Plans of Iron and Sand.

This story was originally written in Spanish for a What-if challenge (in the Forum Alas Negras, Palabras Negras). The challenge I chose was: what if Dorne had backed one of the Kings in the War of the Five Kings?

Summary: There is a savage civil war raging in the Kingdom slowly bleeding it to death: five self-proclaimed Kings vying for the Crown. Dorne is not going to stay out of this vicious Game, is it? Not when they can finally get the revenge they have yearned for so long …

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He truly hated these long boat journeys: the sudden and abrupt movements of the ship, the dizziness, the lack of variety of food, the humidity, the salt, the claustrophobic feeling of confinement. There was nothing to do but roam idly around the deck trying to stay out of the way of the busy sailors.

Hoist the sails, pull them down, tie the ropes, untie the ropes, steer the wheel portside, turn the boat starboard, avoid the rocks, head for the coast, wash the deck, sew the sails, drop the anchor, heave the anchor … Such a bore …. Thankfully, being a noble exempts me from such mind-numbing dullness …

Leaning on the railing, Prince of Dorne Oberyn Martell gazed at the never-ending sea. They had sailed west all along the southern coast of Dorne on the Summer Sea but had headed out into the open ocean once they were past the Arbor Island. They didn't want to be discovered sailing North on the Sunset Sea. Too many eyes lived along the coast hiding in plain sight; eyes that could raise the alarm of a Dornish ship sailing north: an alarm that could reach Joffrey's ears (or worse, his grandfather, Tywin Lannister) or any other False King.

The War of the Five Kings, they were calling it - more like Kings of Plots and Lies, he thought. Joffrey Baratheon, or Lannister or Waters, depending on who you asked. The son of the late King Robert? Debatable. A Lannister, no doubt, not just for his golden mane but also for his cruelty and arrogance. A fitting grandson of Tywin Lannister. Tywin, the son of a bitch who had ordered the murder of his beloved sister, Elia Martell – no, she wasn't just killed, she was butchered. Oberyn had sworn he'd get his vengeance one day. Could this be that day? … The second pretender, Stannis Baratheon, second brother of the late King Robert. The rightful heir? Never! He would only be the rightful heir if Robert had been the rightful King. But Robert had been nothing but a temporary usurper. So what about Renly Baratheon then? The youngest brother of the usurper. What rights does this foolish idiot think he may have? And the worst pretender of them all, Robb Stark, King in the North. Preposterous! King in the North chosen in the Riverlands. The only link this arrogant brat may have to the crown is that he is the nephew of the whore for whom Rhaegar had left Elia. The Starks, the Baratheons, the Lannisters, they are nothing but usurpers responsible for Elia Martell's death and suffering. They all deserved his wrath! And Oberyn could not wait to unleash his rage upon them and quench his thirst for vengeance.

It had been his brother who had curbed his anger and urged him to act calmly. Prince Doran, always sensible and optimistic, had thought that maybe they could benefit from the state the realm was in. Oberyn had always reproached him for being too cautious and not seeking revenge and retribution for the death of their beloved sister, like he would have done had he been in charge. But now he understood. It was not about foolishly attacking enemies left and right. It was about waiting for the right chance. And here it was: the fifth pretender.

Out of all the False Kings, Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, was probably the worst. Without a doubt, out of all the Seven Kingdoms in Westeros, the Iron Islands was the complete opposite of his beloved Dorne. Geographically, they were located on opposite ends of the continent. While Dorne was famous for the sun and the heat, the Iron Islands were cold and rainy. The pastel shades and cheerful colors of Dorne were in dire contrast to the predominant grey of the Islands. The warm sands of Dorne had nothing to do with the sharp rocks and dangerous cliffs of these inhospitable islands. But it was the people and their customs which offered the sharpest contrast between the two places. People in Dorne were educated and civilized, upholding strong values of Justice and Equality, guaranteeing the rights of its citizens. The men of the Iron Islands were, for lack of a better word, mere savages. They were nothing but vicious pirates who would raid coastal towns killing the men and raping the women. Who would have thought this heathen could become his staunchest ally?

