GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag

Ah, Dorne is lost.

Seeing Daenerys' portrait on the wall was a clear message to him. Despite all the time they had, they didn't remove it. They wanted to tell him that they had other options. And it made his Baratheon blood boil. How could anyone support the Targaryens after their decades of terrorizing, unstable, incestuous reign?"

But at the same time, the utter, disgraceful mess that was Robert's years as the King left him with no easy corners to turn to. There was no difference between a Targaryen and a Baratheon at that point.

"Your Grace?"

"Go on." Robert maintained his kingly persona and continued to follow Oberyn into the large hall inside the Tower of the Sun. It was huge, with large stained glass walls all around the edges from where sunlight illuminated the hall. The floor was carpeted, the curtains were silken, and the ceiling was adorned with carvings.

At the end of the hall was a high seat that was less than a throne but more than a mere chair. Nobody was sitting on it, as Doran Martell stood with the help of a cane, beside him was a woman in her twenties—olive-skinned, buxom and beautiful, with large dark eyes and long, thick, black hair. But she was quite short, her head barely as high as Robert's chest.

She has the same eyes. Robert felt disgusted towards her like an instinct. She had the same look that Cersei often had. The look of 'I am cunning and all else are beneath me'. It didn't help that he knew about Arianne's adventurous nature.

"Welcome to Dorne, Your Grace. Forgive me, my gout has me confined within these walls, or I would have come to welcome you at the port." Doran Martell spread his free arm wide and bowed his head a little. "I trust the journey was not too unkind?"

"It was alright," Robert replied and looked around the large hall. He noticed there were a few more women, all in their twenties. Most of them bore a striking resemblance to Oberyn Martell. "The Mountain is yours."

"A gift that I accept," Doran replied. "The journey must have been long and wearisome, Your Grace. Perhaps you would care to rest for a while? I have arranged a feast in your honor, where we can speak further."

He doesn't seem very keen on welcoming. What is he doing? What have they done?

"A good bath and a goblet of wine will do well to rid the weariness. I'll retire to rest, Prince Doran," Robert responded. "Lead the way."

"My daughter will. Ah, this is Arianne Martell, my eldest daughter." Doran introduced her as if the entire realm hadn't already heard her infamous name. "She will see to all your needs during your stay, Your Grace. In her hands, you shall find both welcome and watchfulness, for that is the way of Dorne."

What are you planning, Doran? Robert's suspicion grew to the peak in an instant. Was Doran planning on shoving his daughter to him?

"Very well." Robert chose to continue acting like the 'old' Robert. Carefree, lecherous, a drunkard, and a whoremonger. "I'm no man to refuse a beautiful lady's company. I'll be in your care, Princess Arianne."

"It's my pleasure, Your Grace." Arianne huskily answered. Her words and face didn't match. Her words came out as if a shy maiden was talking, but her expressions were of a seasoned seductress. "Please follow me."

Robert did follow her. The way she walked, twisting her ripe, wide hips in front of him told him everything. She was dressed revealingly too, her bodice started with a very wide neck and small sleeves. Her entire belly to the waist was naked, followed by a long, fluttering skirt of many colors. There was a lot of gold jewelry on her wrist, neck, and even hair. The culture of Dorne was indeed too different.

He followed the olive-skinned Princess through the turns and twists in the castle and soon arrived at a large, luxurious room. There were servants already waiting there, a large bath prepared for him beforehand.

"I will come back to guide you to the feast, Your Grace. Please have rest until then." Arianne stopped near the bathtub. "The servants will help you bathe and dress… Or if Your Grace wishes, I can—"

"No need," Robert interrupted her. "I'll be fine alone. Take the servants with you."

"But, Your Grace…"

"That's how I live in the Red Keep," Robert added, and waved at the women maids that were likely selected with care since each of them had heavy sets of assets and faces that weren't half bad either. All of them looked nervous. "I'll see you at the feast."

Arianne seemed to feel the King's annoyance and commanded everyone to leave. Then finally, she retreated. "They will stand outside, Your Grace. Make use of them as you see fit."

Robert merely nodded and watched her shut the door. Finally, he decided to take a relaxing breath and walked closer to the tub of water. He knelt beside it, looked into it sternly, and tried to smell it. Dorne was famous for its poisons, and there were plenty of masters of poison.

He had no doubt that behind everything, the Martells had hidden intentions.

Let's be careful here.

####

Hours passed, and very soon a knock came at Robert's door. He had dressed up already, so he opened it and found Ser Barristan waiting there. It was a relief that Arianne wasn't there. The woman was hard to read since there was nothing beyond lust and desire on her face at all times.

"Let's go," Robert coldly said and walked out. "Did you find out anything?"

"They are not sincere," Ser Barristan answered with troubled expressions. "Your Grace, staying here is dangerous. You should retreat to the ship."

"And give them an excuse to justify their treachery? I'll stay here for the night, Barristan, but keep your men sharp and ready for anything. Watch what you eat and drink; who knows what poison they might use?" Robert warned him. "Bring the warhammer to my chamber after the feast."

Soon, they arrived at a large hall where music, chatter, and wine were in abundance. The spicy scent of food and various fragrances permeated the air. Men and women of Dorne were packed into the hall, some already in the midst of indecent fondlings.

As soon as Robert entered, the hall fell silent. But once the interested guests greeted him, the controlled chaos resumed.

"Your Grace." Doran Martell approached him with the help of Arianne holding his arm. "Please, have a seat with me at the table."

Robert followed him and sat down at the long table. From there, they could look at the entire hall with all the busy men and women. Oberyn Martell was particularly visible, touching his paramour in plenty of ways. It couldn't even be called a dance at that point.

"Surely, merely escorting Gregor Clegane to this place is a task beneath the dignity of a King," Doran remarked with a steady gaze. "What truly brings you here, I wonder?"

Robert calmly kept looking at the people. He felt sandwiched, as on his right was Doran, and on his left was Arianne Martell, her chair a bit close. Enough that he could thoroughly smell the pleasant scents she carried in her hair.

Let's be Robert.

"Can't a king roam around the realm he rules now?" he grumbled, annoyance lacing his voice. "I was in the North months back, and now here I am in the South—two extremes of my realm."

My realm, he said. A hint that the likes of Doran weren't going to miss.

"Your Grace, have some wine." Arianne poured him a cup of wine and passed it on.

Robert handed the cup back to her, his fingers already reaching for another. "Ah, you're a fine companion, Princess," he said, pouring himself some of the wine with a grin. "Let's raise our cups, and drink to your name. May the gods keep you this lovely forever."

He raised his self-served cup and clanked it with Arianne's before sipping just a little bit. He then focused back on Doran to his right.

"At last, the realm's healing, but damn it all, it took Ned's death and that serpent Cersei's treachery to snap me out of it." Robert steered the discussion. "I suppose, there is no need for war anymore. All kingdoms are united for common prosperity. Isn't that right, Prince Doran?"

"Common prosperity? Does that include Dorne?" Doran asked.

"Dorne is, and forever will be one of the seven kingdoms. Do you have different ideas?" Robert asked him back and stared at Doran's face. "Let the past die, Doran. We're all too old to be holding grudges."

"Grudges?" Doran's fist tightened against the table, his calm mask slipping, just for a moment. His voice cut through the air, sharper. "Grudges? Elia was not a slight to be forgotten, Your Grace. It was not only her life taken from Dorne. It was my house's future—our bloodline, our pride. That loss still bleeds."

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