#old king doran

[eghostsofdeadchildren]

King Doran Mausoleum.

[fellomenking]

A Tale in Two Screenshots

... Welp.

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

god tywin lannister deserved worse

just remembering elias death and i wanna puke and the way tywin talks about elia and what happened is so damn gross

but rip tommen and myrcella we all know what’s about to happen in the next book :/

the cycle of violence just keeps spinning and damn you tywin for beginning it

(i got a bit crazy in the tags 💀)

[visenyaism]

Sorry if you’ve been asked this but what do you think of all the rot in asoiaf? Obv some of it is related to the problems with monarchy but I feel like a lot of it isn’t and it just leaves me curious. Like cold hands or people killed by the others idk what that symbolizes there. Jon is in a land in which rot is in stasis from the cold and it’s creepy as shit. And then there’s stuff that could have multiple interpretations like dany by proxy of selmy experiencing bio warfare with the corpses like I know some people see it as the fall of old ghis but I wondered if maybe it was a sign to dany about breaking the wheel and doing as her ancestors did. Idk I know it’s a nasty series and sometimes grrm is just doing stuff so that it’s gross but I feel like rot comes up SO much and I people are usually talking online about like Tywin when it comes to rot.

Oh one of my favorite things about the asoiaf series is how heavy-handed george rr martin is with the rot symbolism. and (at the risk of sounding like an mfa vomited on my keyboard) the way that the political, pestilential, societal, and climatological aspects of the rot symbolism all interconnect.

In a society founded on so many feudal evils that has perpetuated for centuries, something has to give. It is a recurring theme in these books that violations of human decency under feudalism cause cataclysmic societal collapse represented through literal and metaphorical pestilence.

There’s the sociopolitical collapse in the riverlands caused by war of human decency and norms like guest right and prohibitions on kinslaying or cannibalism just dedicating away as times get hard. broken men. bodies left to rot in the sun for the crows to feast on. There’s the fermenting wildfire under every major street in Kings Landing. There’s the familial/relational decay of incest especially the targaryens and the lannisters. The people who hold power and that society rot, despite everyone’s best efforts at keeping up appearances: Robert Baratheon the “war hero” dies of a very nasty festering stomach wound he got in a drunken hunting accident, Tywin gets shot on the privy and his corpse putefies in the sept.

The climate stuff is also very salient. The series starts during late summer and as things get worse and worse in the world declines into the autumn where the summer fruit and all of the abundance is literally rotting through the hands of the characters. (see: renly’s peach vs doran’s blood oranges!) The cold up at the wall keeps the rot at bay for a while, but it does not entirely stop it. Coldhands’ hands are still blackening. Things are still unraveling at the hinges of the world. that’s pretty representative of the way that the violence of the border wall and the penal colony stationed there to patrol it are not sustainable. The decline of the night’s watch from a once proud order to a penal colony full of cruel and often impoverished convicts dropped off there by circumstance is a symptom of the society that sends people up there. But something still has to give. The wall will fall down and the existential crisis will come, it’s just slowed.

Critically, there is also the forgotten parable of Old Valyria: a society founded on extreme cruelty and slavery which eventually experiences cataclysm coming up from the very tunnels they send the enslaved into to die for the empire. A lot of what Daenerys experiences in Essos is an extension of that commentary on slave societies to me. Like. as the slavers try and reconquer places dany has liberated, people fleeing the violence, bring disease like the bloody flux with them. The rot creeps back. (important: disease and rot in the series is not always something people get for being morally bad. it often happens to people who just have no choice but to live in these places.)

But that’s why I think the way Volantis is described really ties a lot of those elements of the rot symbolism together. This is a society that has founded itself up from out of the corpse of old valyria. The city maintains some veneer of old glory, but the fountains are dry and the paint is chipping. The people there eat food that is so sweet it literally causes your teeth to rot out if you were to consume it every day. In terms of climate, I think it’s relevant that it is described as extremely, almost disgustingly, humid, and everything is excessively perfumed to cover up a tangible smell of decay.The air is quite literally cloying and difficult to breathe. You feel dirty after walking through it. The evil of slavery is rotting the city to its core in the same way that the evil of feudalism and the wars for the iron throne is affecting the city of king’s landing.

To wrap allllll this up. Rot is a signal that obviously societal collapse is coming, but it’s also transitional: the empire of old ghis brought about its downfall, and then valyria found itself on the same principles which brought about its own downfall, and then the Targaryen went to westeros and engineered their collapse in Kings Landing while the freehold did the same essos. I think the climatological and disease aspects of it are really heavy-handed symbolism that something has to give in the societies and we’re at the point in the series where that’s about to happen.

I think the ultimate arc of the series ends in some form of significant societal collapse, but instead of building upon a rotten foundation again people are going to have try and hope for something new and gather the courage to build that.,quite literally dreaming of the spring.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Prince Rhaegar as a character often gets some deserved criticism - and a lot of underserved hate. And one of the things that I think he unfairly gets blamed for is Elia Martell's tragedy. Elia's death is one of the primary objections people have towards Rhaegar and Lyanna being depicted as a romance, with readers believing that if they were just tragic lovers, then that diminishes Elia's own tragedy.