But Balon Greyjoy had something the others did not: he was not a murdering usurper responsible for the cruel death of his sister. Besides, this fifth pretender was not fighting for the Throne, the Ironborn were fighting for freedom and independence – feelings Oberyn could very well relate to and support. He had already tried to rebel once years ago, and the usurper Robert Baratheon together with his friend, the Northern Puppet Eddard Stark and other Houses from the West and the Riverlands had put him down, killing all his older sons and kidnapping the little one. If there was one thing Oberyn could not abide was the killing and suffering of children. That time, Balon Greyjoy had acted on his own in his rebellion, but this time it would be different since he would have a new ally: Dorne.

"Your moustache will get wet if you lean over so much, my Love" the sultry voice of Elaria Sand came to his ears. Elaria, his paramour. Betrothed, wife, spouse – nothing but shallow words bereft of meaning. Elaria did not need any papers nor the blessing of any puppet who believed he could communicate with the Gods. Elaria was his partner in heart and soul.

"Come and dry it, then" Oberyn challenged her playfully.

"You'll never get me so close to the railing my Love!"

"Well, then I guess I'll have to go to you" he replied feigning defeat. "But, if I go, you'll have to do more than just dry my moustache"

"No complaints here" she smiled. "I'd rather take care of your whole body here in our cabin than once we get to Pyke. I have a really bad feeling about that place" she continued grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and pulling him to her face. "I will" she said in between kisses, "dry" another kiss "your whole face" another kiss "and more" she finished placing her lips on Oberyn's neck and pushing him to their cabin.

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The Iron Islands were really grey. That was the first thing that came to Oberyn's mind when they entered the port. The rocks were grey, the walls were grey, the people were grey. Even the sky had turned grey! Well, maybe that was a bit of a stretch, it was just a bit overcast. But Balon Greyjoy could indeed be described as grey. Out of all the pretenders, number five was surely the most unpleasant one: ugly, decrepit, and oozing a nauseatingly awful smell of putrid salty water. His castle was just as miserable, practically bare and devoid of any element worthy of a good Lord. He had a daughter – or at least that's the way Greyjoy introduced it. A girl? Hard to say. Maybe under that rusty ungainly armor and behind that tangled mop of hair there was indeed a girl. Is this really our best chance? Oberyn wondered to himself, and not for the first time.

"I assume you know why I'm here" Oberyn began once they were all seated. He had expected a different sort of welcome, something warmer. Some wine perhaps? But Balon Greyjoy was not a man known for his etiquette and propriety. "As a token of our upcoming alliance I have brought a barrel of our best wine" he added pointing to the cask his servant was carrying and hoping Balon would suggest trying it. He was indeed very thirsty.

"Thank you. We will taste it once we have finalized our alliance and we will judge it accordingly" the fifth pretender replied coldly. "I'll admit I was very surprised to receive your letter. Why would Dorne, a kingdom which has remained on the sidelines of the politics of Westeros for decades, decide to support us now? What can we offer you that the others cannot?"

"Vengeance" was Oberyn's fiery reply.

"Ah yes, your dead sister and all" replied a noncommittal Balon with a dismissive gesture with his hand. "But do you people really think I would make a good King? That I deserve the Throne?"

"To be honest, no, we don't" Oberyn admitted. "But neither do the other pretenders. As you well know, the Martells want nothing to do with the Lannisters. King Joffrey is a fool. Tywin Lannister ordered the murder of my sister and her children. The crime was perpetrated by The Mountain. Not only has he never paid for his crime rotting in a cell as he should, but he was instead handsomely rewarded and now enjoys every luxury in life. This despicable act was actually caused by the whore of the North, Lyanna Stark, who seduced my good brother and the both of them together wronged and humiliated my sister beyond repair. The Stark family has never apologized for these actions. Robb Stark is nothing but a pompous brat who hides under his mother's skirt. I will never support the nephew of that bitch Lyanna Stark, the son of a dishonorable lapdog, Eddard Stark, a mindless puppet who always did his friend's bidding, the Great King Robert, a usurper King who reveled in the sight of butchered children, my nephews. And why would I support Robert's two brothers then? One is a senseless religious fanatic and the other a frivolous, empty- headed egomaniac. None of those four pretenders deserve the Crown. Neither do you, mind you. But at least you know how to rule. The Iron Islands are not like the other Kingdoms, nothing comes easy here. And you need a strong King to lead. Besides, I know you do not seek the Iron Throne. The Iron Islands dream of freedom and independence. I know you yearn to be free from the yoke of a foreign crown that only means to repress you. Believe me Lord Balon, you will not find a more sympathetic soul than in Dorne; we know that feeling very well."

