Game Of Thrones: Khal Pollo (GOT)

In the Chamber of the Painted Table, Pollo stared down at King's Landing etched in stone. His plan was clear, his forces ready. It was then that Qorro entered, his movements as swift and silent as ever, unbothered by the oppressive stillness of the cave.

"Khal," he said, dropping to one knee. "A ship approaches from the south. Swift, with sails the color of sand. It flies a banner of peace, and another... a spear-pierced sun."

Pollo did not take his eyes off the map. A sharp feeling of irritation rose within him. A complication. A variable he had not accounted for. "Jorah!" he roared, his voice echoing among the dragon carvings on the walls.

Ser Jorah Mormont entered in a hurry, his face showing the fatigue of the endless tasks of setting up their new base. "A spear-pierced sun," Pollo said, his voice flat. "Tell me."

"House Martell of Dorne," Jorah answered instantly, his eyes widening in surprise. "The Sand Snakes. They have very good reason to hate the Lannisters." He then briefly recounted the story of Elia Martell, Prince Doran's sister, and how she was brutally murdered along with her children by Gregor Clegane on Tywin Lannister's orders during the Sack of King's Landing.

Pollo listened in silence. It was a story of weakness and defeat. But his logic saw a pattern. The enemy of my enemy. "Let them approach," he commanded. "But watch them."

Daenerys, upon hearing the news, decided that she would be the one to greet them. This was the game of Westeros, and she had to start playing it. She stood on the cold black sand beach, accompanied by Jorah and twenty of the most menacing Dothraki warriors, their presence an unspoken statement of power. The salty sea wind whipped strands of her silver hair.

A sleek boat landed on the shore, its bottom scraping against the black sand. The man who stepped down was a stark contrast to everything around him. He wore no armor, but loose yellow and orange silks that billowed in the wind. His movements were as graceful and fluid as a panther's, and a smile played on his lips as his sharp, dark eyes took in Daenerys, then her savage guards without a hint of fear.

"Prince Oberyn Martell," he said, his voice as smooth as Dornish wine, bowing with theatrical respect. "On behalf of my brother, Prince Doran, I have come to welcome our rightful Queen back to her homeland."

Daenerys nodded gracefully, accepting his greeting. "Dragonstone welcomes you, Prince Oberyn. Come, the Khal awaits you."

The walk from the beach to the throne room was a test in itself. Oberyn walked between Daenerys and Ser Jorah, his stride remaining confident despite passing endless rows of Dothraki warriors. He could feel their predatory gazes on his back, a different kind of heat than the sun of Dorne. Dragonstone was a terrible, fascinating place; the raw power of these horsemen blended with the impossible ancient Valyrian architecture. When they finally entered the dark throne room, he saw Khal Pollo for the first time.

The man sat on a stone throne that looked more fit for a god of war than a king, his massive muscles visible under his leather vest. He didn't exude luxury or nobility. He exuded absolute power. Through the great window behind the throne, the shadow of one of the dragons passed for a moment, eclipsing the morning light and sending a low rumble that could be felt in the stone floor. Oberyn's eyes involuntarily glanced at the moving darkness before refocusing.

Oberyn stepped forward, his smile polite but his eyes sharp. "Khal Pollo, Queen Daenerys," his voice echoed in the cold hall. "Dorne never forgets its friends, and we never forget our enemies. House Targaryen has long been a friend to Dorne. And House Lannister... they have proven themselves an enemy to us all. Prince Doran sent me to convey our deepest hopes for your success in the coming war and to offer the eternal friendship of our people."

Pollo simply stared at him in contemptuous silence, making him sweat under his silks. It was then that Daenerys spoke, her voice clear and regal.

"We appreciate your warm words, Prince Oberyn," she said. "But friendship is forged in battle. How many spears can Dorne provide for our common cause?"

Oberyn smiled, turning his attention to Daenerys. He saw more than just a beautiful girl. He saw a player. "Dorne's strength is immense, Your Grace. But our loyalty must be earned, not simply given."

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In the vast Dothraki camp at the foot of the castle, Garo watched the slender Dornish guards from a distance. His warriors were restless.

"These men smell like flowers," one of his warriors growled.

"They fight with words, not swords," another added with disdain. Garo did not reprimand them. He felt the same way. Their Khal was wasting time with these silk dancers while King's Landing waited to be burned.

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That night, in their private chambers, the tension between Pollo and Daenerys flared up again.

"This is our chance, Pollo!" Daenerys said passionately. "An alliance with Dorne will give us legitimacy! One of the Seven Kingdoms is standing with us!"

"They offer nothing," Pollo retorted, his voice flat. "They offer 'friendship.' Snakes don't offer friendship unless they want to bite something. What do they really want?"

In a small, candlelit dining room, Oberyn revealed what he wanted. He raised his goblet of deep red wine. "This wine... reminds me of Dorne," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "But even the best wine tastes bitter when drunk with bitter memories."

"What memories, Prince Oberyn?" Daenerys asked softly.

Oberyn's eyes moved from Daenerys to Pollo, who had been watching him in silence all night. "The memory of my sister, Elia. Have you heard her story, Khal Pollo? The story of how a lion pays its debts."

Pollo did not answer, just stared at him, his dark eyes challenging him to continue.

"They say Tywin Lannister's dog, Gregor Clegane, did it," Oberyn continued, his smooth voice now with a cold, sharp edge. "He found Elia after the sack of the city. He took baby Aegon from her arms... and smashed the baby's head against the wall."

Daenerys gasped in horror, her hand flying to her mouth.

Oberyn did not take his eyes off Pollo. "Then, with the blood and brains of my nephew still on his hands... he raped my sister. Over and over. Before finally killing her with his sword." He paused, taking a sip of wine, his hand perfectly steady. "They called it Robert Baratheon's justice. I call it... an unpaid debt. A debt to be paid in fire and blood." His dark eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "Isn't that right, Khal? Debts must be paid."

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Pollo met with Oberyn alone in the Chamber of the Painted Table. Just the two of them and the echo of the waves from outside.

"Enough games," Pollo said, his voice low. "What do you want?"

Oberyn smiled, a dangerous, passionate smile. "Dorne wants justice. We want Gregor Clegane. We want Amory Lorch's head. And we want Tywin Lannister dead." He stopped, letting the names hang in the cold air.

"We don't offer you an army," he continued. "Armies can betray. We offer you something better. We offer you poison."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "My Sand Snakes will infiltrate King's Landing before your main attack. They will be your eyes inside the walls, sabotaging defenses, poisoning commanders, and spreading chaos. We will cripple the lion from within."

He stopped, looking straight into Pollo's eyes. "In return, you only have to do one thing for us. Use your overwhelming strength to capture Gregor Clegane. Alive. And hand him over to us."

He straightened up, his smile gone, replaced by a cold intensity. "Prove that your fire can bring justice, not just destruction, and the full strength of Dorne will be behind you when you sit on the Iron Throne."