mutual hatred between the Dornish and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms may be in her blood through her father, but it is not something that Samara was raised with an awareness of. No wonder, then, that she does not share in the strong reactions from so many of the assembled nobles. She does, however, watch said reactions with a certain interest, curiosity almost.
Liane stands quietly for once at her place, watching the final few moments pass at the Prince’s audience. If the Manwoody exit is interesting to others, it barely seems to matter to her now.
There are those who are more cautious in their response, who frown and whisper. Others sneer openly, some even who follow Lord Aryard out. And some—a few—look thoughtful. So the prince presses on, even as he watches Manwoody go. “The embassy’s members are yet to be decided, but it will be done soon. Until then, I have entrusted many tasks related to the preparations to Ser Mavros Uller, who though a prisoner of the Yronwoods still served Dorne with his wisdom, and it was thanks to him that the lady made peace rather than risk the rest of Dorne arming against her.”
Some eyes look that way, to where Ser Mavros stands, unphased and unsurprised by what the prince says next. “For this, and for his loyal service during the liberation of Dorne, I have named him Keeper of the Tower of the Sun.”
But… isn’t that Rhodry? Well… it was, it seems. The prince, it’s plain, was not informed. And before he speaks up, before he can say anything with that sharp, cruel tongue of his, Marence announces, “Prince Rhodry, whose own loyal service none can question”... and live safe of a spear in the back for their trouble ... “will take up new duties, as is proper.”
And what of Cadan? Everyone knows he wishes the office restored to him, that he once had. He does not sneer like his brother, does not mutter or curse or give evil glances. He merely looks to Ser Mavros, who looks back. A gracious nod from the prince, and a bow from the knight, and that, it seems, is that ... well, that and Rhdory saying, “Duty calls—time for wine” before he walks out from the hall, brushing by others rudely, clearing his own way out.
A lot of eyes turn in Ser Mavros’s direction at that. Perhaps that is why a look of discomfort comes over Samara’s face, as some of that attention falls on her as well. There’s no surprise to be found in her expression, however, begging the question of just how much of today’s proceedings she might have been privy to in advance.
A return embassy to King’s Landing? “No one right of mind will enjoy doing that, lest they wish to please the prince.” Tamara shakes her head and takes a step back to avoid getting knocked into by Rhodry. It is clear that Tamara is lost in all of this as she shrugs and the same confused look remains on her face. She takes the Prince’s cue and curtsies—though if anyone sees her she does not know—and leaves the room, maid nipping at her heels and listening to the ladys whispers as they go.
And that, it seems, draws the audience to a close. “My lords, my ladies, I thank you for your patience,” says the Prince of Dorne as he stands. Ser Perros comes forward to rap the rod against the floor, formally ending the event. Usually, it is the custom for the prince to come down from the dais, to spend time with those there… but for whatever reason, he departs by another entrance, flanked by his guards. It’s left to Ariana and Cadan to mingle, it seems.