A Feast for Crows by George R. R. Martin Page A

her ride the kingsroad, whilst I turn the marcher lords out of their castles and hook round to march on Oldtown.”
    â€œAnd how could you hope to hold Oldtown?”
    â€œIt will be enough to sack it. The wealth of Hightower—”
    â€œIs it gold you want?”
    â€œIt is blood I want.”
    â€œLord Tywin shall deliver us the Mountain’s head.”
    â€œAnd who will deliver us Lord Tywin’s head? The Mountain has always been his pet.”
    The prince gestured toward the pools. “Obara, look at the children, if it please you.”
    â€œIt does not please me. I’d get more pleasure from driving my spear into Lord Tywin’s belly. I’ll make him sing ‘The Rains of Castamere’ as I pull his bowels out and look for gold.”
    â€œLook,”
the prince repeated. “I command you.”
    A few of the older children lay facedown upon the smooth pink marble, browning in the sun. Others paddled in the sea beyond. Three were building a sand castle with a great spike that resembled the Spear Tower of the Old Palace. A score or more had gathered in the big pool, to watch the battles as smaller children rode through the waist-deep shallows on the shoulders of the larger and tried to shove each other into the water. Every time a pair went down, the splash was followed by a roar of laughter. They watched a nut-brown girl yank a towheaded boy off his brother’s shoulders to tumble him headfirst into the pool.
    â€œYour father played that same game once, as I did before him,” said the prince. “We had ten years between us, so I had left the pools by the time he was old enough to play, but I would watch him when I came to visit Mother. He was so fierce, even as a boy. Quick as a water snake. I oft saw him topple boys much bigger than himself. He reminded me of that the day he left for King’s Landing. He swore that he would do it one more time, else I would never have let him go.”
    â€œ
Let
him go?” Obara laughed. “As if you could have stopped him. The Red Viper of Dorne went where he would.”
    â€œHe did. I wish I had some word of comfort to—”
    â€œI did not come to you for
comfort.
” Her voice was full of scorn. “The day my father came to claim me, my mother did not wish for me to go. ‘She is a girl,’ she said, ‘and I do not think that she is yours. I had a thousand other men.’ He tossed his spear at my feet and gave my mother the back of his hand across the face, so she began to weep. ‘Girl or boy, we fight our battles,’ he said, ‘but the gods let us choose our weapons.’ He pointed to the spear, then to my mother’s tears, and I picked up the spear. ‘I told you she was mine,’ my father said, and took me. My mother drank herself to death within the year. They say that she was weeping as she died.” Obara edged closer to the prince in his chair. “Let me use the spear; I ask no more.”
    â€œIt is a deal to ask, Obara. I shall sleep on it.”
    â€œYou have slept too long already.”
    â€œYou may be right. I will send word to you at Sunspear.”
    â€œSo long as the word is war.” Obara turned upon her heel and strode off as angrily as she had come, back to the stables for a fresh horse and another headlong gallop down the road.
    Maester Caleotte remained behind. “My prince?” the little round man asked. “Do your legs hurt?”
    The prince smiled faintly. “Is the sun hot?”
    â€œShall I fetch a draught for the pain?”
    â€œNo. I need my wits about me.”
    The maester hesitated. “My prince, is it . . . is it prudent to allow Lady Obara to return to Sunspear? She is certain to inflame the common people. They loved your brother well.”
    â€œSo did we all.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “No. You are right. I must return to Sunspear as well.”
    The little round man