The brief letter, arriving at the Gargalen Manse the day before, bore the seal of the Lord Protector of Dorne. The invitation to share a meal with old Ser Quinlan was written in his own hand, curt and succinct. And now, the next afternoon, a pair of palace guards in their bright robes lead the way to the prince’s private solar high in the Tower of the Sun. He is, as it happens, already at table.
“You will excuse me if I do not rise, Lady Joleta,” Ser Quinlan says from a table beside one of the louvered windows looking out towards beyond the walls of the Old Palace to the cramped, sprawling shadow city beyond. “An old man’s perogative.” Of late, he has looked nearer his age of three score and ten years, the black now gone from the hair, which has thinned precipitously. But the dark eyes remain bright beneath heavy-lidded eyes.
hot, and the glare of the sun seems to drain the color from the landscape.
With a whisper of sandsilk, Joleta dips a graceful curtsey. “Of course, Lord Protector.” she replies, inclining her head graciously. “Thank you for this invitation. My lord father and lady mother send their best regards.” S
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“It has been too long since they have graced the hall of the Old Palace,” Quinlan says politely, while motioning towards the seat across from him. He nods to a liveried servant who steps forward to pull back the seat for you, while another goes about filling a cup with wine. “You must share with them my greetings, and my best wishes.”
Joleta takes her seat, absently smoothing her skirts. “I will gladly send your message back to Salt Shore, my lord.” She inclines her head then, “I hope Prince Marence’s health continue to improve?” she inquires delicately, “Salt Shore has prayed for his recovery.”
Balerion, Damphair, Elleria, Nymeria
The repast set on the table is varied, though the Lord Protector’s spare frame suggests he eats with moderation. There are pastes and sauces, flatbread, nut-and-honey laden pastries, fruits and dates, and more beside.
“I fear the prayers will go unanswered,” Ser Quinlan says, seeming to have made his peace with it. “My son says he has felt no improvement in many moons. He does not believe he shall resume the rule of Dorne, alas.”
Both brows raise but otherwise Joleta goes still for a moment as she absorbs this. “That is terrible news, my lord. Both for you personally and for Dorne.” Though tall and coltishly thin in her youth, Joleta’s successful pregnancies and deliveries have given her a more womanly shape as she approaches her middle years, but she still rather slight. She samples some of the fruits with a practiced grace, accustomed to dining in a public view. “If Salt Shore can be of any assistance to the Prince, of course, we are glad to offer it.”
Ruling Dorne on his son’s behalf is not new for Quinlan—long ago, when the boy first came to the throne, his father acted as his regent—and it certainly does not seem to be a great burden for him now. “He seems to have become taken with Starfall, and Lady Dayne’s hospitality,” the Lord Protector says. “He may return there, after the wedding, or mayhaps look to some other place where the sea is close; he says it does him good.” As he picks up a date from a bowl, he considers and then adds, “Some courtier suggested building a palace nearer to Sunspear, with gardens by the sea. A pretty picture she painted of it, but I do not believe the prince was interested.”
Joleta is not slow to grasp the implications of the situation, but she does not rush the conversation untoward. “That does sound lovely,” she agrees, nibbling at the flatbread. “Having grown up by the sea, I can appreciate its beauty. If Prince Marence cared to journey to Salt Shore, I have no doubt my parents would welcome a visit.”
Since Joleta has returned to court and has gotten settled in, she would like an audience with the Lord Protector (assuming that he’s still doing the bulk of actually ruling Dorne right now). She would like to get a feel from the Lord Protector about how he sees the state of the court, the impending Royal Wedding, whether Rhodry is trying to start another war and so forth. She might try to feel him out about Wild Will getting a reprieve, but if it doesn’t look like he’s going to be happy to hear about that, she won’t go there. Considering another court position is a possibility, but she wants to get a better idea of the “state of the union” first. She’s still sore about how the well incident was handled. Since we have pretty much incompatible online times, I am assuming an actual scene is not possible.
If any of those work, lets schedule a scene with the Lord Protector and Joleta. Otherwise I’ll kick out some ideas for what Quinlan would share.
Side note: Joleta would really want to gun for the Lord Justiciar spot. On the House listing for Martell, there isn’t someone named to the position. Is it ICly open?
A gracious nod follows the offer, but it seems Ser Quinlan thinks it of little consequence as he shifts to other matters. “We shall see what follows after the wedding of my daughter to this Prince Daeron,” the Lord Protector says. “A mere boy, but my son and King Baelor both place great hopes on this marriage bringing a lasting peace.” And indeed, Quinlan has been more agreeable toward cooperating with the Iron Throne than some, up to and including arranging for the Dornish spears to take Lord Velaryon’s ships to assault the Stepstones.
Joleta considers that, “We all hope for lasting peace with the Iron Throne,” the lady agrees, “This marriage would go far to achieve that goal. But it is also prudent to prepare for the alternative. The inevitable succession of the Iron Throne is a valid concern, my lord. I had ample time to witness while I was in King’s Landing. Aegon will inherit before his son, unless something unforeseen occurs.”
