Big chapter today. Help me out with some Power Stones if you can!
Once the Bloodroyal's corpse had been dragged from the marble, Prince Doran opened up the floor for any of the lords and ladies to raise their own concerns. It was an interesting way to rule, different from what I had seen at Storm's End by Lord Baratheon and my father's own small court at Evenfall Hall with our retainers.
But I had no place among them. I was a foreigner who had stepped into Dornish business with as much grace as a blundering bull, and I had said my piece already.
With quiet assurances that Ser Gerion's matter would be resolved, I bowed, as courtesy demanded, and left with my men. I felt wrung dry, as if everything urgent had finally been torn from me, leaving only a dull ache behind.
Thankfully, it seemed Prince Doran was a man of his word. He must have moved quickly once court ended. Whatever words passed between him and Ser Anders Yronwood happened behind closed doors, but from what I later heard, a rider wearing Yronwood colors galloped out of the castle before an hour had passed. Shortly after, a raven took wing from the Spear Tower, headed toward the Water Gardens.
Soon, word reached the Martells that the Yronwood men had been ordered to withdraw from the road between Sunspear and the Water Gardens. And before midnight that same day, Prince Oberyn rode into the city with his uncle Lewyn and a small escort of knights.
Whatever came next, at least Ser Gerion would not die because we had been too late. I did not go see him getting whatever treatment he needed. Oberyn Martell sounded like a handful, and that was a handful more than I was willing to deal with after the day I had.
Pirates and princesses and poisonings. My head was swimming by the time I hit the bed. I just wanted to sleep in peace.
That night, I ordered Grey and the twins to guard my door in shifts. It wasn't fear, not quite. Lord Ormond Yronwood was dead, and I did not think Anders would do anything as foolish as attacking me so soon after.
I had seen it in his eyes, though. The hatred. The rage. For some reason, he blamed me for what happened to his father, as if his head had not already rolled when I told my tale in the hall. Maybe he just needed someone to direct all that loathing. His princely overlord and the towering Areo Hotah were protected by rank and reputation, and so his grief had settled on me instead.
Still, I went to bed knowing I had made an enemy that day, and it was better to be cautious than dead. Sleep took me anyway, heavy as if I had gone without it for weeks, and when I woke the next morning, sunlight had already long spilled across the tiled floor.
My body protested as I sat up, every muscle stiff and sore. I felt as if I'd been beaten with clubs worse than a baby seal. Surprisingly, though, there was something lighter in my chest than there had been the day before. My breathing came easy. Tired as I was, I felt clearer, steadier.
After washing and dressing, I made my way to Ser Gerion's chambers. The Lannister was awake when I arrived, propped against a mound of cushions. He looked thinner and paler, his face sharper than before as if the poison had eaten him alive for the one day it coursed through his veins.
His eyes were bright though, and that alone felt like a small victory.
"Well," he said as I walked in, lips twitching. "Either I'm proving very difficult to kill, or you've been busy."
I smiled. The Lannister men must've told him about my part in it.
His room, still guarded by Ser Sarek and another pair of Lannister guards, smelled a lot less like decay than the day before. Light poured from the open shutters, and a pleasant breeze from the sea washed through the room.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
Gerion seemed to think for a moment. "You ever been bitten by a viper?"
"No."
"Neither have I," he said. "But Prince Oberyn tells me this 'Tyroshi bite' is made to feel like you have a dozen of them feasting on your insides until you want to peel off your skin, reach inside, and yank them out." His attempt at a laugh devolved into a rattling cough. "Seems quite accurate to my experience."
Prince Oberyn, it turned out, had been thorough. The poison was rare and cruel. Some kind of new blend first brought from the far east and now brewed mostly in Tyrosh, meant to linger just long enough to break a man's will before it took his life. Oberyn had been excited to encounter it again, as it was only his second experience with it, if Ser Gerion was to be believed.
"I see," I said once he was done filling me in. "You'll be fine, though? No long term effects?"
"Some weakness for a while." He gave a weak shrug, then a grin. "So long as my good looks remain, I shan't complain."
"Good looks?" I gave him a sad look. "It seems the poison has addled your mind as well. Should I call for Prince Oberyn again?"
His grin widened. We kept a comfortable silence for a moment, just listening to the breeze whistle through the window. Gerion looked to have aged 10 years in a day, but older was better than forever young and six feet under.
"You didn't have to involve yourself." His voice was quieter when he decided to speak again.
"I did," I said.
He snorted softly. "Lannisters remember their debts, Galladon. And you should know that I remember better than most."
