296 AC - THE VAITH
When they pulled me out of the river, I was mostly dead. Limp, water-logged, and pallid, not breathing. I was covered in silt and weeds, and when they laid me on the sandy shore of the Vaith, my cousin Tyene began to weep, or so she told me later. But my uncle was there too, and he had seen drowned men before.
He turned me over and pounded my back until water began to seep from my mouth and nose, then gave me breaths and compressed my chest until I spluttered back to life. Lying on the banks of the River Vaith, I breathed again, black eyes wide open in shock, staring at what seemed like an endless hazy blue sky overhead. My uncle exhaled in relief, sitting back on his haunches. My cousin choked back her sobs and embraced me, heedless of the water and mud dirtying her spotless white robes.
I was alive. It was a miracle. I'd been in the river for far too long, after being thrown from my horse while fleeing my uncle, the very man who had just saved my life. But I didn't remember any of that. Not hitting the water with a shriek, not sinking under its murky depths, not being pulled downstream by the deceptive current. I didn't remember why I'd run from my uncle, or why I'd been here, along the Vaith, in the first place.
Truth be told, I couldn't even remember my name. The panic this induced in me was all-consuming. What little I did remember of a life was not this life. These people were strangers to me. This land was a stranger to me. My own body did not align with what I seemed to recall. When I looked at myself in the mirror- olive brown skin, wide dark eyes, long black hair, wide hips, heavy breasts, a soft, round face- little of it seemed familiar to me. My own nervous smile alarmed me. Who was this woman, draped in finery once more? The name they called me, Arianne, couldn't possibly be my own.
But I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. To admit I was an amnesiac would make it real. Tyene and my uncle- Oberyn- quickly picked up on my fear and confusion, but they seemed to take it as evidence that I was traumatized from my near death experience and possibly ashamed of the events leading up to it.
We spent the night at the nearby Castle Vaith. My only prior experience with castles was that of tour groups being shepherded along by world-weary guides, so to enter a living, breathing castle was different. I gawked at the servants in worn clothing, the animals in the yard, the constant smell of dung and urine and wet straw.
I was nearly mute when introduced to Lord Daeron Vaith, a tall, slender man with pale brown skin and pale brown hair and pale brown eyes, like a washed out version of another man- even his voice was soft and whispery. His wife, Lady Clemence, was his opposite- short, plump, darker, and lively.
"Thank the gods you did not drown in our river!" she chirped. "Imagine that sort of bad luck, Princess! One would think your ghost might haunt us!"
As she chuckled, I tried to suppress any reaction at all to the news that I was a princess- yet, somehow, it wasn't such a shock. In a world that clearly operated by horse and sword and castles, there had to be princesses. I supposed I should be happy that I was one of them, and not some homeless orphan who no one would have bothered to fish out of the river.
Still, princesses were expected to be demure and fragile, and on that basis alone, I made it to the relative privacy of my guest chamber with Tyene without anyone demanding much from me beyond smiling and nodding.
"Oh, Arianne," Tyene sighed. I'd realized by now that we were cousins- she addressed Oberyn as 'Father' and seemed to revel in being his darling daughter, with an oddly petulant, girlish air for someone who had to be around my age, so perhaps nineteen or twenty. Yet we looked nothing alike.
I could see a little of myself in Oberyn- he had the same hair and eyes as me, though his nose was bigger and more hooked, his skin slightly paler, his frame much leaner. Tyene was all peaches and cream. There was a golden tan to her fair skin that matched her golden blonde hair perfectly, and her eyes were big and blue and innocent. She was as short as me and small all over, with tiny hands and feet, like a little doll. Yet there was something unnerving about her mannerisms- it was almost like she put on a performance in public, and now that we were in private, she could take off her mask.
"I thought I'd gotten you killed, fleeing from Father," she laughed. Even her laugh was high and tinkling. It creeped me out. "I didn't expect you to go for a swim!"
I couldn't manage a laugh in response. Tyene noted my humorless expression, and for the first time, seemed genuinely sorry. "Do you blame me? I suppose I did egg you on, to come west with me… I thought your father might just wash his hands of us and let us go, once he realized we'd gone. It's not as if we broke any laws! How was I to know he'd send Father after us? Really, I don't know why he's taken this so seriously. Even Father would not hear me out. He's being dreadfully boring," she pouted.
"I don't even know why we came here," I said darkly, but Tyene took it as exasperation, not genuine confusion.
"Well," she said. "Perhaps it's for the best. Though I would have liked to see the Reach again, of course. We could have visited my mother in Oldtown, before we met your Tyrell. Still, mayhaps you wouldn't have been pleased by him, cousin. They say he still has his good looks, but he is a cripple, poor dear." She blew out another sigh, disturbing a lock of hair from her brow. "Oh well. Luckily, after your dip in the Vaith, Father is too worried to reprimand us. I'm sure he's just relieved we won't be bringing your body back to Uncle Doran."
I stared at her blankly. Again, Tyene seemed to interpret this as quiet anger, even disgust at the mention of my father.
"He does care for you, Arianne," she said, softly. "I'm sure of that. All fathers love their daughters. In their own way. It's just he's weak, your father, and he's intimidated by you- your beauty, your passion- He's a tired old man. He has been ever since your mother left. But soon his time will be done and dusted, and your time will come, cousin, I know it!" She reached over and squeezed my hand reassuringly. "We might as well get some sleep. The sun is already setting, and I'm exhausted. I'm too tired to even think about dinner."