I...disagree. It is understandable (and honestly right) that readers would rally behind Elia. Not only was she horribly brutalized and murdered, but her children suffered absolutely terrible fates as well.

However, in trying to center Rhaegar and Lyanna's doomed dalliance in this, a lot of readers are missing the answer that has been already provided to us within the narrative. Not only that, but this line of thinking also ignores the key context in which Elia's senseless murder is portrayed.

As far as the text goes, Elia’s death is laid squarely at the feet of Tywin Lannister and his men, Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch. It's House Lannister's burden to bear.

Doran for one, Elia's brother, directly blames Tywin Lannister:

“You mistake patience for forbearance. I have worked at the downfall of Tywin Lannister since the day they told me of Elia and her children.”

The Princess in the Tower, AFFC

Even Oberyn agrees:

“Dwarf,” said the Red Viper, in a tone grown markedly less cordial, “spare me your Lannister lies. Is it sheep you take us for, or fools? My brother is not a bloodthirsty man, but neither has he been asleep for sixteen years. Jon Arryn came to Sunspear the year after Robert took the throne, and you can be sure that he was questioned closely. Him, and a hundred more. I did not come for some mummer’s show of an inquiry. I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it. Starting with this lummox Gregor Clegane … but not, I think, ending there. Before he dies, the Enormity That Rides will tell me whence came his orders, please assure your lord father of that.” He smiled. “An old septon once claimed I was living proof of the goodness of the gods. Do you know why that is, Imp?”

Tyrion IV, ASOS

“Is that the game we are playing?” Tyrion rubbed at his scarred nose. He had nothing to lose by telling Oberyn the truth. “There was a bear at Harrenhal, and it did kill Ser Amory Lorch.” “How sad for him,” said the Red Viper. “And for you. Do all noseless men lie so badly, I wonder?” “I am not lying. Ser Amory dragged Princess Rhaenys out from under her father’s bed and stabbed her to death. He had some men-at-arms with him, but I do not know their names.” He leaned forward. “It was Ser Gregor Clegane who smashed Prince Aegon’s head against a wall and raped your sister Elia with his blood and brains still on his hands.” “What is this, now? Truth, from a Lannister?” Oberyn smiled coldly. “Your father gave the commands, yes?” “No.” He spoke the lie without hesitation, and never stopped to ask himself why he should. The Dornishman raised one thin black eyebrow. “Such a dutiful son. And such a very feeble lie. It was Lord Tywin who presented my sister’s children to King Robert all wrapped up in crimson Lannister cloaks.”

Tyrion IX, ASOS

“Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne,” the Red Viper hissed. “You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children…“I came to hear you confess.”

Tyrion X, ASOS

Varys and Tyrion both understand that House Martell (but more specifically Doran) hates the Lannisters.

“The Dornishmen thus far have held aloof from these wars. Doran Martell has called his banners, but no more. His hatred for House Lannister is well known, and it is commonly thought he will join Lord Renly. You wish to dissuade him.” “All this is obvious,” said Tyrion. “The only puzzle is what you might have offered for his allegiance. The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe.” “My father once told me that a lord never lets sentiment get in the way of ambition … and it happens we have an empty seat on the small council, now that Lord Janos has taken the black.” “A council seat is not to be despised,” Varys admitted, “yet will it be enough to make a proud man forget his sister’s murder?” “Why forget?” Tyrion smiled. “I’ve promised to deliver his sister’s killers, alive or dead, as he prefers. After the war is done, to be sure.” Varys gave him a shrewd look. “My little birds tell me that Princess Elia cried a … certain name … when they came for her.” “Is a secret still a secret if everyone knows it?” In Casterly Rock, it was common knowledge that Gregor Clegane had killed Elia and her babe. They said he had raped the princess with her son’s blood and brains still on his hands. “This secret is your lord father’s sworn man.” “My father would be the first to tell you that fifty thousand Dornishmen are worth one rabid dog.” Varys stroked a powdered cheek. “And if Prince Doran demands the blood of the lord who gave the command as well as the knight who did the deed …” “Robert Baratheon led the rebellion. All commands came from him, in the end.” “Robert was not at King’s Landing.” “Neither was Doran Martell.”

Tyrion IV, ACOK

Really, all the nobles know where to look at when assigning blame for Elia's murder. Tywin.

“Prince Doran comes at my son’s invitation,” Lord Tywin said calmly, “not only to join in our celebration, but to claim his seat on this council, and the justice Robert denied him for the murder of his sister Elia and her children.” Tyrion watched the faces of the Lords Tyrell, Redwyne, and Rowan, wondering if any of the three would be bold enough to say, “But Lord Tywin, wasn’t it you who presented the bodies to Robert, all wrapped up in Lannister cloaks?” None of them did, but it was there on their faces all the same. Redwyne does not give a fig, he thought, but Rowan looks fit to gag.

Tywin, for the most part, quite shamelessly tries to disassociate himself from his own moral failings; this is nothing new, because he follows this same MO with squarely blaming the Freys for the Red Wedding even though he played an integral part in planning for it.

