Once the room was devoid of any who did not bear Martell blood and the door both locked and guarded, he looked at his sister.
"I have done you a disservice." he told her. "I have left you to your own devices when I should have kept you at my side, so you may come to know the rulership of Dorne." he said. "This ends today. I need for you to take twenty men in Dornish colors into Flea Bottom. Once you are there, I need for you to move among the poor, the downtrodden. Try to stay away from the rapers." he noted drolly. "We are going to give the Stark gold I won from that fool girl back to their people. Where it belongs." he said. "Make sure they know how the Sun shines upon them without being entirely blunt about things." he said. "Make sure you wear our colors and our sigil. Let no-one mistake who you are and what you are." he urged.
"Can you do this, Elia Martell?" he asked his sister.
The irony, he had decided, was thick enough to kill.