35The sun beat down on the earth beneath it relentlessly, lighting up each and every area it could with its golden rays. The ground itself was hot, the stone and sand swallowing up the heat as fast as it could receive it, warming the pathways and adding to the uncomfortable sensation of any sort of extraneous work that didn't take place in the shade. The weather was nothing out of the ordinary, a typical day for a desert and the inhabitants of the towns and cities that littered it surface. The people of Dorne were a hardy folk, raised in the sun and accustomed to its burning heat. They were the only people in all of Westeros who had the capacity to function properly in these circumstances without being driven to insanity through heatstroke, helping to explain how no man foreign to this land had managed to successfully conquer the region for any great extent of time. Eventually, all were driven out, the invaders and occupiers destroyed through either the blinding light beating down on them, or by the many, many different horrors that lived below it. Scorpions, snakes, poisons to name but a few. Dorne was its own world, its own kingdom, and its people would do anything to keep it that way. A fact that had been proved true in the most violent of ways not so many moons ago.
While the rest of Dorne sweltered, the air was significantly cooler in the Water Gardens, the cool pools and streams helping to push back the hot air with their refreshing splashes. In times gone by, these pools would have echoed with the laughter of children, the sounds of joy and play as they splashed about in the sparkling liquid. Back in a time when peace reigned, when there was calm and at least the semblance of order in the world. Now though, the laughter existed only in memory, the realities of the world having come crashing down over the past few years. Now, the pools were empty, the water only occupied by the handful of plants that floated on its surface. Instead of being used to cool those who wandered beneath the hot sun, the pools now served as a background to possibly one of the most historic meetings that had ever taken place in Dorne, its like not seen since the nation finally entered the Seven Kingdoms under the reign of the Targaryens. Under the shade of a canopy, around a dark wooden table, there sat a group of some of the most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms. One of side, there sat the rulers of Dorne, former Paramour Ellaria Sand and the daughters of Oberyn Martell, known throughout the world as the Sand Snakes. Tyene, Nymeria and Obara, a collection of perhaps some of the most dangerous women that could be discovered, all of them trained in the arts of war and death. Having killed their way to the top of the Dornish food chain, killing the former prince and any who stood in their way, they were not a force to be reckoned with. Yet, for all their past viciousness, they now were silent, looking across the small expanse to the two people sitting opposite, people whose hearts were heavy enough to break the chairs they sat on and drag them down to the depths of the Seven Hells.
On one such chair, Olenna Tyrell rested. An old woman, her features had been weathered by age, leaving her wizened and appearing to be no true threat to anyone. And how wrong would this assessment be. Perhaps one of the most intelligent people living, she had decades of knowledge in the Game of Thrones, having guided her house through two wars and three pathetic excuses for kings, bringing them to the forefront of power in Westeros. At least, until very recently. Dressed all in black, her eyes were filled with a crushing weight, one that she fought to hide from those in front of her. Pain was all she knew at that moment, a pain that shattered her heart and made her want to curl up and just cease. Only her burning desire of vengeance prevented this from happening. Well, that and the young man sitting beside her.
This young man, looking to have barely entered his twenties, sat back in his chair, leaning in a comfortable slouch, looking to be only a few moments from sleep, that radiated an aura of confidence and control, one that served to smother the roiling turmoil occurring inside his head. Tall and lean, his body was clearly strong beneath the clothing he wore, although wiry instead of buff, the body of a thief over that of a warrior. His head was covered in a dark brown mass of curly hair that managed to tickle his shoulders, while his golden eyes were hard and burning with anger as they stared across at the four women. He wore dark clothing like his older companion, his body wrapped in black save for the golden rose pin that lay over his heart. One hand rested on the arm of the chair he sat in with such doctored comfort, while the other lay in his lap, thin fingers wrapped around a small necklace that had a delicate looking rose dangling from the end, the whole thing looking as fragile as glass at first appearance. His thumb ran across the golden surface almost of its own free will, its owner not noticing the repetitive action. This man was Lukas Tyrell, brother to Margaery and Loras Tyrell, and, as of only a handful of days ago, the new Lord of the Reach, the cause of this sudden elevation the topic of the already tense meeting.
"The last time a Tyrell came to Dorne, he was assassinated. 100 red scorpions, was it?" Olenna began, her tone suggesting that the meeting was nothing more than a casual luncheon, as opposed to the colossal shift that had instigated it. The Dornish party, however, seemed less inclined to carry on in this fashion.
"You have nothing to fear from us, Lady Olenna." Ellaria said, her words trying to comfort the old woman across from her, as though she were shivering with fright. "And the same applies to you as well, my lord." She added, addressing Lukas, the mention of his title a mixture of neutrality and subtle mockery, although not enough to require a response. At these words of assurance, the young lord finally chose to speak up, his head rolling upwards to meet the eyes of the former Paramour.