I murmured my goodnights and I waited until I was sure Tyene was asleep, snoring softly in her satin-lined bed. She looked like the true princess, I thought, like Sleeping Beauty. My stomach growled. Tyene had a tiny waist, to match the rest of her, and looked like she subsisted off air and honey. I needed food. I pulled on a silk dressing gown and wandered out of the room. The temperature had dropped in this desert climate now that night had fallen, and I shivered towards the only source of warmth I could feel through the castle walls- the kitchens.
The servants there looked surprised to see me, but my uncle Oberyn, who was fondling a woman and eating some bread and cheese, did not. He desisted in his fondling when he noticed me, and broke into a chagrined smile.
"There you are. Hungry?"
I nodded. A bowl of soup was rustled up for me. He offered me some of his bread. I shoved it in my mouth.
"I'm glad to see you still have your appetite," he said, watching me inhale the bread. "You frightened me today, niece. When you opened your eyes on the riverbank, you looked like you'd shaken hands with the Stranger."
I swallowed the bread and started ladling soup into my mouth.
"I won't bore you with lectures," Oberyn said. "I leave that sort of thing to your father. But you humiliated him by running off like this, Arianne. The Prince of Dorne cannot be seen to be outfoxed by his own daughter. And this business with Willas Tyrell- he is a good man, Willas, despite the bad leg. Clever and thoughtful, and still a fiend for horses and hawks, though he can scarcely walk. But he is not a fit match for you. Arianne, he is his father's heir."
He pointed at me with his bread knife. "Someday he will be Lord Tyrell. I do not judge Willas as a Reacherman, but our people would. They would never consent to be ruled by a Tyrell, and he is not Rhoynar, he is Andal through and through. Do you really think he would be comfortable submitting to a wife's reign? He was raised to give orders and see them obeyed, as were you. You need a sweet, biddable lad who does not mind playing second fiddle."
He snorted, and then said, "And you need a sweet, biddable lad who knows his way around a lance and spear. A boy who can defend your rights and protect you. You are not a warrior like my girls, Ari. Nor is Willas, not anymore. It would shame him to come here and see your other suitors parading around, swords in hand, strutting like peacocks."
I paused in drinking my soup, and said, "Will my father punish me for this?"
Oberyn gave me a wry look, and said, "I would hope that when he hears that you nearly drowned in the Vaith, he'll view that as punishment enough, Arianne. But you must try to hear him out. I know he- I know he can be distant, and I know he does not like to explain his reasoning to you, but he would never force you to wed against your will. You have no idea how fortunate you are. Most men would never let their daughters choose a husband."
"He doesn't intend to let me choose Willas Tyrell," I pointed out.
"Willas' own father wouldn't let you choose Willas, trust me," Oberyn scoffed. "And I've no desire to lay eyes on Mace Tyrell anytime soon, the fat fuck. Him and his withered cunt of a mother- believe me, Arianne, that is not a family you want to marry into. They would have no love for you, nor you for them."
"Besides," he said, as I returned to my soup with a vengeance, "You are only twenty, niece. There is no need to rush into marriage. Look at my own girls. Not one of them wed- and some of them I doubt ever will. Tyene likes men the way she likes to toy with butterflies. Tearing their wings off, one by one," he laughed, sounding proud, rather than horrified. "But I wouldn't go listening to her advice on all counts. She pushes you to do things she would never dare do alone. She envies you."
"Why?" I asked around the spoon.
Oberyn looked at me in bemusement. "Because someday all of this will belong to you, and you will have the power to do whatever you please, whenever you please. I do not know if I would trust Tyene with such a high seat. She is a dear, sweet girl, but… rather venomous, like her papa, don't you think?" He winked at me, ruffled my hair, which was still damp, and left me to my late-night snack.
We departed bright and early the next morning, by riverboat, heading east, back towards Sunspear, where my father ruled as Prince of Dorne. On the windy deck of the ship, I learned that it would have taken us a fortnight to return home on horseback, but it was half that by ship, and so I had a week of a cramped cabin and endless, blazing hot days on the river to look forward to. I saw herons and crocodiles and men fishing and children swimming. I saw dolphins leaping up to greet the delighted travelers calling out to them.
The Vaith became the Greenblood, as green as its name, and I saw farms and orchards pass by. The air smelled like ripe lemons and oranges and limes. On cheerfully painted boats orphans waved at us- not orphans in the literal sense, I soon learned, but the Orphans of Mother Rhoyne, the descendants, like me, of the Rhoynar, who had come here fleeing the utter destruction of their people at the hands of Valyrian slavers and dragonriders.
While my ancestors had married into pale Andals and taken on many of their surnames, the Orphans stayed utterly loyal to Mother Rhoyne, and they spoke a foreign language, too fast for me to even hope of even picking out individual words. They spoke Rhoynish. Once, my ancestors had too, until they disavowed it. One people, they said. One people, one language, one Faith.
But the Orphans didn't listen. They worshipped Mother Rhoyne and they refused to anoint their children in the holy oils of the Faith. They prayed on the decks of the ships, faces turned towards the sun, not in septs. But they didn't seem to hold it against me- "Princess!" they called out, whenever they saw me, and held up their children for me to wave or blow kisses to them.
