Unnamed

The second phase of the diplomatic peace talks between Dorne and the Iron Throne were about to begin underway again; after the whole fiasco during the first phase, the revelation of Ariyana Dayne spying on the King on behalf of House Martell caused quite a bit of stir if not risk everything falling apart. Daveth stormed off in anger, only to be met with an assassination attempt on his life. Even Prince Doran Martell, Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne, knew that if something were to happen to the King then Dorne would again be dragged into another war. Of course, Doran was also concerned about the well-being of his son and heir Prince Trystane, as well, and how he was protected from harm too.

Back in the meeting room, Doran shifted in his seat to ease the discomfort in his legs. Gout had not been kind to him over the years; it swelled and reddened the joints of his knees, toes and hands. Oberyn stood next to his older brother with Ellaria Sand, their daughters and Doran's wheelchair in case Doran needed to move around.

Ariyana Dayne, still under investigation, couldn't meet Queen Sansa Stark's gaze—who sat across from her. Even veteran Kingsguards such as Ser Lucius Blackmyre and Ser Jaime Lannister still hadn't forgotten Ariyana's involvement in spying on Daveth.

"This meeting would be more productive if the King were to join us," Ellaria complained.

Sansa looked at her with a calm, composed demeanor. "My husband will be arriving soon," she told her. "But what does concern us is the apparent lack of security which allowed the assassins to slip into Dorne undetected."

"My captain of the guard Areo Hotah is already seeing to it that no more outsiders try to enter my country in secrecy again," Doran told the Queen. "Remember, I'm more concerned about this since my son Trystane unknowingly had gotten himself involved in the altercation."

Olyvar Frey poured Sansa a cup of wine, glancing back at Tyene Sand. "We've identified the culprit behind the assassination attempt, my lords and ladies. I've seen this man at least once after we took back Moat Cailin. Locke."

"He's one of Roose Bolton's bannermen. What could he have hoped to gain from this?" the Wolf Queen suggested.

"Difficult to say, Your Grace, but the King believes it was his bastard Ramsay Snow who's really pulling the strings," he answered. "Says Lord Bolton is 'too smart for his own good to jeopardize his house's standing'."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"Because Ramsay's worse than a monster. Worse than anything you could ever imagine."

By then, Daveth Baratheon had already made his presence known.

"Ah, Your Grace," Ser Lucius acknowledged. "Forgive us, we started without you."

"So I see," he stated plainly. "Trystane. How fares your jaw?"

Trystane shrugged it off. "A fleabite," he answered.

Daveth didn't buy it one bit. 'What a poor excuse. You got your ass knocked out with one blow.'

As the Young Stag sat beside his wife, the negotiations could once again continue. Sansa observed Daveth's posture, examining his body language; when he first stormed off, Daveth was slightly hunched forward and his hands curled into tightly balled fists. Now, his posture was straight and shoulders less tense, more composed. Let's just hope it stays this way until things have settled down for a moment longer.

"Allow us to extend our sincerest apologies for this mishap," Doran begun.

Daveth shook his head. "We both know who's to blame for this outrage, Prince Doran. Rest assured, the assassins were only puppets. Our true enemy merely pulls the strings from the shadows."

A Dornish servant assists Shae and Brella set down food and drink on the table before returning to their posts.

"Pie looks good," Olyvar commented.

Doran, Oberyn and Trystane took a plate of pigeon pie with Daveth, Sansa, Myrcella, Olyvar, Jaime and Lucius each taking a piece along with their respective goblets of wine.

"You appear to be much calmer this time," Oberyn said to Daveth.

"It belies a Baratheon temper," the Young Stag replied. "That, and my wife always kept telling me that suppressing one's feelings is not healthy."

"Wise woman."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "You're very kind, Prince Oberyn," she said politely.

"That aside, it is best that we continue where we left off," Doran noted.

It all became serious now. Daveth and Sansa listened closely as Prince Doran unveiled a parchment; a thoroughly worded treaty, it consisted of a list of terms and agreements that he believed would function as a compromise between Dorne and the Iron Throne.

"Now, I won't deny the fact that you are of Baratheon and Lannister descent and there are still some who remain unsure about you," he began, "but what doesn't change is the fact that you were the only monarch since King Daeron II to make any effort to reach out to us in Dorne spoke volume of one's character."

"159 years ago, House Martell got into bed with the dragons of House Targaryen," Oberyn mentioned. "As my brother said, we took Daeron and his sister for our own before they could take each other. That's how six kingdoms became seven. How you sent your own sister Princess Myrcella to us was almost quite similar, though not quite exactly similar to circumstances."

"Many in Dorne want war. But when Oberyn came back with the Mountain's head and when we learned of Tywin Lannister's… untimely demise, some of the grumbles have died down."