A pause, as he takes a careful swallow of wine, and Ser Quinlan muses, “This Prince Aegon… a wastrel, braggart, whoremonger. A man without any great distinction in the field of battle nor in the court, unless one counts fathering bastards a great distinction.” The Lord Protector of Dorne slowly shakes his head, and says, “And a failure in Braavos, as well, when we duelled over the Sealord’s support. Not that my own son did any better.” That son, his youngest, has always been a disappointment to the Lord Protector, and it shows in the grimace after his words.
“But,” he says, after a brief silence, “there is Prince Viserys. If Baelor has no children of his body, it is his Hand who will be king, most like; they will not countenance his sisters succeeding him. A shrewd man, this Viserys, and much younger than I. He could live many long years, as may his nephew the king.”
Joleta inclines her head, agreeing. “The more years that pass between now and the time of the eventual King Aegon, the better for Dorne. And so I will happily toast to the long life and good health of the king and of Prince Viserys.” She pauses to nibble at some flatbread with paste, “I do support the wedding, my lord. Princess Mariah will need ample support and protection in her new home, but I am certain that you’ve already considered that. We need peace now and for the immediate future.”
“We are in accord, Lady Joleta,” Quinlan says, with a brief smile before moving to some other morsels. “She shall have Dornish companions, to be sure, and trustworthy Dornishmen to guard her and her household, and mayhaps an advisor or two from among the lords and ladies of Dorne. We must see to our own interests.” Time passes, as the old man takes a few small bites, and washes it down with wine, before he resumes. “As to peace, who knows what the days to come will bring? Yet for now there is friendship with the Iron Throne, Pentos has laid down its claim to the Stepstones and we hold sway there instead, Tyrosh and Myr fight one another rather than uniting to cause trouble on the narrow sea as they have done before. I see a great deal of peace. We must do what we can to keep it that way.” Of course, there is one Free City he does not name: Braavos, and there the rumors have begun to run wild with each new ship from the Secret City, bearing tales of an embattled Sealord and angry bankers.
“Indeed.” Joleta leaves Braavos as well for the moment, following the lead of the Lord Protector. “To secure that peace is to navigate a troubled sea, always changing, always requiring one to adapt and innovate. Yet none of that is possible if your own hull is not watertight.” She pauses, “I have heard that Mavros Uller has returned to court, yet I have not seen him since I returned.”
Hearing his rival’s name makes Ser Quinlan grimace again, with distaste. “He prefers skulking in shadows,” he opines, disdain dripping from his tongue. “But my son enjoys his company, it seems, and there is nothing to be done for it.” He takes a swallow of wine, a longer one, as if to wash the taste of the subject matter from his mouth. “At least he does not bedevil me. Whatever opinions he has about the disposition of the court and Dorne, he keeps them to himself. Though some may say, and rightly, that an ambitious man who pretends to be otherwise is the most dangerous sort.”
“He has the ear of the Prince,” Joleta agrees, sipping the wine while she peers over the rim of the glass at Quinlan. “And others. I was always concerned that his influence put much of the court out of balance. That there was little room for anyone’s voice but his, particularly among the prince’s advisors. But I am sure your presence has sent him scuttling back to the shadows.” She shrugs, “Likely that’s why the position of Lord Justiciar has gone unchanged. I’d heard he was conspiring to put someone in the role, in exchange for favors to be named later, to be sure. That was some time ago.”
The Lord Protector’s eyes narrow for a moment, before there’s a brief *harumph* from him. “I am unsurprised,” Ser Quinlan says, “but only fools would believe he has such influence. When it comes time to find a new Lord Justiciar, it will be I who make the choice.” At that, he considers Joleta for a moment, before taking another morsel of food. “Though, it is true, that time is not far off. I suppose there have been rumors.”
Joleta acknowledges that with a nod, “There have been, which is why I bring the matter up now. That role is also a voice on the Prince’s council, whether that be voices around Prince Marence, or you, or young Prince Maron someday. A lesson I learned at my father’s knee was to make sure there was a balance to those voices, that if there are many mouths, but only one voice being heard that it is a warning.” She dips her chin then, “But of course, you are far more experienced at this game than I. Surely I say nothing that you’ve not already considered.”
A look from the heavy-lidded eyes, and Quinlan’s expression shifts subtly. “Better to be confident, Lady Joleta, and to make no assumptions on what others may or may not have considered,” he says, a touch drily. “After all, hearing an opinion is shared may confirm that one is correct in one’s views.”
Joleta inclines her head. “The implications of what lies ahead are not lost upon me, Lord Protector. Dorne is fortunate that you are here to mitigate these difficulties. But we both know it will last for years to come, until Prince Maron’s majority at the very soonest. So as you say, I will make no assumptions about what you have considered and urge you to use this time now to stabilize the court for what is surely to come.”
The Lord Protector seems satisfied with that response, and turns the conversation elsewhere, seeming at ease discussing mutual acquaintances, the arrangements for hosting King Baelor and his court for the wedding, and other such matters.