Myrwin was holding court - as he usually did - when his maester came down from the rookery, white as a sheet and clutching a scrap of parchment in his hand.
"Milord, we have word from King's Landing." he said, holding out the parchment with a slightly-trembling hand.
Myrwin took up the parchment, curious, and read it.
Without changing expression or even raising his voice, he turned to his seneschal. "Pack for a journey to King's Landing. Formalwear as well, please." he said, voice tightly controlled and his hand crumpling the poor offending parchment into scrap. "Then send birds to the banner lords. Tell them to prepare for war. Tell them!" he said, then stood.
"Today's business is concluded, my Lords and Ladies. Lord Henry will hear your petitions on the morrow." he said before he walked out of his audience chamber, trailing a retinue of squires, lackeys, bootlicks, advisors, and his maester. Once away from the chamber and in private, he balled up a fist and punched a stone block hard enough to bloody three of his knuckles.
"Damn her." he whispered, sinking to his knees. Not his baby sister. The bastards who'd assaulted her would pay for their crimes.
If all King's Landing had to burn for it.
"Gather fifty men." he said to his attendants. "Dress for war but bring clothes worthy for a king's court. Fly the spear and the Sun both." he added as an addendum. "I'll ... have to tell my people that Princess Elia was assaulted while under the protection of the King." he said quietly. "Knifed in her bed." he added in a whisper. "Elia..." he continued, wet tears streaming down his face.
His pride as a Martell brought him to his feet. Unbent. Unbowed. Unbroken. Elia was alive, and he intended to make sure she stayed that way. If this was some fool plot of the girl's, some tryst gone awry, he'd wring her neck himself.
But in his heart he didn't think it was. This stank of something darker.
Dismissing his courtiers, he locked himself inside of his chambers. Ignoring his bloody hand, he withdrew a fresh sheet of patchment and then made sure his quill was sharp, his inkwell full, and the sand was ready.
He had instructions to write, orders to leave, and poor Henry needed to be brought up to speed quickly on important Dornish matters. Henry would be Dorne while he travelled to King's Landing. His children would be the heirs. There were things he needed to know.
He lit the candles in his office despite the hour being early enough to provide plenty of good light. He did not anticipate getting much sleep tonight.