Oberyn's face changed expressions. "Our sister Elia Martell was a rare flower in our land. Hers had no thorn; she was kind and clever and had a gentle heart. Dorne loved her. We would've died for her, and her children."

"I've seen war. I've seen bodies piled on the battlefields. I've seen the orphans starving in the cities. I don't want to lead my people into that hell unnecessarily."

"When we swear oaths, we keep them. We needed no threats from King Aerys, though he made them anyway in his madness and condemned our sister and her children to their fate. We know that war is terrible and sometimes men must do terrible things to wage it… and to end it."

Daveth and Sansa said nothing as they watched the Martell brothers Doran and Oberyn speak. To them, perhaps there was somewhat of a lesson that needed to be told. The King held his wife's hand in his own, and she gave a gentle squeeze as reassurance. Jaime looked on grimly, while Lucius and Olyvar observed with wine goblets still in their hands barely touching their lips.

"Do you understand what we're trying to tell you?" Oberyn asked.

Sansa spoke first. "That mountains of gold or military force are not always the ways to sue for peace," she said.

The Red Viper nodded. "Correct. Whether by blood… or talking to us can it be possible."

"I know things will never be easy for you, my lords. Nor can we make promises we are unable to keep. But I do hope that we can achieve an everlasting peace between us and make amends so the Martells of Dorne and the Baratheons of King's Landing cadet branch may be friends."

Ellaria noted how Queen Sansa was speaking. 'Break bread with the Baratheons, Lannisters and Starks,' she thought. Though the look Oberyn gave her told her that justice was already done; and there wasn't a need for more.

"That is my hope as well," Doran said. He placed the paper down onto the desk. "You've not only given us justice for our sister Elia along with her two children Rhaenys and Aegon, but also our uncle in the Kingsguard Prince Lewyn Martell as well. If you are indeed serious about wanting to reconcile with Dorne, if you want an alliance between us, then our terms must be met."

Daveth looked at the parchment. Sansa noticed and nodded her head.

"Of course, Prince Doran," she said. "The Crown will do whatever it takes to make things right."

"If an alliance between Dorne and the Iron Throne is to be kept strong," he said, "then the engagement of my son, Prince Trystane, and King Daveth's sister, Princess Myrcella, must stand."

Daveth looked at Myrcella and Trystane. The heir to Dorne locked eyes with the King; meanwhile, Myrcella practically looked at Daveth—who noticed her looking his way—and quietly mouthed the words "please" to him, begging her eldest brother to agree to the arrangement. The Young Stag sighed and nodded.

"Done," he said.

Myrcella smiled and hugged Trystane, who reciprocated the news as well.

"My son will be accompanying you to King's Landing as well," Doran announced.

Daveth raised a curious eyebrow. "You wish to send your only son and heir to the capital? May I ask why?" he asked.

"If the assassins come here again, then your sister and my son will need to be relocated somewhere safer—particularly within the walls of the Red Keep. Also, my brother Oberyn was named to the Small Council as Master of Laws before his resignation. Your grandfather understood the importance of working with one's rivals. With that seat still vacant, Trystane will take his place on the Small Council."

Daveth looked at Trystane. "What say you, Trystane? Are you up for the task?"

The young man nodded. "Of course."

"Then let's be certain that you're ready for such responsibility of being the Master of Laws. Your uncle Prince Oberyn proved himself capable, so you can imagine the expectations I have for you."

"Then you accept our terms?" Doran asked.

Daveth picked up his quill and dipped it in ink. "I will do whatever I must to ensure the realm's prosperity… and my sister's safety," he said quietly under his breath, pressing the tip onto the parchment.

Myrcella, Sansa, Oberyn and Doran watched on as Daveth moved his wrist with each stroke in specific directions, length and curvature relative of each letter he wrote down. The Young Stag's penmanship was as business cursive as it was fancy, each stroke precise and near perfect joined together in a flowing manner. Once he was finished, Daveth set the quill down.

"It is done," he informed them.

Doran switched the parchment around to face him as he took his own quill and ink to write down his own signature; the gout in his knuckles and joints made it difficult to write out each stroke, but Doran eventually finished his and put his quill away.

"And so it is done," he announced before raising his cup to propose a toast. "Let us drink to Daveth, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. May his reign be long and prosperous."

Everyone took a drink, even Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes. Daveth raised his cup, though he felt a wave of mental exhaustion wash over him—his vision temporarily blurred and felt a bit lightheaded; the Young Stag momentarily shook his head to rid himself of momentary distractions. Sansa and Olyvar, however, were the only ones to notice – the Frey squire was the first to lean in to whisper into the Queen's ear.

"I've seen him like this before back at Moat Cailin, Your Grace," he quietly informed her. "He passed out in the mud not long afterwards."

Sansa looked concerned. "Keep a close eye on him," she whispered. "Pray to the Old Gods and the New that it's not as serious as it once was."

