[Kath]

“Oh, he was found dead in his bed the next day. No signs of violence... and no sign of the Lord's son either! Apparently he had been locked up in his room, just to be on the safe side, you know!”

Nog's heart went out to Wyth – after all, the Martells were his liege lords, but even if they had been Dornish street rats, it didn't do at all to murder somebody (and with poison; Nog's lip curled at the thought) just because he lived his life to the fullest. He got up, his blood surging angrily through his veins.

“Pray tell me, what did WythDryden do to deserve death?” he asked the crowd at large.

"What's it to you?" Curt voices replied.

"The Martell's are my liege lords and I will not sit here and hear them maligned without reason." Nog spoke passionately. "WythDryden was murdered in his bed for nothing. You, of all people, should know how wrong that is." He continued, glaring at Lottie, watching as her confusion lifted as she realised who he was.

"Nothing?" An angry voice shouted. "He tried to seduce the prince. Men have been killed for less."

"You have no proof, sir." Nog's anger was getting the better of him. "Defend your words!" Throwing the last of his stout aside, Nog gripped his sword and pulled it from its sheath.

A gasp went through the crowd, but Lottie stepped up to the challenge, drawing her own sword. The fight was short and bloody. Lottie struck, but Nog parried easily, his age and size working to his advantage. Sensing an opening, he fainted and thrust his sword into her side. It sunk deep, and such was the force of the blow that it went deep into the bone of Lottie's ribs and got stuck there. She fell limply on the floor, her blood pooling on the floor.

All men must die.