"Good." I nodded. "It's the only reason I helped, truly. Were you an Arryn or a Stark, I would've tossed you overboard before we ever made it back to Sunspear."
That brought another laughter out.
After a pause, he added, "I now find myself regretting what I said about Tarth. I should like to visit again once I've survived King's Landing, if you allow." His green eyes shone with sincerity this time.
"You'd be welcome," I said, meaning it.
From there, I climbed the Spear Tower to the ravenry. Sunspear did not keep a bird trained for Tarth, so I wrote instead to Lord Baratheon at Storm's End. I told him everything: the pirate attack, Ser Gerion's poisoning, the false bottom with the Stormlanders taken from their villages and penned like animals.
I asked that word be sent onward to my lord father, and that arrangements be made to inform the local lords about the risk of further attacks along our coasts. If one pirate group could grow bold, then others could follow after. I was brief with any personal details on my message home—seeing as it would go through another castle—but I knew exactly how furious my mother would be if she heard about what happened here from someone else.
Later in the morning, I ate a simple fare in my rooms with Jack and Jace, as Grey was still sleeping from his shift. The food was heavily spiced here, too much for the twins, but I welcomed the change in taste. Stormlander meals have nothing of the modern variety I once enjoyed, despite being hardy and fulfilling.
We spoke of small things as we ate. I didn't want to go over the Yronwood affair again, so we kept to the hot weather or the pretty servants Jack had flirted with. We laughed at Jace's reddening face the longer he ate and wondered how long it might take before the Fair Winds could sail again.
Afterward, I sent them down to the docks to sort things out. I wanted them to check on the Stormland families, on the ship and her remaining crew. We needed to know if she was seaworthy, and if not, what she would need, and whether more hands could be hired. I decided that it was best that we leave as soon as possible.
Once they were gone, the quiet returned. I laid on the bed staring at the rafters in my room. I tried to sleep, to meditate, to play cyvasse against myself with the board above the small table in the corner. No matter what I did, my thoughts circled back to Lord Ormond Yronwood, unbidden and unwelcome.
I tried to keep my mind ordered. He did send out ships to search for Oberyn. He did put five hundred men on the road between Sunspear and the Water Gardens to pressure the Martells. He did go visit the Tyroshi pirate before he died. A pirate which might have confirmed his part, unwitting as it may have been, in poisoning Gerion Lanister.
Everything checked out. Motive. Opportunity. Means. Unless there was something I still did not see, all the pieces fit neatly into place.
And yet the look on his face when I accused him of killing the pirate had been genuine anger. Of that, I was certain. I couldn't stop replaying that moment in my mind. Was he angry that I outed him in front of his peers, or angry at an unfounded accusation?
He had seemed pretty fine with others having the knowledge of his sending out ships and stationing his men outside the city.
Before I knew I was pacing inside my room, going over every detail I could think of. Where did the Stormlander slaves come in? Yronwood lay on the western shore of the Sea of Dorne. It would be a costly delay, but the pirates could've tried for some extra coin by swinging north to raid Estermont and the southern Cape Wrath.
And what was Doran's part in all this? He clearly had planned out his confrontation with the Bloodroyal. He even had documents ready and everything. Was he just waiting for me to say something, or was it just a coincidence? He couldn't have known I would confront Ormond at court.
I felt like I was going crazy.
In the end, I decided if I wanted to fry my brain so badly, I might as well do it under the glaring sun with a sword in hand.
Outside, knights and squires filled the Old Palace's practice yard, many stripped to the waist, sweat gleaming on their skin. A line had formed at the fountain, men taking turns dousing their heads and shoulders.
I got some strange looks when I walked in, but Ser Symon Santagar boisterously greeted me like an old friend instead of someone he just met the day before. He'd been at it for a while now, given his dishevelled state, but he was kind enough to start light with me as I warmed up.
When it came to real sparring, however, it didn't last long. Ser Symon was a solid knight. His form was proper and practiced and his strength of arms commendable. The kind of man you'd want at your back in a battle. Solid. Reliable. But also ordinary.
A few minutes in, he yielded with a laugh, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.
"Seven hells," he said, smiling widely. "If you're this good at five-and-ten, I fear what you'll become."
Despite his loss, Ser Symon did not lose his chivalry. He brought me to a group of men he was acquainted with and introduced me to them. I sparred with three of those knights after that, then a squire bold enough to ask. Each bout burned away a little more of the lingering tension in my shoulders, replaced it with clean, honest soreness of a day in the yard.
