Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 330: The Love-Obsessed Tyrells

Dorne, Sunspear

After learning that the Red Viper had left King’s Landing and that Viserys planned to attack Westeros within three months, Doran Martell swiftly summoned the vassals of Dorne.

In the Great Hall beneath the Sun Tower, hundreds of loyal bannermen gathered. Unlike other kingdoms, Dorne’s advisers rarely, if ever, disagreed with their liege since the forging of the Iron Throne. If Sunspear called upon them to resist, they resisted; if Sunspear made peace, they bowed to the Iron Throne without question.

In the throne room, Quentyn stood beside his sister Arianne, his brother Trystane, and the Sand Snake cousins on the steps below the dais.

He silently watched as the vassals whispered among themselves. Quentyn had always been known for his honesty.

'Too honest,' Barristan Selmy had once remarked.

He understood why his father had called this council—to rally an army in support of Viserys and help him reclaim the Iron Throne. Quentyn also knew that Viserys, bolstered by newfound power, could likely retake the throne on his own. Still, for House Martell to truly strengthen its position, it needed to play a pivotal role in the coming war. Quentyn had resolved that he, too, must distinguish himself with notable feats on the battlefield.

As these thoughts churned in his mind, Prince Doran entered the hall, accompanied by Manfrey Martell and a retinue of guards. Doran had ruled Dorne for decades, and the mere sight of him silenced the assembly. His presence carried an authority that words could never convey.

Taking his seat on the high-backed throne, intricately carved with a long spear, Doran surveyed the room.

"Prince, the fleet from Salt Shore is at your command!" declared Tremond Gargalen, the Lord of the Salt Shore. Tremond, nearly seventy years old, had once had Doran as his squire, and the two shared a deep bond.

One by one, more lords followed suit, offering their loyalty and forces: Yronwood, Jordayne, Wyl, Santagar... The clinking of swords rang through the hall as each noble house pledged their support.

“My lords, I see your loyalty," Doran said, his voice steady and measured. "Now, we must unite with Your Grace Viserys and drive the usurper from the Iron Throne! For House Martell, there is a blood debt to be paid!”

"Let the Lannisters pay with their blood!" Arianne shouted, rising to her feet. Her voice electrified the room, and the crowd quickly followed her lead.

“Drive out the usurper and defeat the Lannisters!”
“Drive out the usurper! Defeat the Lannisters!”
“Drive out the usurper...!”

The chants grew louder, filling the hall and drowning out even the sounds of the cicadas outside. Dorne, which had kept its distance during the previous conflicts, was now fully committed. Forty thousand Dornish soldiers would soon march north.

Manfrey would lead one force, set to take the Prince’s Pass by storming Nightsong, while the aged Lord Tremond would command another army to occupy the Stormlands from the south.

Quentyn, watching the unfolding scene, grew increasingly anxious. Every house was being assigned a task, yet no one had called on him.

After the meeting, Prince Doran called Quentyn to his side and assigned him a "special mission."

"I will have Areo Hotah take you to Tyrosh, where you will fight alongside His Grace Viserys."

“Go to Tyrosh?” Quentyn repeated, clearly confused by his father’s decision. He didn’t understand why he was being sent away.

This was Doran’s way of pledging his loyalty to Viserys. His gout had flared up again, though it was far less severe than before Viserys had treated him. While the pain was manageable, Doran had no desire to return to the agony he had once endured.

In private, he had even dabbled in magic to find relief, but his age and the demands of governance left him with little time to make real progress. Apart from feeling a slight improvement in his spirit, nothing else had changed. Thus, he placed his hopes once again in Viserys for further treatment.

This wasn’t about 'selling his son.' Viserys’ power had surged after his campaign in Slaver’s Bay, and sending Quentyn was a chance to mend the rift caused by his previous concealment of Arianne’s actions. Doran believed this could work.

Quentyn didn’t fully grasp the complexity of his father’s motives, but he was accustomed to following his father’s orders. As he was preparing to leave, Mellario appeared. She had been in Dorne for over a year now.

"Mother!" Quentyn’s face lit up with a joyful, innocent smile at the sight of her.

Doran, however, looked slightly uncomfortable. He had intended to keep this mission private to avoid Mellario’s objections. Years ago, she had left Dorne and returned to Norvos because Doran had insisted on sending Quentyn away as a squire. Now, he was sending Quentyn off to war—a far greater departure than before.

"Leaving Dorne?" Mellario asked.

Quentyn glanced at his father, then nodded, feeling a bit awkward.

"Be careful on the road." Mellario's calm response took both father and son by surprise, leaving them slightly unsettled. Her usual fiery demeanor was absent.

After Quentyn left, the room was quiet, just Doran and Mellario remaining.

"Aren't you angry?" Doran asked cautiously.

"There's nothing to be angry about," Mellario replied. "I doubt Queen Daenerys would want to see Viserys risking his life like this over and over. Sometimes, we don’t have a choice."

Doran felt a pang of relief. There is nothing more comforting than the understanding of family.

...

Meanwhile, news of Dorne’s army preparing for war soon reached Highgarden, putting immense pressure on House Tyrell. Unlike the Martells, who could rally their forces without fear of immediate repercussions, the Tyrells found themselves trapped. To the southwest, they shared ties with Stannis; to the east lay the Stormlands; the north bordered the Westerlands, and to the northeast, the Riverlands. Any move could trigger a siege.

Loras remained at Storm’s End, his position complicating matters even more.

"Father, is Loras still refusing to return home?" Willas asked with concern.

Highgarden had already sent several envoys to invite Loras back, offering to restore him to his previous station, but he refused each time. Rumors swirled that Loras wouldn't return even if Renly commanded it. They said he was Renly's shield and would defend him to the end.

Mace Tyrell sighed in frustration, helpless when it came to his love-struck son.

“If we can’t muster an army right now, let me go to Viserys and negotiate,” Garlan suggested. However, the messenger couldn’t be just anyone. Though it was called a diplomatic mission, in truth, it was about sending a hostage to Viserys. Highgarden needed someone important enough to sway his suspicions.

“Let me go," Willas said. "Grandmother, when Viserys launches his attack, Garlan will be needed to command our forces.”

The Old Rose, Olenna Tyrell, looked at her grandson, her expression weary. The situation left them with few options. Neither Willas nor Garlan could easily be spared. Willas was disabled and couldn’t lead an army, but as the heir to Highgarden, his place was irreplaceable. Sending him to Tyrosh might seem sincere, but it would undoubtedly raise suspicion in the eyes of the Iron Throne. On the other hand, sending Garlan, the second-born, would be seen as an insult to Viserys, a mere formality rather than a true show of loyalty.

A fence-sitter playing both sides is always the first to be eliminated.

“Grandmother, let me go. Right now, I’m the best candidate,” Margaery said, her voice steady. The young rose was calm, but everyone turned to her in surprise.

Though they were reluctant, it was clear she was right. Margaery, as a symbol of the Tyrells, was the most suitable envoy.

"This is an alliance marriage," Margaery continued, determined. "There’s no political gesture more meaningful than that. Since I’m destined to become his wife, it makes no difference if I go sooner or later. Besides, it’s clear Viserys will have other concubines in the future, so I must act quickly.”

Despite her composed tone, her words couldn't entirely mask the unease in her voice, nor the worry that crossed Olenna’s face.

After a long pause, the Old Rose finally spoke. “Take an escort. Make sure Margaery is delivered safely to Tyrosh.”

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