"Well, you'll forgive my grandmother if we don't immediately trust you. Even in Dorne, I assume kinslaying merits some form of wariness." He spoke, his voice calm, but with an undertone of venom when speaking of the past actions that had given the women their power. It had never sat well with him, increasing his concern over the meeting in the first place. Olenna, while not showing any reaction on her face, allowed a sliver of approval to enter her at her grandson's words. He was playing his role beautifully, she could have asked for nothing better.
"We invited you to Dorne because we needed your help." One of the Sand Snakes spoke up, her voice laying out the bare facts of the situation. While Lukas couldn't quite remember her name, he did appreciate the lack of flowery vocabulary. Despite his family's sigil, he'd never shared the skill of his sister for conversing in double meanings. "You came to Dorne because you needed our help."
"What is your name again? Barbaro?" Olenna had turned her attention to the speaker by this point, her famous barbed tongue coming into full effect. At this hidden slight to the woman, Lukas couldn't help but smirk slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. One of the other women, far more attractive than the stern object of his grandmother's focus, also seemed amused, a small sigh released from her that clearly showed her enjoyment. Nothing changed on the stern snake's face however, a feat that Lukas had to commend. Not many could stare down the Queen of Thorns with such steel.
"Obara." She said simply, correcting the Tyrell matriarch and trying to show her strength as she did so, staring directly at the famed old woman. Olenna was having none of it, however.
"Obara." She repeated, drawing the name out. "You look like an angry little boy. Don't presume to tell me what either of us," she quickly darted a finger out to point at her grandson, "need." Lukas felt the slight swell of pride in his chest at the small gesture. His grandmother had never shown him such a sign of equality in front of others before, and it truly was a good feeling for the young lord. The beautiful snake then chose that moment to speak. Lukas almost felt sorry for her.
"Forgive my sister. What she lacks in diplomacy, she makes…" Her words were cut off nearly as soon as they had begun.
"Do shut up, dear." Lady Olenna's sharp words quickly silenced the woman, a spectacle that Lukas was all too familiar with. In truth, if he had a single copper for every time he had been witness to someone being silenced by his grandmother… well, he'd be able to give the Iron Bank a run for their money. Counting two of the Sand Snakes who had decided to raise their voices, he turned to look at the last one, sitting on the side of the table closest to him, merely watching the events unfold.
"And what about you, anything to say?" He sent the question at the woman, careful to lace his words with what sounded like genuine curiosity. In truth, he honestly possessed some small amount of curiosity over the answer. After all, from his experience, the quiet ones tended to be the more intelligent. The woman looked up at him, a look of surprise on her face that lasted for a second, before she opened her mouth to reply.
"No? Good." Olenna didn't hesitate to cut off any comment before it could begin, the young woman quickly closing her mouth at the sudden dismissal. Lukas felt bad for her for a second, before remembering who she was. Why he was concerned with these kinslayers was beyond him. He still allowed another smirk to twitch at his jaw thanks to his grandmother's words, recognising how he had partly served to assist in her intimidation game. A game that, where once he would have had no part in if he could help it, he now was ready to play wholeheartedly. The choice he had once had was gone, no point pretending that it was still there. "Let the grown-ups speak." Lukas wasn't entirely certain as to whether or not he fell in that category, but decided against posing the question out loud. While the pair hadn't been overly close in the past, Olenna had spent her time grooming him into the perfect little noble, as well as directing him in his quest for a sharper mind. If he thought there was something worth saying, he would say it. His grandmother's training had made sure he'd know when to speak around her.
"The Lannisters have declared war on House Tyrell. They have declared war on Dorne." Ellaria's voice pulled the young Tyrell back to the matter at hand, her words outlining the situation. A waste of time in his opinion. Everyone in the small group knew of what had happened. It was pointless to repeat it, losing them time that could be spent on more important matters. "We must be allies now if we wish to survive." The statement itself hid nothing sinister in it, being only another statement of the facts. Live together or die apart. But, just hearing the words caused something inside of Lukas to snap. Before he could stop himself, he began to speak.
"Cersei Lannister stole my entire world from me." He began, his voice quiet but the words enough to silence any interruptions, the only sound being that of the water in the pools. "She killed my father. She killed my brother. She…" his voice caught in his throat for a second, the prickling sensations of tears beginning in the corners of his eyes. "…she killed my sister." He looked up at this, and the Dornish women, all focused on the young lord, recoiled slightly at the look of burning hatred in his eyes. "Believe me when I say that survival is the last thing on my mind right now." Lukas felt a hand grasp his, the old, worn fingers of his grandmother resting over his clenched fist lightly as he finished his speech. She squeezed his hand lightly, the first public gesture of warmth or comfort she had ever shown him, and he felt the muscles in his back relax from their tightened state. Getting it all off of his chest had helped to remove some of the denial he had carried since the fateful day he had learned of the events in King's Landing, and he hadn't realised just how much he had been carrying around, until it was replaced by a soul wrenching pain. In that moment, the light grip from his last living family member was worth more to him than all the gold in Casterly Rock.
