The Least of His Sons

It’s going to be fine, Kassius! They’ll love you. How could they not?” Sillowen had said.

Max had told him to “Just stick it out for a couple years, and they’ll let you come home again, don’t worry.”

“They’ll let you come back before then, too. For special occasions and things, I’m sure.” Danwell hadn’t exactly sounded sure to him.

And of course, his five-year-old little sister Jana had just given him a hug and told him, “I’m going to miss you, Kassi.”

Kassius remembered leaving Highgarden with some bitterness. Even if they were trying to reassure him, his siblings weren’t the ones who had to go to Dorne, of all places. Desert country, away from all that was good and green and beautiful. And of course, his mother and father hadn’t even tried to reassure him that everything was going to be okay. His father had sternly seen him off, but he had heard them last night, while going down the secret staircase to the kitchen, trying to avoid getting caught looking for a midnight snack to calm his nerves.

“Are you sure it’s right to send Kassius?” His mother had asked. “Even if you’d rather not send Max, surely it’d be better to send Danwell. What if Kassius offends them somehow? He’s never been very bright.”

“Might as well,” his father had replied, “He’ll do as much harm there as he will here. Besides, those Dornishmen don’t deserve Danwell.”

His mother had worried that way for the entire week’s worth of preparation. “Remember what I told you to say, Kassius?” “Did you remember what I told you?” “Always be polite.” “Think before you say anything, child. What if you stutter or embarrass yourself in front of the Martells?” “You are representing House Tyrell, now. You can’t keep being…” she never said it, but he knew that sentence ended with “you.”

So of course the moment he stepped across the threshold of the Prince of Dorne’s throne room, he tripped over his own feet, landed in an awkward kneel, and blurted what his mother had pounded into his head with a voice twice as shrill as his normal one. “His Lord Paramount of the Reach Garrothan Tyrell sends his greetings and the least of his sons, as humble as he may be.”

At least he hadn’t stuttered.

He barely remembered a thing about how he had been received after that. He just remembered turning bright red, his ears ringing as he fought the urge to cry just because he was nervous. As he was taken to his chambers, however, he caught sight of a little girl, with the tanned skin and dark hair of the Southerners. She was dressed very finely, but was oddly barefoot and was staring at him with wide eyes. She was small and round and looked to be about Jana’s age, maybe younger. So he took a breath and gave her a shy smile and a little wave, before following his guide around the corner and into his chambers. Maybe he would see her again.