All of this I heard- about the Greenblood and its Orphans, the Valyrians and dragons- from other travelers speaking casually on the riverboat. I kept quiet and I learned a lot. I knew that my father was Doran, my mother Mellario, that she had abandoned him and me six years ago, returned to her native Norvos, a cold northern place across the sea.
I knew my brothers were Quentyn and Trystane, that my father favored Quentyn and had given him an honorable fostering with House Yronwood, that I had not seen Quentyn in years. I knew my uncle Oberyn had a lover, a bastard woman called Ellaria, and many daughters by her, many more daughters not by her. I knew that Tyene's mother was a septa, a woman of the cloth, who called Oberyn a demon sent from the Seven Hells to tempt her faith.
I knew that my father and I were not on good terms. When people spoke of him to me, they looked at me awkwardly, with pity. His favoritism could not be more apparent. Under Dornish law, I was his heir, but it seemed he did not treat me as such. Most would expect me to be married by now, with children of my own. That I did not- and that my father had apparently only suggested men thrice my age as potential husbands- seemed to indicate that he disdained me, that he didn't truly want me to wed, that he feared I could not be easily passed over once I'd given him grandchildren.
I wondered why he disliked me. Was I a terrible daughter? Had my rebellious ways caused him to distrust and resent me, or had his apathy towards me caused me to rebel? Oberyn said I looked like my mother. Did Doran see her in me? Was he trying to punish her by punishing me? Why had she left him? Had he been a poor husband? Did he mistreat her? Did he mistreat me? Had I actually expected to make it all the way to the Reach and elope with Willas Tyrell? How well did I even know that man? I'd never even seen him before.
It was evening when we returned to Sunspear. I expected some grand city, but Sunspear was only a large town. It lived and breathed in the long shadow of the fortress itself, the Old Palace that had been built around the Sandship, the original castle of House Martell.
Sunspear had very high walls, and awnings and banners blotted out the blue sky overhead, offering plenty of shade for thirsty, exhausted travelers. Crowds gathered to gawk as I rode by on a white mare, behind my uncle on his menacing black sandsteed, and my cousin beside me on a dappled grey filly. People looked at me expectantly, some almost mockingly, and I had the feeling of being a prisoner paraded around before a trial. Rumors must have spread about my flight to Vaith, about my plans to run off with a Tyrell, an enemy. No one jeered or threw anything, but the atmosphere was not exactly welcoming.
"Ignore them, this will pass," Tyene murmured to me as we rode towards the fortress, up a winding cobbled street. "They'll forget it as soon as the next feast day, you'll see. All you have to do is smile and flutter your eyelashes, and they'll forgive you at once, cousin."
But I didn't want to smile and flutter my eyelashes. I wanted to go home, not to some dusty old fortress with a man who didn't like me or even want me to succeed him. Not that I cared about being Princess of Dorne, a country I knew next to nothing about, but it would have been nice, if I were flung into a new life, if this was some kind of fucked-up reincarnation, to at least wind up with a happy family. What was the saying? Happy families are all alike, but each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way?
We reached the gates of the Old Palace; I braced myself as they swung open.Last edited: 9/12/2025 Award ReplyReport265dwellordream8/12/2025Add bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Put Me in, Coach (296 AC) New View contentdwellordreamThe Mad MaidModeratorShe/Hers10/12/2025Add bookmark#30296 AC - SUNSPEAR
Under the impossibly high, arched ceiling, the Martell court held sway. The floor was exquisite copper tiles, the round windows were stained glass, and the walls were covered in tapestries depicting Rhoynish and Dornish history. Two thrones faced the newcomers; in one sat my father; the other was empty.
My father, though well-dressed and neatly groomed, appeared much older than I expected. While my uncle seemed no older than forty, my father looked nearly twenty years his elder. He was a soft, squat man somewhat slumped on his throne, as if in pain. He was paler than Oberyn; perhaps ill? While not balding, his hair had gone completely white and was cut very short, little more than fuzz atop his head, in contrast to Oberyn's flowing dark locks. His black eyes appeared red-rimmed, as were his nose and ears and hands.
Unlike Oberyn and Tyene, I found his expression completely inscrutable. He gazed down at me, his gnarled fists clutching the arms of his golden throne. I gazed back at him, wondering if I appeared furious, terrified, or simply struck dumb.
"Daughter," he finally said. His voice was very soft and raspy; I had to strain to hear him. "We are all relieved you have returned home alive and well. You worried us greatly."
I wondered why he said 'us'. The throne room was nearly empty, aside from a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man with a heavily scarred face. He wore a shirt of shining copper scales, much like Oberyn, and his helm was wrapped in silk. He carried some kind of weapon across his back; I suspected an axe. I assumed he must be some sort of bodyguard; he looked at me with weary exasperation, so we must know one another.
"I'm sorry, Father," I said. Belatedly, I considered whether it would have been wiser to address a potentially angry Prince as 'Your Highness' or something like that, but if I chose the wrong address, everyone would wonder when I'd lost my mind. "I… I am sorry I caused you to worry, and for disobeying you."
Oberyn seemed relieved I had apologized without prompting; Tyene immediately played along.