Then Areo Hotah arrived.
He was more mountain than man, broad as a boulder about the shoulders and with a large square jaw that looked as if he ate those boulders for breakfast. His presence alone seemed to shift the mood of the yard. People gave him space without him needing to ask, but no one greeted him beyond wary nods.
I watched him for a bit as I dunked myself over by the fountain. I usually didn't tire much with simple spars against common opponents, but fighting in the heat was a different experience, especially as I had kept the helmet and padded gambeson on. Not five minutes in and I had been soaked in sweat already.
I promised myself to practice in similar temperatures sometime in the future. One day I might need to fight in the heat for real, and I can only imagine the kind of suffering it would be to do it with a full suit of armor for the first time. A true terrain advantage for those used to it.
Once I thought he'd gotten warmed up enough, I walked up to the Norvoshi.
Areo Hotah trained with a huge lump of dull metal one might accidentally identify as a longaxe. He swung it around himself easily like it was a hollow stick, and the air hissed as the dulled blade cut through the empty space.
"Up for a spar?" I asked.
The practice yard was an interesting place where, should the people involved not be complete pricks, formalities were largely ignored. There was an honesty to it. Here, a king's worth went as far as his swordarm could take him, and a lowly hedge knight could crack a lord's nose without fear of repercussion.
I also had no idea how to formally address a former Holy Guard of Norvos' bearded priests, so the casual culture helped.
Areo Hotah seemed surprised at my asking. From what I'd seen, he wasn't a man of many companions in the yard. Too big, too foreign, and too intimidating. But he was also a simple man who agreed to spar with just a nod of his head.
Shouldering a shield, which I imagined I'd need, I stood opposite him and we began to circle. His dark eyes were calm and dispassionate as they followed me, yet he made no move to take the initiative. The yard seemed to shrink, the sounds dulling until all I could hear was my own breath and the faint rasp of leather on his hands as he adjusted his grip.
Standing on the balls of my feet, I dashed forward with a probing thrust, aiming at the joint on his upper arm. He moved swift as a rabbit despite his size, side-stepping my attack and taking the chance to counter.
His axe came around in a low sweep like a scythe cutting through grass, and I caught it on my shield. Wood and iron shuddered together. The impact jarred my arm all the way to the shoulder, a deep, numbing thud that told me blocking should be a last resort against him.
I slid back, boots scraping, and answered with a quick cut at his thigh. He withdrew with infuriating ease, the haft of his axe snapping down to knock my blade aside. The sound was sharp, like an elder slapping down a child's hand.
Gritting my teeth, I tried to press him, advancing with short steps, sword darting in and out, testing his range and reaction time. Hotah kept his composure opposite me. He stepped only when he needed, even as the axe was always moving, its weight hidden by the speed of his hands.
He changed tempo fast. High feint, low chop. I raised my shield, trying to deflect it, but felt the blow bite into the wood. I slashed for his forearm and he twisted, letting the axe haft take the cut, then shoved forward. The rim of my shield smashed into my chest, driving the breath from me.
I stumbled back two paces, heart hammering. Gods, he was strong. My mind went back to the giant pirate on the deck of the Western Will. They were of similar sizes, with Hotah perhaps topping the man by barely a few inches. But their strength felt wholly different.
The pirate swung his hammer wildly like a brawler, he would roar and shout and growl, while Areo Hotah's strength felt dense, the force of a man fully in control of his body. Come to think of it, I had not seen him let out even a grunt of effort through the spar.
I tried to circle him next, looking for an opening. I had just dumped a bucket of water over my head, but I felt sweat already gathering under my collar. The sun beat down mercilessly, the heat coming to the yard like waves at the beach.
Hotah followed my movement without hurrying, turning with me, never crossing his feet, never overreaching. He kept his guard lowered, the axe tip tracing lazy arcs in the dust. It was maddening that he didn't seem to be intentionally mocking me by doing it.
I lunged, shield first, trying to close the distance where a long axe might be a hindrance. Somehow, he welcomed it. The axe came up in a brutal upward hook that caught the bottom of my shield and wrenched it aside. I felt my stance break. Before I could recover, the flat of the axe slammed into my ribs.
Pain bloomed white and immediate. I gasped, staggered, and barely got my shield back in time to stop the follow-up strike that would have taken my head. The force drove me to one knee. I felt dust in the back of my tongue.
I pushed myself up, teeth clenched, forcing air back into my lungs. Around us, I sensed the eyes of the yard watching like children watching a pro match.