"You're absolutely right." Ellaria was quick to recover, getting over her shock and regaining the cool footing she had lost only seconds before. "I chose the wrong words. It is not survival I offer. It is your heart's desire." As the woman rang the small bell that rested on the armrest of her chair, Lukas looked up, mind whirring as he thought through what it could mean. His heart's desire? Was this woman being honest with him? If so, then maybe there was something to be gained in hearing her out. Olenna Tyrell, on the other hand, was more sceptical of this claim.
"Oh? And what is my heart's desire?" She asked, as if talking to a child. The scorn in her words, however, was negated by the look in her eyes, the look of desperation, of anger, of pain. The same look that had filled the eyes of her grandson for so long.
"Vengeance. Justice." Ellaria said plainly, summarising in two simple words the only wishes of the young Reachman across from her, as well as those of perhaps the most intelligent and politically savvy woman in all of Westeros. As she spoke, the sound of footsteps could be heard, and Lukas looked up to find their source. There, stood to the side and having almost appeared out of thin air, stood a man that the young Tyrell had never expected to see again, the one man who, out of all the known world's inhabitants, might have the ability to bring him what he wanted most.
"Fire and blood." Varys said, face devoid of any mirth or expression, mouth set in a hard line as he revealed, once and for all, the true plan that he had followed for nearly the past two decades, the plan that had brought old enemies together in a common cause. And Lukas sat back, ready to hear of his chance for vengeance.
R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS*R&TS
Lukas stood in guest chambers in Sunspear, strapping his sword belt tightly around his waist as he prepared to leave. After the plan had been laid out, the truth behind the scheme revealed, he had been instructed to accompany the Tyrell and Martell forces that were to sail back to Meereen with Varys, as an envoy for the newly formed powerhouse that had developed over the past few days. Olenna would organise the formation of the rest of the Reach's host, ready and waiting for their lord to return in time for the war to start. A concept which both terrified and energised Lukas.
He had taken very little part in the last war, the one which had led to the highest rise and lowest fall of his House. He had ignored the petty squabbles of Baratheon and Lannister over who should be king, viewing the entire thing as a waste of lives. Who cared who sat on the Iron Throne? It would make as little difference to the Seven Kingdoms as his choice over beef or mutton at dinner. While others had rushed to either one side or the other, he had remained at Highgarden, surrounded by his beloved books as he waited for the conflict to end. Even once he had been summoned to the capital, to help consolidate the Tyrell influence there, he hadn't cared, merely treating his time there as a chance to learn more, to gain more allies for himself, and to see what the Red Keep's library had to offer. Some might call him craven for refusing to fight, others might call him traitor for interacting with those the victors looked down on. He hadn't cared. He had simply got on with his life, ignoring the desires of his House and family in favour of his own. And look where that had gotten him. A fractured realm, the family almost eradicated in the space of a second, and another war on the horizon. But this time would be different.
This time, he would fight. Strapping his quiver to his back, Lukas silently promised himself of this simple fact. He had sat on the side-lines too long, watching and waiting for things to blow over when he had chosen not to do anything, despite his ability to do so. His negligence had been born from the freedom of a second son, a freedom he no longer had. So be it. He had learned much in his life, from books or his time in either the court of Highgarden or King's Landing. He knew how people ticked, how to make allies, and how to direct a situation to go his way. Now was the time to put it all to the test. Picking up his bow from its place on the bed, he ran his fingers over it gently, admiring, not for the first time, the smooth material it was made out of. Dragonbone. A gift for his sixteenth nameday. Allowing the familiar grip to find its place in his hand, he slowly walked out of his chamber, towards the waiting ships in the harbour, and towards the future of Westeros. The Tyrell words may have been Growing Strong, but he was going to show the enemies of his house how dangerous a rose could truly be. After all, beneath their calm exterior, the thorns were always waiting.
R&TS
R&TS
R&TS
Hey guys. Thanks for reading!
So, this is just an idea that came to me last night. "What if Margaery had a twin brother" is a scenario that's been knocking around in my head for a while now, and, since this is probably my second favourite scene in Game of Thrones, (The first obviously being Jon Snow's the King in the North), I just thought, what the hell? This is a oneshot for now, but I will be posting new ones for Lukas up whenever I get a new idea. If you have any specific areas you think I should try, or any pairings you want him in, I'm open to all suggestions. Tyene is probably one of my favourite GoT characters, just in the Top 10, so maybe…
Ah, I don't know. Until next time, see ya later!
TimeFury1347