"My Prince, it was entirely my fault," she said, thrusting herself forward with breathless melodrama. Her blonde eyelashes quivered with unshed tears. I really wondered why she had not gone into a theater career of some sort. "Arianne was loathe to go against your will, but I tempted her into doing so. You must punish me, not her."
Doran stared at us both; again, I could not tell what he was thinking at all.
"One would think almost watching your Princess drown was punishment enough, niece," he finally said. "But neither of you will leave this fortress for a turn of the moon. By then, let us hope the people of Sunspear have forgotten your indiscretions."
He nodded to the guard, who gestured for us to follow him. I was stunned. That was all? He didn't want to speak to his daughter- who had nearly died- in private? I didn't expect him to give me a hug and a pat on the back, but not even to lecture me? Berate me? Scream and rage? He didn't even seem angry. He seemed… bored wasn't the word, but it was close. He acted like this entire interaction was a tedious chore, quickly disposed of.
If he loves his daughter at all, he hides it well, I thought. No one had exaggerated. Doran clearly wanted nothing to do with me.
In fact, the entire rest of that day, I waited for some summons from him, some kind of meeting where he might vent his frustration or demand I explain myself or tell me exactly why- as Oberyn had- a marriage to Willas Tyrell would never work. He did not. When I asked a servant when we would eat dinner, they assured me it would be brought to my chamber.
Then I asked a guard if I was confined to my room. The guard was shocked and assured me I could walk around the palace as I pleased. I ate with Tyene in my room. The next night I ate alone. And the next. And the next. My father never asked me to dine with him. Perhaps this was his punishment? But it occurred to me that maybe we'd never dined together at all.
In the month that followed, I saw my father perhaps once a week, unless I deliberately went to the throne room to watch him hold court. When I asked the castellan, the elderly Ser Manfrey, who was apparently some cousin of my long-dead grandmother's, when my father held council meetings, he looked at me like I'd grown a second head. I was not permitted to attend them. When I tried to ask my father's treasurer, Lady Alyse, she seemed perplexed and asked me if I wanted to plan a party when my confinement ended. No one seemed to have any memory of me ever being present when my father made decisions, besides as a passive onlooker during public hearings.
What could I do? Well, I couldn't ride through the town on a horse unless it was to go to the market to shop or people-watch. There were no riding trails beyond the main road. So even once my punishment was over, there wasn't really… anywhere to go beyond the Water Gardens, several days' ride away. I could read in the palace library. I could try on my plethora of beautiful gowns. I could eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, from the kitchens. I spent hours indulging my sweet tooth, experimenting to see just how many deranged food requests I could make. No one even raised an eyebrow.
I could go to dinners and dances. I could flirt with men. I could nap for hours in my room, swaddled in silk. It was all very pleasant. It was relaxing. For several weeks, it was an amazing vacation. No stress, no worries. I didn't have to clean up after myself, wash my clothes. Maids fixed my hair, arranged my jewelry, fetched me snacks whenever I wanted them. Everyone in the palace seemed to like me. But they spoke to me like a child. To them, I wasn't a woman of twenty, but a spoilt girl of twelve. There was an indulgent amusement when they looked at me. An "isn't she so cute?" sort of fuzzy haze. Maybe someone like Tyene could use that to her advantage, lean into it. But it infuriated me.
I spent much of my time either reading, shopping, or lounging around with Tyene, or entertaining my brother Trystane. Trystane looked like a miniature Oberyn. He was nine years old, bright and inquisitive. It seemed I was spending more time with him now than I ever had before my drowning, and he clearly relished it as proof he was almost a man grown.
He was obsessed with some chess-like game called cyvasse. He could happily spend four hours tutoring me in it. I was terrible. He was disappointed with how terrible it was, because, in his words, "It took away the fun of winning." I tried to study how my father interacted with Trystane. He was just as distant. So perhaps it wasn't just me? But Trystane was a little boy, and Doran was a busy man. That distance made sense. I was not a child anymore.
When nearly two months of this had passed, I'd had enough. I demanded I speak with my father privately one day, in the mid-morning. I would not be put off, not by Ser Manfrey, not by the maesters, not by any of my father's advisors. It was an emergency, I said, and I needed to speak with at once. Alone.
When they gave up, and left me in his solar with him, he steepled his hands in front of him. By now I knew he could barely walk. His gout was so bad he hobbled everywhere, or was wheeled in a chair. Maybe his health was so poor that it left him with no choice but to cut out everything else. But I didn't believe that. He was still actively ruling, he was not senile or helpless.
"Arianne, what is it?" he asked gently, as we sat in silence. "You have been out of sorts for a long time now, daughter. Even now that you are permitted to come and go as you please… You seem sullen, angry. What is it now?"
What is it now? As if every week, I brought him new complaints.
"Why do you treat me like a little girl?" I asked.
His dark eyes widened. "A little girl? Arianne, have I ever forbade you the wine and dancing and suitors you pine for?" His tone wasn't mocking, but it might as well have been.
"So letting me drink and flirt makes me a woman?" I retorted.
He looked surprised at that. "What do you lack that you desire? A trip to the Water Gardens? Back up the Greenblood? Are you tired of the palace already?"
"I want to know what is going on," I said. "I want to be in your meetings. I want to do things. I'm bored. I cannot spend the rest of my life lying in the sun fanning myself and eating grapes."
He laughed croakily. "Arianne, my meetings would bore you. They have always bored you. You are a lively young woman. You wish to enjoy life, and I see no reason to prevent that."