Changing tactics, I let him come to me, using my shield aggressively, battering at his haft, trying to catch the axe and slip inside. For a moment, it worked. I caught the shaft, twisted, and drove my sword toward his hip in a quick stab.
Then he let go with one hand, spun the axe around the shield rim, and struck with the butt. It cracked against my helm, ringing my ears and sending sparks across my eyes.
I reeled, vision swimming. He did not press his advantage. He waited, axe lowered, watching to see if I would fall. I straightened instead, a blazing thrill burning through me hotter than the pain.
He was leagues above me, I realized, and smiled like a loon under my helmet. Given the opportunity, I wanted to see how far.
"You're holding back," I said, the words coming out rougher than I intended. "Let me see the real difference."
For the first time, something changed in his eyes. A kind of acknowledgement. "As you wish," he said, his words thick with the Essosi accent.
The next exchange nearly killed me.
He came in fast, faster than I thought possible for a man his size. Was this how people felt fighting against the Mountain?
The axe whistled, a horizontal cut that I barely deflected on my shield. Still, the impact spun me, tearing the shield from my line. Before I could recover, the axe reversed direction and slammed down. I dropped to a knee, shield raised overhead, feeling the wood scream under the blow.
Another strike, then another. Each one drove me lower, the earth hard beneath my knee, my arm shaking uncontrollably. My lord father always taught me that, even when you're down, when your opponent has you cornered or surrounded, the most important thing was to stay in the fight.
Keep at it. Defending for its own sake would never keep you alive.
My sword arm lashed out blindly, more to keep him away than to wound. He stepped through it, the axe haft smashing into my wrist. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out as my fingers went numb. The sword slipped from my grip and fell into the dust.
Before I knew, the axe came up again, stopping an inch from my throat.
"Yield," Hotah said.
I swallowed, chest heaving, sweat stinging my eyes. The whole thing lasted no more than ten seconds. Ten seconds of pure, abrupt, and honest violence. Something between a gasp and a laugh burst out of my mouth, and I tapped the rim of my shield against the ground.
"I yield."
He stepped back at once, lowering the axe. A hand came out, calloused and immense, and hauled me to my feet as if I weighed nothing at all.
Areo Hotah studied me for a moment. Then his hand made a fist and he lightly tapped me on the chest. "Heart," he said, low and slow. He hummed with approval. "Heart is most important. All else will come later."
I nodded, for a second unable to speak past the ache in my ribs and the dull thunder still echoing in my skull. Then he inclined his head and turned away, vacating the yard without another word, and I watched him go still in a daze.
That was a compliment, right? I would take it as one, at least.
A minute later, I was drinking from the fountain when Prince Oberyn arrived, Princess Elia and Ashara Dayne at his side. Before I could greet them properly, Oberyn seized my arm and dragged me back into the yard.
"There are two battlefields where men truly know one another," he said, grinning. "And something tells me you'd not enjoy the other."
Shaking my head, I indulged him.
We fought, sword and shield against spear. Unlike against Areo Hotah, the spar lasted almost ten minutes. One single, long bout.
As he said, I got to know exactly how Oberyn was throughout the fight. He barely stopped talking, mocking my footwork, my grip, the angle of my shield. At some point, after he almost wrenched my blade from my hand and I nearly brained him with my shield, Oberyn found a new joke.
"The ladies of the realm would weep if they knew how unskilled you are with your sword, ser," he said.
I couldn't help grinning. As the spar went on and I found myself settling into a good rhythm, I hit back with a few good ones too.
"Not so easy to win without poison on your blade, is it, my prince?" and "Do choose your next mistress with care, Prince Oberyn," I told him. "It seems your victories come easiest when their lovers are already halfway to the grave."
Each time, Oberyn only laughed sharply, then came at me harder.
The spar stretched on longer than any I'd fought before. My arms burned. My lungs screamed. And still he pressed me, relentless and precise. His spear point flickered fast as lightning, and I knew he earned the name of Red Viper for more than the use of poison.
When at last we broke apart, neither of us could claim victory. Ashara and Elia joined us as we drank and caught our breath.
"If I knew we kept such interesting guests, I would have come home much sooner," Oberyn told Elia as they approached.
The princess shook her head. "Why bother? I imagine you will only stay until you find another skirt to scamper after. Do not think I missed that little septa that rode in with you."
Oberyn wagged a finger. "She rode in on top of me, dear sister. Not with me."
"An important linguistic distinction," I said, nodding sagely. Oberyn grinned.