"Sweet words, Prince Oberyn. I will accept your cheap flattery and hollow compliments and I will take advantage of them. So, what's your plan?" Balon Greyjoy challenged him leaning back on his chair.

The plan was simple: to join the armies of the Iron Islands and Dorne and take the continent by storm. Needless to say, in order to do this they had quite a few cards up their sleeve they could use.

"Myrcella, Joffrey's sister, has been sent to Dorne to marry my nephew Trystane, son of Prince Doran; huge mistake on the part of that self-absorbed, know-it-all Tyrion Lannister. She makes a good hostage to be used against her mother. Not that we will ever harm her, sweet girl, but Cersei doesn't have to know this" he said with a wink.

"Proceed" was all that Balon Greyjoy said.

"With this whole issue of the war, the Northern army has marched south almost in its entirety, leaving their homeland unprotected. Conquering a northern territory defended only by abandoned women armed with pitchforks and ruled by a cripple should be a walk in the park for the mighty Iron Fleet and its army of brave sailors" Oberyn said, the implication not lost on the Lord of the Iron Islands who just kept nodding his head to everything the Dornish Prince explained. "Your own son, Theon, is currently within the Stark ranks and could be used to our advantage. The poor lad was naught but a boy when he was ripped from his parents' arms and taken as a hostage by Robert's minion, the hypocrite Eddard Stark, and he has never been fully accepted by the Starks. Surely he would gladly welcome the chance to come back to his real family and hit these damned northerners where it hurts the most: their home and families."

"My son. Might work"

"Once we take the North," Oberyn continued "it shall be an easy task to take the Westerlands, Lannisport being our first target. The Lannister forces will be too busy dealing with the Starks and Robert's brothers, Mad Stannis and Frivolous Renly, and they will never be able to stop a mighty army coming towards them from the sea."

"Lannisport. Might work" Balon nodded his head noncommittally.

"While the Iron Fleet takes the Westerlands, Dorne will take care of High Garden. These bloody Tyrells, always so ambitious and with an ego bigger than their territory are too busy trying to marry their little golden flower to sissy Renly. Ha! Good luck trying get an heir from a clown who only likes to get hit from behind" Oberyn snorted getting a knowing look from his new ally. "They have their whole army fighting for Renly and they have left their territory unprotected. The old Tyrell crone might be very witty and savvy when it comes to politics, but she is clueless when it comes to war. Who would leave their homeland defenseless when you have a hostile neighbor who has not declared which side they are on?"

"True"

"You are a man of few words, Lord Greyjoy"

"I only use the ones I need. I'm not a squanderer. Proceed Prince Oberyn"

"Very well" Oberyn nodded. "We also have another wild card up our sleeve: Viserys Targaryen. Not many people in the realm know that the son of the Mad King is alive and living in secret in Essos. Even fewer people know that his mother had crowned him King while they were hiding in Dragonstone following the deaths of his father older brother, Aerys and Rhaegar. And even fewer people know that he had been betrothed to my niece, Princess Arianne Martell, in a secret pact. Viserys has managed to get his hands on an army of untamable Dothraki horse lords – savage beasts if you ask me – by marrying his little sister to one of these brute Kahls you can see everywhere in that dry and god-forsaken continent. They say nobody can beat the Dothraki in combat in an open field."

"Interesting" said Balon Greyjoy cocking his head sideways.

"So, if in order to achieve our objectives of Freedom Justice and Vengeance, the price we need to pay is having a young Targaryen king on the throne and an army of wild thugs who don't even speak the Common Tongue roaming in the capital far away from our lands and our people, I would consider it a bargain. Especially if we add the fact that my niece would be Queen of Westeros and the Iron Islands would be an independent kingdom with the freedom to follow your own traditions and customs, the way your people have always wanted, and they would be ruled by none other than yourself, King Balon Greyjoy. Great plan and with great chances of success."

"Let's open the wine, then" celebrated the would-be Kraken King getting up from his high chair and signaling his servant to open the barrel and bring the cups.

"Let the wolves, stags, lions and little flowers kill each other. Then we come in and we'll take the continent by storm" Oberyn finished and they both shook hands sealing the deal.

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You may ask yourselves how it is possible for me to know how it all transpired if this whole scheme was plotted in a secret meeting and based on many secret plans nobody knew of. The answer is simple: History is written by the victors. None of us would be here if these plans had not succeeded.

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THE END

This is just a one-shot. I hope you liked it :)