"You prevented me from going to the Reach," I said curtly.
"That was an unwise plan, as you well know," he said. "Do you wish for me to arrange a meeting with a suitor? Perhaps Lord Beesbury-,"
I was familiar with names by now. And ages. "Lord Beesbury is eighty," I said, through my teeth. "Do you honestly wish me to marry a man old enough to be my grandfather?"
"Arianne," he sighed. "Many of the young men you so desire are unsuitable. I regret that it is so, but-,"
"I don't desire any man at the moment," I said. "You keep saying that. That I want men, and alcohol, and little treats, like a dog. I told you what I want. I want to be included in your meetings."
"Then you shall be," he said. "You can assist Lady Alyse with the household budget. She can teach you to spend more economically-,"
"I want to assist you," I said. "With ruling. Lady Alyse only talks to me about planning parties. I don't want to plan parties."
Now he looked slightly concerned. "Arianne. What is wrong? I have never heard you speak in this manner. You've never been so intent on this before. This talk of ruling with me, of attending meetings you used to doze off in-,"
"Maybe I was immature then," I said tersely. "Maybe I'm growing up."
He stared at me. I stared at him.
"Will my mother ever come to visit?" I asked him.
Raw anger flashed across his lined face, like lightning. "Arianne. Do not mock me."
"I'm not mocking anyone," I said. "Is she banished from this place?"
"Your mother left of her own free will," he said coldly. "As you well know."
"Then may I visit her? In Norvos?"
Again, alarm gathered in his dark eyes.
"No," he said, too quickly.
After that, he called for Ser Manfrey and I was ushered out of the room.
I attended several meetings with my father's council. I was permitted to listen, but not speak unless it was to Lady Alyse about household purchases. He never even looked at me during the meetings, not once. He does hate me, I thought. Or I did something long ago that he can never forgive, when I was a child. Or he simply thinks I'm an idiot, and thinks he must do whatever it takes to ensure my brother succeeds him.
Finally, I gave in to Lady Alyse. Fine. A party? I could plan a party. I decided there would be a grand feast in the palace, in honor of my cousin Nymeria Sand's return to Dorne. Nymeria had spent half a year across the sea in Essos, traveling the Free Cities and visiting her mother in Volantis. It was also Nymeria's twenty-first nameday, just when she was to return home. Twenty-one had no special meaning here, but I felt it was appropriate to do an all-out bash for it.
Many visitors came to the palace in advance of the festivities. One of them was Daemon Sand, who I knew by now was an old friend of mine, a childhood sweetheart. Tyene talked of him openly, crudely, even. From her I got the general impression that Daemon and I had slept together several times as teens, that he had hoped to marry me when we came of age, and that my father had incredulously refused him. He was a bastard, the illegitimate son of an Allyrion.
He was also, I saw when I met him, very handsome. He was tall, square-jawed, with light brown hair and a light brown beard and suntanned skin. His eyes were bright blue, which was fairly rare in Sunspear. I was almost disappointed with how good-looking he was because he was almost boring because of it. Daemon was courteous, chivalrous, and cautious.
He treated me like I was made of glass. He didn't even have the decency to act like a bitter asshole over being denied my hand in marriage; he mostly just pined. He seemed taken aback by my lack of… simpering? Coy come-ons? Groping? I wasn't sure. We made polite conversation many times. He inquired after my health. The most intimate thing he allowed himself to say to me was, "Princess, I thought I taught you how to swim in the Water Gardens when we were five. What happened?"
"You weren't there to pluck me out of the river," I said sarcastically, and his face shuttered like a kicked doggy, like he actually thought I held it against him for being hundreds of miles away and thus unavailable for a water rescue.
The Dalt brothers, Ser Deziel and Ser Andrey, also arrived. Daemon was a good man, if a dull one. They were good boys. That was the best I could say of them. Deziel could be no older than nineteen, Andrey perhaps seventeen. They acted like giddy fools around me, tripping over themselves to praise my looks and grace. Daemon only showed any bite at all when they did so; he would catch my eyes and roll his. I should have indulged him, let him have a moment of us both judging the poor dopes, but I was in no mood, and I didn't, and his face always darkened after that.
My cousins Obara and Sarella Sand arrived as well. Obara was a big woman, twenty-four, with long limbs and a hard face and broad shoulders. I understood by now that in this world, to be an ugly or even plain woman was a curse. No man would ever doff his cap and ask her to dance. She arrived with a black eye and skinned arms, like she'd been flung around in a fight. When I dared ask, she all but snarled at me, and said, I quote, that she'd "handled it".
Sarella was sixteen, dark-skinned, and wore her hair natural, tight curls coiled around her sunny face. She was much cheerier than Obara, and much more genuine than Tyene. I liked her immediately, despite our age-gap.
"Don't ask Obara anymore about the battle scars," she snorted. "She's embarrassed. She got in over her head down on the Salt Shore with a sellsword from the Stepstones. Took him for a lover and he beat her like a tavern maid when they got into an argument. All while Father was visiting us, too."
"Oberyn must have killed him," I said, only half-kidding.
Sarella looked at me, eyebrows raised. "Father? He would never interfere. He's not like Prince Doran, Arianne. He leaves us to fight our own battles. Obara's trained with sword and spear since she was eight, like a little boy. He told us long ago he'd never protect us from any man save himself. Said he wouldn't raise helpless damsels."
