“Brother or no, I should have your tongue out for that. I am Joffrey’s regent, not you, and I say that Myrcella will not be shipped off to this Dornishman the way I was shipped to Robert Baratheon.” Tyrion shook wine off his fingers and sighed. “Why not? She’d be a deal safer in Dorne than she is here.” “Are you utterly ignorant or simply perverse? You know as well as I that the Martells have no cause to love us.” “The Martells have every cause to hate us. Nonetheless, I expect them to agree. Prince Doran’s grievance against House Lannister goes back only a generation, but the Dornishmen have
“Brother or no, I should have your tongue out for that. I am Joffrey’s regent, not you, and I say that Myrcella will not be shipped off to this Dornishman the way I was shipped to Robert Baratheon.” Tyrion shook wine off his fingers and sighed. “Why not? She’d be a deal safer in Dorne than she is here.” “Are you utterly ignorant or simply perverse? You know as well as I that the Martells have no cause to love us.” “The Martells have every cause to hate us. Nonetheless, I expect them to agree. Prince Doran’s grievance against House Lannister goes back only a generation, but the Dornishmen have warred against Storm’s End and Highgarden for a thousand years, and Renly has taken Dorne’s allegiance for granted. Myrcella is nine, Trystane Martell eleven. I have proposed they wed when she reaches her fourteenth year. Until such time, she would be an honored guest at Sunspear, under Prince Doran’s protection.” “A hostage,” Cersei said, mouth tightening. “An honored guest,” Tyrion insisted, “and I suspect Martell will treat Myrcella more kindly than Joffrey has treated Sansa Stark. I had in mind to send Ser Arys Oakheart with her. With a knight of the Kingsguard as her sworn shield, no one is like to forget who or what she is.” “Small good Ser Arys will do her if Doran Martell decides that my daughter’s death would wash out his sister’s.” “Martell is too honorable to murder a nine-year-old girl, particularly one as sweet and innocent as Myrcella. So long as he holds her he can be r...
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reasonably certain that we’ll keep faith on our side, and the terms are too rich to refuse. Myrcella is the least part of it. I’ve also offered him his sister’s killer, a council seat, some castles on the Marches …” “Too much.” Cersei paced away from him, restless as a lioness, skirts swirling. “You’ve offered too much, and without my authority or consent.” “This is the Prince of Dorne we are speaking of. If I’d offered less, he’d likely spit in my face.” “Too much!” Cersei insisted, whirling back.
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