Be The Serpent Under't
Oberyn lounged about on the high seat of the Yronwood's. For such an opulent and gaudy seat, decorated with all the ancient symbols of the Yronwood's, green belt and wells and red mountains and crowns and gates, it was surprisingly comfortable. He wondered aloud if it was the original, from the time before Nymeria, somehow surviving the numerous wars and rebellions of the Yronwoods, as well as the Targaryen invasion. Lady Larra Blackmont, sitting on his left, corrected him, however, saying the Yronwood's had created a new one after the last one had been taken during Daeron's Incasion of Dorne. Oberyn looked at her, amused. "Do you mean to tell me, Lady Blackmont, that more than half a millenia after House Martell became rulers of Dorne, House Yronwood still believes it has the rights to all their titles?"
"Yes", Lady Blackmont replied curtly, "I believe that is why we're here."
"Indeed, you are correct, my lady. My lords, my ladies," Oberyn straightened, turning to the three seats on his left and then to the three on his right, "are you all ready to begin?"
To his left, Lord Benedict smiled savagely and nodded, Lady Myria answered plainly "aye", and Lady Larra nodded. To his right, Lady Jeyne nodded quickly, swallowing as she did so, Ser Ryon said "yes" quietly, barely moving his lips, and Lord Dagos slowly nodded.
"The let us begin. Bring forth the accused," Oberyn cried to the guards at the door of the great hall, and Lord Anders Yronwood, his hands bound behind them, a guard on either side, was escorted through the doors to the foot of the dais, where his seven judges sat.
"My lords, my ladies, we are here to judge the crimes of Lord Anders Yronwood, Lord of Yronwood, the Bloodroyal, Warden of the Stone Way. He stands before you accused of betraying his Prince, attempting to ambush the army of Dorne in the Boneway." He saw Lord Yronwood making to interject, and continued over him, raising his voice.
"Lord Yronwood, to ensure the fairness and sanctity of the trial, we have selected six other judges besides us, half of whom are from houses close to Yronwood – Lord Wyl of Wyl, Lady Jordayne, heiress to the Tor, and Lady Blackmont of Blackmont. The other three are Lady Jeyne Fowler, heiress to Skyreach, Ser Ryon Allyrion, heir to Godsgrace, and Lord Manwoody of Kingsgrave.
"You stand before your peers, accused of treason. How say you, Lord Yronwood?"
"You are a treacherous, murderous bastard, you misbegotten whoreson, and I will never accept any judgement you declare as just!" Lord Anders declared, his fair skin flushing red, spittle flying out of his mouth.
Oberyn smirked at that. "But Lord Yronwood, that is why I arranged for your peers to join me in judgement. And lest you say I have stacked the deck against you, so to speak, note that three are from houses once sworn to Yronwood, and Ser Ryon is married to your own daughter," he glanced at Ser Ryon at that, who met his eyes, and then immediately looked away, turning his eyes to the table in front of him. "But as you have nothing to say, I will let Lord Wyl say his piece."
Lord Wyl stood and started describing events, while Oberyn sunk into thought. He had no need to hear it, or hear all the questions and clarifications that would be required – he had lived through it, after all.
It was truly amazing to him, he mused, that people thought he was indeed a reckless fool in all things. He admitted to himself that he was somewhat of a hedonist, and was known to indulge without restraint in many vices. But in war, he was always in control. After all, he had been learning it since he was a child – he had killed his first man at sixteen, defeating him in fair combat, despite Lord Edgar's greater size and experience, even if it had taken a few days after the duel. And since then, he had only improved – several years of warring in the Disputed Lands and commanding The Viper's Fangs had taught him everything there was to know of war. He
always sent out scouts and outriders before his army, even in Dorne, where the only forces should have been allies. And it had been the right choice – when his scouts had seen the men hidden in the Boneway, they immediately returned to tell him so. He had sent ravens to Lord Wyl, who came south with his forces, capturing the ambushers. And then, it was a simple matter of taking over Yronwood when night fell – after all, no Yronwood guard would have denied entrance to Dornish troops, commanded by a Prince of Dorne.