I was appalled. "So he let his daughter get beaten in front of him?"
"He wasn't happy," Sarella shrugged. "But he was shamed by Obara. Told her to get on her feet and stop sniveling like a whore. She went two more rounds with her sellsword, he grabbed her by the throat and started choking, and she managed to stick a table knife in his gut."
I thought, then, that Doran and Oberyn were not so different after all. They interspersed their love with cold apathy, if it was love at all. I pictured getting badly beaten by a man in front of my own father, and him watching, and telling me to get up and fight, to stop acting like a stupid whore. Maybe he'd meant it in an inspiring way. Inspiring in a "if you die, it's not on me, I did my best with you" way.
"If anyone ever put his hands on my daughter in front of me, I'd kill him," I said. I wasn't bragging- or maybe I was, but I felt certain of it, the way I was certain the sun set in the west every day. "I wouldn't waste my time telling her to get up and have another go with him."
"No one would ever put their hands on a trueborn princess," Sarella chuckled, and went off to the library. I watched Obara washing sweat and dust from the road from her face in the well. Oberyn came up and said something to her, squeezing her shoulder affectionately, like a coach with an athlete. She turned to him and her smile was almost bashful, shy, that of a little girl approaching a favorite teacher. Before her father, she turned from a warrior woman to a hopeful child. To my dismay, I understood the sensation.
296 AC - SUNSPEAR
When the day of the feast dawned, I was quite proud of myself. I had planned the menu with Ricasso, my father's blind seneschal, and Casper, the cook. I had hired a troupe of mummers all the way from Hellholt. I had arranged for music and dancing and even fire-breathing. Supposedly one of the mummers had a monkey. Also, there would be a fabulous name-day cake for Nymeria. I might have no other discernible skills at the moment, but I could plan a real banger of a party.
Nymeria was the second-oldest of Oberyn's Sand Snakes, and the most dignified of them all. She was a noblewoman's daughter and acted the part. She was even paler than Tyene- she didn't tan in the sun, only burned, perhaps owing to her Volantene mother. They said many Volantene were quite fair-skinned because they were descendants of Valyria. She had the same widow's peak as her father and his straight black hair. Her lips were very red even when she took off her makeup. She was tall and tended to stalk imperiously through the halls of the Old Palace. I didn't get the impression she was very fond of me, but she thanked me for planning a party for her and spoke openly of her travels in Essos.
"If one can learn to forget the slaves, it can be great fun," she told me. "Especially for a woman with money to spend. You would enjoy Braavos, Arianne. No slaves and plenty of handsome young bravos eager to win duels for your honor. Lys is lovely as well- the water is so clear and so blue, you can see every single fish. There is fruit on every tree. Sunspear is a barren wasteland in comparison."
I knew she was half-joking, but I took her point. Sunspear was not a proper city. After two months I could name every cow in Sunspear. The last proper city I'd seen had electric lights and motor vehicles, both of which I missed. Chiefly, I missed driving a motor vehicle because if I had one right now, I could leave whenever I wanted without going through six different government officials begging permission. I would like to see a proper city at some point. However, I could do without the proper city full of slaves. But that seemed unavoidable.
Westeros did not have slaves, but by now I knew many lords and ladies treated their own servants little better. They might not sell them or brand them, but they thought nothing of beating them, forcing them to live on next to nothing, or sexually exploiting them. I was glad my father was beloved by the palace's servants, and that I'd never actually seen anyone be beaten here, but on the other hand, if my father had been universally reviled, perhaps I would actually have some allies against him. Unfortunately, he was by all accounts a really nice man.
A few more last-minute guests arrived on the day of the feast. The Fowler twins, whom everyone said liked to share their lovers. Lady Ellaria, my uncle's paramour, who'd come with the mummers from Hellholt, having been visiting family there. And Gerold Dayne, who absolutely everyone hated.
My initial impression upon seeing Gerold Dayne- he rode a jet black stallion into the palace courtyard, dismounted as dramatically as possible, sneered something at the quivering stableboy, and then swept off presumably to brush out his shining silver hair- was that everyone hated him because he was incredibly attractive, attractive enough to be a complete prick.
My understanding was that the prickishness- the openly aggressive prickishness, at least- is beaten out of most ugly people early on, unless they happen to be incredibly physically intimidating. But if you're a beautiful prick, everyone will begrudgingly tolerate your prickery in the hopes of getting their hands on your literal pick.
Later, though, much later, I realized everyone hated Gerold Dayne because he was a power-hungry, impulsive, amoral, violent maniac, but by then it was too late.
The feast was held after the blinding sun set in the aptly named Tower of the Sun. The great golden dome of the Tower of the Sun had many skylights, through which moonlight filtered like spotlights on the dance floor. I got many compliments on the menu- bread smothered in olive oil, fried dough balls full of mince meat and onions, flatbread covered in lamb and peppers, stuffed eggplants, grape leaves, salads drizzled in lemon juice, pastries covered in walnuts and honey, fresh watermelon and orange and peaches and dates. Nymeria's cake had a spun glass Nymeria on it- not my cousin, the historical Nymeria who she was named for.
