After The False Spring - The South

[Dereich]

A DECLARATION TO THE REALM

All men must know me for the trueborn Prince of Dorne and a man of honest conduct and virtue. On the honor of my House I declare that our late king, Aerys II Targaryen, was mad and unfit to rule. Let the proof of his madness be known by all:

1. His erratic behavior and warped appearance, witnessed by all the Realm during the Tourney at Harrenhal.
2. His frequent usage of pyromancers, including in executions in violation of our rights of trial, while the Tragedy of Summerhall is still fresh within memory.
3. His unprompted taking of highborn hostages from undeniably loyal subjects such as Lord Stark.
4. His fickle governance and dismissal of fair and honest councilors, disrespect for vows made before gods and men, and abuse of the High Septon.
5. His unjust murder of the good Queen Rhaella and demands for highborn women to be kept from their families at his pleasure.

Therefore, the decree stripping crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen of his title and rights, being the product of madness and made without trial or evidence of wrongdoing, must be invalid.

Rheagar I Targaryen is by right of birth and blood the rightful King of the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and Elia Nymeros Martell is his Queen. Dorne will recognize none but Him and His line as King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men.

Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne

[Dereich]

Here's my promised PoV; no promises that its anything of quality, especially since I can't figure out tenses. I also couldn't find ANY good images of Mellario.

Mellario of Norvos

Princess-Consort Mellario of Norvos sighed as she carefully ascended the stairs in the Tower of the Sun to her husband's study. This was the third time she had been called to chastise her husband; yet again he would not listen. The princess was often told that she had chosen the wrong brother, that as a young and vivacious woman she would have faired better with dashing Oberyn instead of the quiet Doran. They didn't understand. The first time she'd seen Doran, he had been negotiating with her father. His smile was genial, his movements deceptively still, but his eyes...his eyes were alive and burning with fire as he spun a web of lies and half-truths that had completely fooled all the men who were listening. But not her. She had decided right then that she would marry this foreigner.

They began growing distant from the day they arrived in her husband's keep. Dorne was a strange place. A slow place. As her husband serenely slipped into his new role as ruler of this sluggish and boring desert, Mellario grew more and more bored, hoping that something, ANYTHING, would happen. All at once, her wish had come true. It started when the Prince went missing. Doran had become a flurry of activity; the fire was back in his eyes. Letters started flying out of Doran's study by the hundred; to the Lords, to King's Landing, to every part of this godforsaken land. After the Mad King had died, the fire grew even brighter. The night they got the news, he had asked her to dance for the first time since Norvos. It was clearly getting more difficult for him and he had forgotten some of the steps, but the mad exhilleration of the moment made up for everything. Here was the man she had married. Her husband continued his mad dance with all Westeros, with more and more letters going everywhere, to his lords, to Essos....to his sister.

The news of Elia's death hit the city like a Dothraki Khalasar. Oberyn, who had been preparing to race north to her ai, for the first time anyone could remember. had been struck dumb. The common mobs of Sunspear took to the streets to grieve and to call for vengance on someone, on anyone. Her husband...that was the first time. From the moment he heard the news, the fire in his eyes had died; he didn't say a word the rest of the day. That night, a guard had caught the Prince of Dorne trying to take poison. He had luckily been caught before any real damage could be done, but his guard was increased and his friends and family brought in to talk sense into their errant prince. He didn't hear a word anyone had said. The second time, he was caught with a dagger. The guards had found their Prince too drunk with grief and Dornish Red to hit a vital point. Still he did not listen. As the weeks went by Dornishmen came and went without purpose or guidance. Their Queen was dead, their King missing, and their Prince spent all his time drinking and staring out into the horizon for someone who was no longer there.

And now, the third time. Mellario knew it would happen the moment the death of Rhaegar Targaryen had been announced. Sure enough, the summons came: the Prince had tried to leap out his window. At the top of the steps, the Princess prepared herself for yet another disappointment and opened the door. Inside, she found Doran Nymerios Martell, Prince of Dorne drunker than a Volantene whore. "Well? Do you have anything to say this time?" Mellario asked. "...Why do you even bother?" Doran responded. "Because I am your wife. And did you forget you still have a domain to rule?" "They're better off without me." Mellario sighed. She had not come all this way to indulge her husband's petty whining. "Enough. You need to do something. Rhaegar is dead and your people call on you to crown his daughter." Doran snorted. "And do what? Conquer the rest of Westeros with 20,000 spearmen? None but the Dornish will rise for Rhaenys as long as Viserys..." Doran stopped, his eyes gaining focus.

"Viserys...", he repeated quietly and looked away, a spark in his eyes. Doran suddenly sprang to his feet; "Get me paper, get me ravens for King's Landing I..." Doran stopped again, looking ill. "Perhaps you should get his lordship a bucket instead?" Mellario cooed. She left her husband mumbling obscenities as the alcohol finally caught up with him. She descended the stairs with a smile. Maybe Dorne wasn't quite done yet. She could see it in his eyes: Doran Martell had a plan.