Ashara Dayne snorted in disgust. "You've barely met him and already he's corrupted you?"
"What can I say, I'm easily swayed by charming people." I tilted my head. "Is that why we argue whenever we speak?"
Ashara raised an eyebrow. "I remember someone being quite charmed by my frog-like purple eyes."
Prince Oberyn gave me an incredulous look. I ignored him.
"Come now, my lady, we just spoke about being precise in our language," I said. "I believe my exact words were froggish-purple eyes. Which really makes a world of difference."
"No, it does not," Oberyn muttered, while Elia whispered, "It certainly does not."
But Ashara knew our game by now. "Well, I was taken by your sweet words regardless," she said. "You should not give a woman hope if you do not intend to follow through, ser. I even called you at your rooms last night."
I remembered Jack mentioning something about it earlier today, but I had been so absorbed in not thinking about Yronwood that I did not give much thought to it. I still went along with it.
"How scandalous, Lady Ashara," I said. "I took you for a lady of character. What would your brother think?"
She scoffed. "Do not flatter yourself overly much. I had only come to tell you of Oberyn's arrival. He would be helping Ser Gerion after visiting the Princess, and I hoped to invite you to accompany us. And even then, your guards were clear you did not wish to be disturbed. They shooed me off like some flee-ridden dog come begging," she finished, feigning affront.
"Did they, now? Quite terrible of them. I specifically left orders that any beautiful woman that comes to my door should be let inside." I shook my head sadly. "I'm sorry to hear of my men's low opinion of you, my lady."
Ashara laughed, delighted. I didn't think she was used to people treating her like anything other than the most beautiful girl since the Maiden herself walked the earth. I was surprised she wasn't a complete spoiled brat because of it.
Princess Elia watched our interplay with an amused smile on her face. "I trust you have gone to see Gerion this morning, then?" she asked me.
I turned to her. "I have, princess." Straightening, I gave her a short bow. "House Martell has my gratitude for his recovery."
Oberyn waved it off. "Having a Lannister die in your castle does terrible things for your bowels, I have heard. Something about Lord Tywin coming to haunt you whenever you go for a shit."
"Oberyn," Elia admonished with a sigh.
He raised his arms in surrender. "A jape, sister. A jape. I mean to say that we have met him before. Gerion Lannister. Fine fellow, and the Tyorshi bite is not a clean way to die."
Elia nodded. "At Casterly Rock. Mother had wished to marry me to Jaime Lannister, or Oberyn to Cersei Lannister. Lord Tywin was not polite in his rebuffing."
"Heard he had a taste of it himself, recently," Oberyn said, smirking.
"So he has," the princess said, and unlike her brother, she did not let any satisfaction show in her expression. "Gerion Lannister was the only bright memory I have of that visit. He was chivalrous and roguish and made me laugh. I was ten-and-seven, then. Had he asked and my mother agreed, I would have married him right then."
I felt my eyebrows climb up my brow. Their visit to Casterly Rock was something I remembered but never even bothered putting any thought to it. Unbidden, I wondered what would have happened if Ser Gerion had indeed popped the question, and Elia Martell became Elia Lannsiter.
Strange world that would've been. Strange, but perhaps better.
"Truly?" Oberyn asked. "You did not speak to me about it then."
"Nor to me later," Ashara said with a huff, crossing her arms.
Elia smiled serenely. "Is not a woman allowed her secrets?"
"Well, he is here now," Oberyn said, "and he is not likely to run away from you. You have him right where you want him. Might I suggest a night time visit?" He winked at his sister.
The princess rolled her eyes. "That was then and this is now. Even if mother were in any condition to accept, Doran would not agree to such a match."
Oberyn snorted. "And since when do we follow along with whatever Doran says?"
She took a moment to answer. "You have been away for long, Oberyn," she said lowly. Unlike the tone of our conversation, there was no levity in Elia Martell's words.
Suddenly, the bells began to ring. I startled as the sound rolled through Sunspear, slow and heavy, and every man in the yard froze. Oberyn's spear slipped through his fingers to fall to the ground. Elia covered her mouth with two hands before her brother took her by the shoulder and left toward the castle.
I found out what happened not half an hour later. The Princess of Dorne was dead, succumbing to Ormond Yronwood's poison despite the maesters and her son's best attempts.
Two days later, under a gray sky above Sunspear, I set sail on the Fair Winds due north. Alongside my men and its diminished crew, the Stormlander families crowded the small cog, but we made do.
One thing kept us sane. We were finally going home.
xxx
POWER STONES!!!!
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