The Great Hall of the Red Keep

"for both our sakes you better pray this is true." Cersei replied. "Your oaf of a father might cost us this war without a single drop of blood being spilt to defend the rightful king, to whom you are still betrothed for the nonce." Cersei drained her glass, becoming ever more unstable. "Remind me, who is Lord Oaf's heir?"

"Is Willas afflicted with the same stupidity as your father? Perhaps he should rule in the Reach." Cersei's eyes danced as she played with the little pawns on her mental cyvasse board. It was as if Eddard Stark and Sansa were in chains again only this time she held the flower of the Reach in her hand, hers to crush or let live. "Lord Tarly will soon arrive. We will see what he thinks of this mess as well."

Cersei poured out the remaining contents of the wine and called for more. She even produced a cup for Maergery. "I think you will meet with your father at the gates, escorted by the Kingsguard, and you will convince him to confess his crime of treason. He will then take the Black. Willas will come to the Capital to take his oaths and you will remain here, a ward of the Crown until you marry Tommen." If that marriage would ever happen Cersei had her doubts.

Dickon Manwoody arrived in the Capital just after the raid of Aurane Waters. He wore a simple leather vest with the sigil of his house upon it. The sight of a crowned skull caused some to spit in his direction, for which he had expertly used his riding skills to have his war horse bite and kick the rabble of King's Landing out of his way. He rode with only a handful of guards, a small insurance policy if violence occurred. His Arakh was slung across his back but he held his spear in his hand. They made their way to the Red Keep and once there, he dismounted. He entrusted his sand steed to the stable boys, they had likely not seen a beast so fine since Oberyn first came to the Capital. His bronzed skin and thick, black hair was an unlikely sight amidst so many fair haired, lilly white southron lords. He sought out in search of Nymeria Sand, swaggering jauntily as he passed the stiff-necked high sparrow and the jiggling, pompous looking Mace Tyrell.

Dickon roared in laughter. "I was told that it was high time Dorne had a more, erect, representative in the Capital." A man in the prime of his life, his body was rippled with muscle. He stood at nearly six feet tall, the coarse stubble of his beard was stretched into a grin. "Oh we are close Nymeria, like a distant storm moving along the horizon." He advanced upon her, placing a hand on her waist with a coy grin. "It almost seems like a climax is approaching."

He laughed and spun away. "If you cut off my cock, it grows back twice as long and twice as thick." He looked east and west for wine but found nothing to his dismay. "Dorne's armies are approaching, many spears, many. When I left they were encamped just east of the Stormlands, with aims to lure out the Tyrells. My father and brother are among them." he finished. "Seems something has gone wrong here though. We had a raven from Cersei to make haste and do well, whatever that bitch wanted us to do. How do things stand here?"

Dickon's visage fell. "Tyrell controls?" he scoffed. "Where do they march to?" He asked. "What plans have they laid?" He drew himself closer, and he cupped one of her breasts. He drew in close for her response. The other hand drew towards her sex...