[Dereich]

The Dutiful Maester

The longtime maester of Dorne moved quickly through the winding halls of Sunspear, scrolls in hand. He hesitated outside his Lord's solar for only a moment; the Prince would want to hear the news. The maester enter to find Prince Doran in a chair by the window, sound asleep with a copy of Lies of the Ancients Archmaester Fomas sitting on his lap. The maester had scarcely begun to consider leaving the prince to his rest when Doran suddenly awoke. "Ah, Caleotte, it's only you. I was afraid my wife had come to scold me again." Doran pulled out a glass, seemingly out of thin air, filled with a bright yellow liquid. "Come to think of it, its a good thing you aren't my brother as well. He would be up in arms to find me drinking anything but Dornish Red. He is yet to find anything from our new friends in the Reach that he approves of." Drowning the glass in a single gulp, Doran sighed. "If you've decided to interrupt my rest the news must be important, so out with it."

The maester again hesitated; it seems he had caught his lord and master in a strange mood. The haranguing of his wife and brother must have left the Prince of Dorne out of sorts...to say nothing of the drinking. He handed over the scrolls, sealed with the crests of the direwolf and kraken. "The newest details of the accusation against your person by Lord Stark. He has presented the basis for his claim." Prince Doran's brow furrowed. He appeared to read the Stark missive slowly, word by word, as if the words could not quite say what he thought they said.

Doran laughed somewhat uncertainly, "Is...is this a jape? Some strange prank pulled by my brother?" The maester shook his head. "Is it false? A trick by some lord opposed to Lord Stark? A Bolton, perhaps?" Again the maester shook his head, "I'm sorry, my prince. The seal is genuine and the writing appears to match that of Lord Stark's maester. Have you a problem with the letter?"

"A problem? Yes I do! Why did you wake me up for this? If THIS is all Lord Stark's accusation amounts to, leave me to my rest!" Maester Caleotte was taken aback, "But my Prince...a Paramount Lord of the realm is accusing you of regicide! You must draft a response!" Doran rolled his eyes, "I will do no such thing. This kind of accusation is best left to rot on the vine. To respond is to give it credence in a way that Lord Stark obviously cannot." The maester started "But...but", but he was cut off by the increasingly angry Prince of Dorne. "Do you really not understand? Fine, I will lay it out and then you will leave me to my rest with no interruptions this time."

Doran began: "So Lord Stark accuses me of murder. That is all well and good. I have motive; my sister is the King's captive and his disfavored son my good-brother. But wait; nearly every lord in the Realm has motive to kill the king! Lord Tyrell wanted influence and used the King's death to become regent, Lord Lannister is still upset from his ignominious dismissal as Hand and the failure of his marriage plans, Lord Baratheon obviously wanted to declare himself King, and Lords Tully and Arryn might have wanted to further this plot. Lord Stark HIMSELF had great motive; when Rhaegar went missing he was ordered to send his son to King's Landing to what he admitted was certain death. Frey, Merryweather, Greyjoy, Hollard, Mooton, Lonmouth, a third the Kingsguard, all the Lords Declarant, Queen Rhaella, the Queen's lady's-in-waiting, the Grand Maester and the half the Lords at Court supporting Rhaegar all had motive and some degree of opportunity to assassinate Aerys. Even among the Dornish I would not be the primary suspect; my sister, nearby and trapped in captivity, her handmaidens, House Dayne, and my brash and poison-happy younger brother would all be better suspects than myself."

The prince was practically cross-eyed with rage, but his loyal maester knew that stopping him in the middle of a tangent would just cause more problems, so he stood in silence and Doran continued.

"And this accusation? Where is the evidence? A "Green Dream"? Half the Lords of the Realm won't know what that is! Half of those who DO know will think they are a vile Northern heresy against the Seven and the OTHER half will consider them a myth, an ancient superstition told to Northern children. I bet half the maesters who saw this message didn't even give it to their lords; no man in their right mind would believe such baseless nonsense. And if I WAS guilty and evidence HAD existed, it would have been washed away when those RATS in Kings Landing murdered my sister and every other Dornishman in the city."

"Even then, consider the wild tale's author. If this was the noble and honest Lord Stark of two months prior, mayhaps some lords would give the accusation some consideration. But now? Now it comes from a man half a step from kinslaying. Even the most anti-Dornish Marcherlords will have a difficult time believing the man who murdered their lord, his daughter's betrothed, in cold blood."

The maester cut in boldly, "But my Lord, the Lord Reaver obviously believes. His missive states that he will continue to besiege your territory until you submit to trial." Prince Doran rolled his eyes. "Greyjoy doesn't believe this drivel; nobody does. Lord Greyjoy has been waiting for a chance to increase his power and influence for years. Besieging an empty rock and accusing me of murder isn't supposed to "force me to atone for my sins" or whatever he called it, but give him leverage to extract things from me. Once he's had his fill of power and loot he'll drop these ludicrous claims."

The Prince stood. "Now. You will leave me to my rest and will not disturb me again unless something IMPORTANT happens." Doran began shooing his maester towards the door and pulled a bottle, again seemingly out of thin air, to refill his glass. Maester Caleotte shrugged at the sight and left his master to his wine and his reading.