Dornish like Fire, Riverlanders like Water

Blackhaven's gates had already been shattered, thick smoke billowing out through them.

Countless ragged figures merged into a torrent, screaming and shouting as they poured into the castle courtyard.

They held crude axes, rusted sickles, and even nothing more than sharpened wooden stakes aloft, their faces bearing an expression mingling hunger and fanaticism.

Oberyn Martell stood behind the crowd, dressed in the pure white robes of a high septon.

He merely watched in silence, like an audience member enjoying a play.

An elderly septon pushed his way out of the crowd.

His brown robe was stained with mud and blood. Panting, he said, "Septon Oren."

"Mande Dondarrion isn't in the castle. He followed the Usurper on an expedition to the Iron Islands."

The septon's face carried a trace of unease and hesitation.

"Only his wife and children are in the castle. Its defenders are led by his eldest son, a boy who has only just come of age, named Beric Dondarrion."

He swallowed, lowering his voice further.

"The gods say we must not harm innocent women and children."

At this, Oberyn Martell slowly turned his head. Oren was the alias he used while moving among this Poor Fellows group made up of Dornishmen.

A flicker of compassion first appeared on his face. Then he raised his head, as though listening for a divine revelation.

He spread his arms, and his voice suddenly rose, drowning out all the noise in the courtyard.

"Seven Gods above!"

The frenzied crowd instantly fell silent, thousands of eyes turning toward him in unison.

Oberyn Martell's voice brimmed with holy passion.

"House Dondarrion! They have been blessed by the Seven Gods! Their bloodline has been granted honor! They have been granted the right to rule this land!"

"Today! The army of the Seven Gods wishes to