Through sheer ounce of willpower, Daveth Baratheon had apparently pushed himself a lot harder to be absolutely certain that this one final task was seen through to the end: unifying the entire Seven Kingdoms: the North, Stormlands, Riverlands, Vale of Arryn, Westerlands, Reach… and now Dorne. Quite a monumental undertaking that involved years of careful planning and strategic, tactical and political maneuvering to get the results Daveth so desperately wanted. By nightfall, host and guests had finished their meals and traded in for the night.

The King had slept longer than most men ought to. Sansa never took her eyes off him for the entire night.

– 5 Days later –

A royal skiff waits on the Dornish sand to escort the royal party back to the royal flagship King Robert's Warhammer which remained anchored a few hundred yards offshore.

King Daveth, now donning his formal royal attire and given his arms and armor back, was more than eager to return home to King's Landing. His father's warhammer was strapped on his other shoulder to relieve discomfort towards his left where the assassin's dogs sank their teeth into. His left arm and shoulder were still in the process of healing so he didn't plan on pushing it, though some of his Kingsguard still didn't approve.

Ariyana Dayne's attire remained consisting of the Kingsguard, though her future in the royal guard remained in question. "We're going to have a long talk when we get home," is all she was told. She wasn't trusted by her peers despite her claims of loyalty to the Crown and Dorne; she'd have to work long and hard to prove herself again to win back their trust.

Ser Lucius and Jaime Lannister watch as Myrcella Baratheon and Trystane Martell say their goodbyes to Prince Doran. Much to their surprise, Oberyn offered to accompany them to the capital with Ellaria and three of his daughters: Obara, Nymeria and Tyene Sand. Olyvar Frey had finished gathering their belongings for the oceanic voyage home. Trystane hugs his father; Doran kisses his future daughter-in-law on both cheeks.

Shae and Brella each carried the royal twins Prince Lyonel and Princess Cassana in each of their arms; bouncing the babes, Lyonel and Cassana babbled as they gripped their mother's handmaidens with their tiny hands.

Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes begin boarding, no longer dressed in their warrior outfits but as proper women of the court. Tyene, of course, still teased Olyvar who kept his eyes glued at her swaying hips before snapping them back to attention when Queen Sansa caught him.

"That is very inappropriate, Olyvar," Sansa quietly scolded him, casting a cold death stare.

Olyvar gulped. "S-sorry, Your Grace," he apologized frightened.

Daveth and Sansa both approach Doran.

"I wish you a safe journey home," he told them.

"Thank you for having us here, Prince Doran," replied Sansa. "Will we see you at the wedding?"

"You will."

"This has proven to be quite an illuminating experience. Hopefully this is the start of a new beginning between our houses," Daveth told him.

"The feeling is mutual, Oathkeeper. I have enjoyed getting to know the grandson of a man I once called my enemy. Take good care of my son."

"You have my word." He soon turned to his family. "But there's something that needs to be done first before we leave."

Everyone looked confused.

"Olyvar."

The Frey squire stood at attention and approached the King.

"Yes, Your Grace?" he asked.

Daveth eyed him closely. "I haven't forgotten what you've done for both of me and House Martell back at the Water Gardens. I did say I'd see you rewarded for how you saved not only my life, but Doran's son's as well. Is there any boon you would ask of your King? If it's within my power, I will grant it."

Olyvar felt a bead of sweat trickle down his face. "I… I only seek to continue serving the Crown to the utmost best of my ability, Your Grace… if you'll have me that is."

He nodded. "Then kneel."

Obeying his King's order, Olyvar knelt down to one knee in a form of submission. He was unsure as to why, but heard the distinctive sound of Daveth unsheathing Stormbringer from its scabbard and felt cold Valyrian steel touching his shoulder.

"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave," he recited the words. "In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women." The Young Stag then placed Stormbringer back in its scabbard.

Olyvar's eyes widened; he was visibly speechless. He knew what those words mean! Two years ago he started as a mere squire from a lesser house in service to his master, and here he was now a full-fledged knight! All those times training in combat with the King, fighting alongside the King in battle and acting as a page at the King's court… Olyvar's patience and dedicated service had finally paid off as he looked up at Daveth.

"You honor me, Your Grace. I… I don't know what to say," he stuttered. "I swear I will uphold the knight's code, protect the innocent, defend the weak and offer my services to you. I will shield your back, keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Daveth nodded. "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise, Ser Olyvar Frey."

Standing back up, Olyvar looked like he could barely contain his excitement at being knighted by the King himself. Sansa observed the ceremony firsthand and couldn't help but smile warmly at the oath of fealty; she couldn't deny Olyvar's dedication and service to the Crown. He's been a good, faithful squire and the Wolf Queen agreed that it was long past due to reward him for his role in saving her husband's life from assassins and on the battlefield. Olyvar then made his way onto the royal skiff for the long journey back to King's Landing.