I really liked food and I had enjoyed planning the menu. It wasn't that I thought food shopping or making seating charts or arranging flowers was beneath me or stupid. It wasn't. It just wasn't all I wanted to do. If someone dumped the world in your lap, you'd want to sample everything. You might think you want to hunker down in one place and live a tiny quiet life- and maybe I would have enjoyed that if Doran gave a shit about me or I had friends I actually liked or access to birth control that didn't taste like shit and occasionally not work at all- but if you were young and beautiful and surrounded by people wielding power, you'd want some too. Just a little bit. Just a taste.
After the feasting was over, the dancing began. Oberyn opened it with his daughter, then switched partners with Ser Ryon Allyion, Daemon's father. Ryon swept Nymeria away and Oberyn danced much more lasciviously with Ellaria, who was pretty and softspoken and seemed to have gotten very far with my uncle by never arguing with him.
The Sand Snakes tolerated her, as far as I could tell, but there was no real warmth between them, though no one was ever rude. Ellaria spent most of her time doting on her own daughters, the youngest of whom was only three. The eldest of them, Elia, named for my dead aunt who'd once been queen, danced with a put-upon Trystane, who felt the festivities cut into his cyvasse time. He was no doubt reciting memorized facts about the game to her.
I danced with Dezi Dalt, then his brother Drey, who kept tripping on me, then with Daemon Sand. Daemon must have been feeling a bit bolder because of the wine, or maybe he'd noticed me appreciatively eying Gerold Dayne, because he said, "I seem to recall you as being the one to teach me to dance, Princess, but you're letting me do all the leading tonight."
Great, now he thinks he's a comedian, I thought dismally.
"I'm simply allowing you to show off your honed talents," I told him.
"And this celebration is one of yours," he said, with more genuine appreciation. "It's lovely, Arianne. You always had an eye for beautiful things."
"Every time I so much as glance at anything more substantial than a silk banner, my father puts horse blinders on me," I said.
Daemon frowned. "He loves you." But his tone twisted slightly. Aha. I'd found the one person in the room who might also hate my dad.
"He loves an idea of me," I said. "He will never let me rule, will he? And everyone knows it, they're just too polite to say it to my face. When he dies, he'll summon Quentyn down from Yronwood, and- well, I don't know what they'll do with me. Pack me off to a motherhouse?" I smiled sardonically.
Daemon's grip on my bare arms tightened. My emerald green gown kept brushing against his legs. "Your father would have a revolt on his hands if he attempted to disown you, Arianne. You were acclaimed his heir at birth. You are the eldest child of the royal house. Nothing can change that, no matter what the Yronwoods believe."
"A revolt?" I snorted. "Was there a revolt when he dragged me back home two months ago?"
"Well, that was a quest to seduce a Tyrell, not to claim your birthright, so one must forgive the common man for not taking up the axe in your name," Daemon scoffed.
"I wanted to marry Willas, not seduce him," I shot back, for want of anything else to retort.
"Of course," he said coldly. "You believe in saving yourself for the right marriage." His expression wavered then- he knew he'd overstepped with me.
"You think I'm a slut because my father turned down your proposal?" I asked him. Our dancing fell out of the pattern and we stopped in front of a bust of Morgan Martell. "Or because I slept with you at all? Everyone says you came back for seconds, so it can't have been such a dreadful let-down, Daemon Sand."
"I think it began a long habit of playing with men you know are unworthy of you," he said tightly. "I just happened to be the first. Thank the gods it wasn't Gerold Dayne who took your maidenhead. It would not have been such a pleasant experience for you then, trust me."
I felt my face flaming with heat, but luckily the room was dimly lit and I was too furious to let myself stutter or stammer.
"You forget yourself," I said. "In other kingdoms, you'd probably have lost a few appendages for deflowering a Prince's daughter. That can still be arranged." Had there been a blade in reach, I would have gotten started myself. It's one thing to be goaded by your childhood sweetheart. It's another thing to be goaded by your childhood sweetheart about events of which you have no memory.
"Forgive my impudence, Princess," he said, and stalked off. He was shaking with rage. Good man my ass. He'd just been biding his time to let out a torrent of 'this is why it's your fault I still can't get it up with prostitutes six years later'. What? Was I supposed to feel sorry for him because he'd loved me once? I wasn't going to sit here and try to coax regret for things I hadn't actually done.
I was still standing by Morgan's ugly bust, radiating rage, when Gerold Dayne materialized by my side as if summoned from the depths of hell. He was dressed in all black-and-silver, to match his hair. His violet eyes were quite literally sparkling in the torchlight. I estimated him to be a few years older than me, perhaps twenty-three. His face was longer than Daemon's, but prettier. His skin was darker, his eyes more vivid, his nose longer, and having been forbidden a weapon inside the palace, he played with the hilt of his feasting dagger instead.
"What has the bastard said now?" he inquired coolly. "Shall I make an example of him for offending you so, Princess?"
"I'd rather you didn't," I said. "We had an argument, that's all. Daemon has more pride than common sense."
"A terrible habit in young men," said Gerold, as if he were some ancient shade of thirty-three, not twenty-three. "But then, Sand has little with which to entertain himself save pining after a woman he knows he can't have. Best send him back to Godsgrace, where he can pine after a castle he knows he can't have."
"Now you're just being mean," I said, but I smiled.
Gerold Dayne smiled back. He had a cruel mouth and very small teeth.