He returned his attention to the present just in time to hear Lord Wyl's conclusion, telling of the captured Yronwood men admitting the truth, that they were there to ambush the Dornish host and kill Oberyn.
Lord Anders was by now fully red, his blue burning bright, but had said nothing. Oberyn grew tired of this farce – it was clear some were having difficulties. While Lord Benedict was enjoying himself, and Lady Myria was listening raptly, and Lord Dagos was attentive, Lady Larra kept staring fixedly in front of her, Lady Jeyne kept fidgeting, and Ser Ryon had not raised his gaze to look at his good-father even once.
"I think that is all we need to know, Lord Wyl, thank you for your testimony. My lords, my ladies, you have no other questions?" He turned to them, and when he saw none had reacted, continued. "I will ask you one last time, Lord Yronwood: What spurred this treachery?"
Lord Anders' mouth twisted. "Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark sent me a raven. They said that if I killed you, House Yronwood would be given Dorne. And it would have been worth it, to rid Dorne of you murderous Martells, with your foolish wars and treachery. House Yronwoods were once High Kings of Dorne, whereas the Martells were barely Lords until Nymeria and her accursed Rhoynar with their heathen customs came. I would have returned Dorne to what it should be, as it was under the Andals."
Oberyn quirked his eyebrow. "You mean to tell me that Stannis Baratheon, a man known for his honesty and honor, and Robb Stark, the fourteen year old son of Eddard Stark, whose name is synonymous with honor, tried to convince you to break your oaths to the Martells?" He looked around the hall, and saw skepticism on many of the faces there. Privately, he was not so sure; certainly the Seven Kingdoms might tempt any man to forfeit his honor, if any man had such a thing. "However, the rest I well believe. Lord Yronwood, for over half a millenia, your house has been treacherous. You were the last to submit to Nymeria, and since then, you have never proven loyal. Despite countless rebellions, despite three times you sided with the Blackfyres against the Martells and all of Dorne, you have never reaped what you sowed. I judge you and your house guilty of treason, against House Martell and against all Dorne. The punishment for which is death."
The words came out harshly, causing a ripple of shock in the hall. It was true that that was the punishment, but as Oberyn had said, never had any Yronwood suffered it. However, as the shock dissipated, he saw the hall begin to agree. None could forget that had they been ambushed in the Boneway, they would not have survived.
Lord Wyl quickly spoke up. "I must concur with Prince Oberyn. You are guilty, and the punishment is death."
Lady Jordayne swiftly nodded in agreement, "yes, they are correct," then went silent, realizing perhaps what her choice meant.
"Aye," was Lady Blackmont's only word on the matter.
"Yes," Lady Fowler muttered, her voice barely audible.
Ser Ryon looked at Oberyn for the first time since the trial started. "Guilty. Death," he said tonelessly, immediately returning his gaze to the table.
"Our Prince is correct," Lord Manwoody stated slowly, "Lord Yronwood is guilty of treason, and the punishment for that is death."
"Then it is agreed. Lord Yronwood, you have been found guilty of treason, and you will be executed this evening. It has been determined earlier that Ser Archibald Yronwood had knowledge of his uncle's plot and was complicit in it. Therefore, he too will be executed." Oberyn then reached down and took a piece of parchment in his hands. "My lords, my ladies, I have had a raven from my brother. The Prince of Dorne decrees that for his father's sins and the sins of his House, Ser Cletus Yronwood will be disinherited and sent to guard the Princess Mellario in Norvos for ten years. Lady Gwyneth, Lord Yronwood's daughter, will inherit Yronwood, and will marry my nephew, Prince Quentyn Martell once she flowers. Both have already agreed to this. Lastly, some of the Yronwood lands are to be given to Lord Wyl as reward for his loyal service. Are there any who object to this?"
Nobody spoke up, and it seemed the murmur in the great hall was mostly agreeable. "Excellent. You have the rest of the day and tonight to prepare. Tomorrow, we will resume the army's march north."