[Aganzir]

The summer was coming to an end when Nogrod Swann walked into a tavern in the Reach. He was on his way home to Dorne in the south, but now he needed a drink. (Or two. Or five.) He ordered a stout and sat down, stretching his legs under the table. It had been a long day and a long journey. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice recounting a story to an enthusiastic audience. It took him a moment to place it, but then he remembered.

He had tried hard to forget the strange events of months before. Even now, he was sometimes woken in the night, believing he could hear large animals creeping around in the night. Despite his best efforts, he could not fully shake those terrible memories. And now this voice (Lottie, his mind supplied, dragging the name up) caused it all to come flooding back. Shivering, he threw down his stout, motioned for another, and listened to Lottie's tale.

“...Yes, it was awful! There he was, making passes at Lord Tyrell's son and heir throughout the entire tourney! And as if that wasn't enough, the looks he gave to the Lord's wife all through the feast!”

“Curse those Dornishmen,” a voice muttered in the crowd.

“So eventually, Lord Tyrell confronted him and asked what he thought he was doing. 'I am from Dorne. We love indiscriminately,' he had the cheek to say! The worst thing was, the Lord's son didn't seem all that displeased about the attention he was getting.”

Nog chuckled into his stout. He could well believe that these supposedly strait-laced Tyrell's would respond well to a Dornishman's charm.

"What was this fools name?" A voice from the crowd piped up.

"Oh it was a strange name, and oddly one I'd heard before, WythDryden Martell."

Nog's head snapped up at that. How could the world be so small as to bring together not two, but three members of that ghastly experience at the inn?

"What happened to him?" The voice in the crowd was still questioning Lottie. "Can't imagine Lord Tyrell taking kindly to someone corrupting his angelic boy."

All men must die.