"If you are planning to flee again in the hopes of making a marriage that offends your father, I will once again suggest High Hermitage," he said. "I would not let the Viper catch you this time. In fact, I'd relish the chance to defend you from him. Your uncle is past his prime. He carries a reputation he no longer deserves."
"Have you fought him before?" I asked politely.
Irritation flickered in his odd eyes. "No," he said shortly. "But I'd like to."
"Is there any man here you wouldn't like to fight?" I adopted a sympathetic tone.
"Your father," he said. "He's a cripple. It wouldn't be much of a fight."
I stiffened. Even Daemon wouldn't dare be so blunt. "My father is still your Prince," I reminded him.
He shrugged. "For now." His eyes were daring me to scold him, to inform on him to a passing guard, to demand he recant his words. I didn't.
"Here is what I don't understand," he said. "You insist on rebelling in these silly little half-measures. You have to take what you want in life. You don't get anywhere by approaching it, then coming back when you're called."
"I wasn't called back to Sunspear, I was thrown from my horse-,"
"And landed in a river, yes, it's been repeated in every tavern in Dorne by now," he said impatiently. "And they laughed when they told it, Princess. They don't respect you. They don't fear you. That is your problem. If you were a man, you could pick up a blade and make them fear you."
"Or if I was a Sand Snake," I said, watching Nymeria dance with Daemon.
"If you were a Sand Snake, you'd be dead by now," Gerold said. "They say Oberyn drowns the weak ones at birth. He's not so gentle as Mother Rhoyne, who the Orphans are saying saved your life."
"Is that what you believe?"
"The only goddess I pray to is the sword," he said, and I would have laughed only he sounded genuinely reverent and I felt he was trying to give me what he thought was sound advice.
"So what would you recommend I do?" I asked him.
"Who do you fear?" he asked. "Not your father. Not that wraith in a chair. Who could take what you want from you?"
"My brother," I admitted. "Quentyn."
"Last I saw Quentyn, he was a fat, pimply little frog," Gerold said. "Go to Yronwood. See how the frog fares. See if he is worth fearing. And if you can, make him fear you instead. Your father can't replace you with a man who refuses the throne. Or…" he trailed off, then laughed suddenly, and said, "But I should not say that!"
"You shouldn't suggest I kill my own brother, no, because that would be a crime!" I laughed too, while telegraphing 'seriously, do not suggest that' with my eyes.
"But what does it say that you thought of it?" he challenged, and strode off.
What a complete lunatic, I thought, admiringly.
At a lull in the dancing, there were toasts. Oberyn toasted his daughter's beauty, wit, and courage. Nymeria toasted her father's love and her uncle's generosity and my hospitality. Doran toasted all his nieces and his brother and his children. Trystane toasted the glorious strategy game of cyvasse. And I stood up and toasted my father.
"I may have spent your money, Father, but know that I spend it with naught but love for you and gratitude for your deep pockets," I said, to an uproar of laughter. "And I may not always be the most obedient of daughters, but I cherish your infinite patience and mercy. And I thank you, Father, for your latest gift to me- Nymeria has just returned from the Free Cities, and travel has done her well! So I am delighted to announce that I will visit my brother at Yronwood in the coming weeks. It has been too long since we siblings were together, and my love and respect for Quentyn runs as deep as yours for Oberyn."
Everyone cheered and applauded and laughed, save for my father and uncle. I smiled down the length of the table at them, daring either to try to contradict me publicly and risk looking like fools. Forbidding me to leave Dorne was one thing. Forbidding me to visit my own brother, whom I had not seen in years, was another. Doran knew damn well he could not deny me that without looking like a tyrant. And he knew damn well he could not send Oberyn with me, for the Yronwoods loathed my uncle.
I'd backed him into a corner, and he knew it. Later, I skipped down to where he sat, his hands clasped in his lap, to kiss him on the cheek.
"Arianne, this talk of Yronwood…" he began. Then he trailed off.
"If you forbid me, I promise I will do the most humiliating, debased things you could ever imagine," I told him sweetly. "And I will do them as publicly as possible. Unless you plan to send me to Ghaston Grey or keep me drugged up in my rooms, I think you are done refusing me things, Father."
"I am only glad you have decided to see your brother," he said mildly, a note of warning in his voice.
"Oberyn is ever your right-hand-man, and Quentyn will be mine one day, when I sit in your seat," I said. "Isn't that right?"
He managed a half-smile.
Oberyn caught up to me as I flounced away.
"You should not trust the Yronwoods," he said tersely. "And you should not have put your father on the spot like this. It was cruel."
"Cruel?" I said. "You almost watched your daughter be murdered before your eyes a few weeks ago, and you want to speak of cruel, Uncle?"
He looked at me incredulously. "Obara? Arianne, Obara is more than capable of fighting her own battles."
"I thought the point of having a family was to not have to," I said. "Is that not why we light candles for Aunt Elia and her children?"
If he could have struck me in public, he would have. He held my wrist so tightly I cried out in pain.
"Don't speak of things you know nothing about, niece," he hissed.
"Don't treat a princess the way you do your bastards, Uncle," I said, and he let me go, eyes flashing.
Rubbing my wrist, I made my way over to Tyene, who was shuffling a deck of cards.
"You like to play," she said, as I sat down across from her.
"Yes," I said. "I'm sick of losing games people forget to invite me to. Deal me in."