“Then why did the Mountain kill her?” “Because I did not tell him to spare her. I doubt I mentioned her at all. I had more pressing concerns. Ned Stark’s van was rushing south from the Trident, and I feared it might come to swords between us. And it was in Aerys to murder Jaime, with no more cause than spite. That was the thing I feared most. That, and what Jaime himself might do.” He closed a fist. “Nor did I yet grasp what I had in Gregor Clegane, only that he was huge and terrible in battle. The rape … even you will not accuse me of giving that command, I would hope. Ser Amory was almost as bestial with Rhaenys. I asked him afterward why it had required half a hundred thrusts to kill a girl of … two? Three? He said she’d kicked him and would not stop screaming. If Lorch had half the wits the gods gave a turnip, he would have calmed her with a few sweet words and used a soft silk pillow.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “The blood was in him.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

“And when Oberyn demands the justice he’s come for?” “I will tell him that Ser Amory Lorch killed Elia and her children,” Lord Tywin said calmly. “So will you, if he asks.” “Ser Amory Lorch is dead,” Tyrion said flatly. “Precisely. Vargo Hoat had Ser Amory torn apart by a bear after the fall of Harrenhal. That ought to be sufficiently grisly to appease even Oberyn Martell.” “You may call that justice …” “It is justice. It was Ser Amory who brought me the girl’s body, if you must know. He found her hiding under her father’s bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her. Princess Elia and the babe were in the nursery a floor below.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

Tywin tries to alleviate himself of any responsibility by blaming his men, but the narrative actively calls bullshit on this (through Tywin's own son no less).

So the narrative shows through multiple POVs that Elia's murder is contextualized exclusively as a failing on Tywin Lannister and his men; not only was it a moral failing, but Tyrion also questions if it was politically necessary in the first place. It's also important to note that ASOS is when we really dive into the matter of Elia and her children (mostly through Oberyn), but we also have to remember that this is the same book as the Red Wedding. The Red Wedding, another one of Tywin's senseless massacres that he tries to postulate as politically necessary.

So, we have agreed that the blame and context for Elia's (and her children's) murder is presented through the lens of Tywin as an immoral politician who often makes politically unnecessary moves. But then we ask ourselves, can the responsibility of this tragedy be extended? Well, yes it can. And it has been in the text.

Ser Barristan extends this tragedy beyond Tywin and his men

...to King Robert.

“Prince Rhaegar had two children,” Ser Barristan told him. “Rhaenys was a little girl, Aegon a babe in arms. When Tywin Lannister took King’s Landing, his men killed both of them. He served the bloody bodies up in crimson cloaks, a gift for the new king.” And what did Robert say when he saw them? Did he smile? Barristan Selmy had been badly wounded on the Trident, so he had been spared the sight of Lord Tywin’s gift, but oft he wondered. If I had seen him smile over the red ruins of Rhaegar’s children, no army on this earth could have stopped me from killing him. “I will not suffer the murder of children. Accept that, or I’ll have no part of this.”

The Kingbreaker, ADWD

Ned Stark does as well.

Ned did not feign surprise; Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.” Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna’s death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.

Eddard II, AGOT

And so does Tywin, who uses Robert's tacit approval as justification for this senseless act.

Lord Tywin stared at him as if he had lost his wits. “You deserve that motley, then. We had come late to Robert’s cause. It was necessary to demonstrate our loyalty. When I laid those bodies before the throne, no man could doubt that we had forsaken House Targaryen forever. And Robert’s relief was palpable. As stupid as he was, even he knew that Rhaegar’s children had to die if his throne was ever to be secure. Yet he saw himself as a hero, and heroes do not kill children.” His father shrugged. “I grant you, it was done too brutally. Elia need not have been harmed at all, that was sheer folly. By herself she was nothing.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

So if we can't extend the blame to Rhaegar, because the narrative doesn't do so either, what can we hold him responsible for? Let's take a step back and look at Rhaegar's culpability in this whole thing.

Was Rhaegar (and Lyanna) responsible for starting the war that would eventually lead to Elia's murder?

No. GRRM doesn't think so. The war actually started when King Aerys murdered the Lord of Winterfell and his heir, a bunch of other northern nobles, and then called for the heads of Robert Baratheon (Lord of Storm's End) and Ned Stark (the new Lord of Winterfell). Aerys broke the feudal contract, and so Jon Arryn declared war.

I don't think I would have stayed loyal to the Mad King. Do I think they were justified? Yes, and no. [...] There was no doubt that the Mad King was mad. He was paranoid and he was abusing his power. And Westeros has no Magna Carta or anything like that. There was no way to handle this within the rule of law. But was what they do justified? Especially when you consider that it was triggered by a personal grievance. The execution of Ned's father and brother was really a thing that radicalized Ned and put him in opposition to it. Robert was just rolling for a fight and didn't like the fact that he'd lost his girlfriend. So you know, the personal informs the political.

source

Rhaegar and Lyanna's disappearance was merely the spark - it led to a misunderstanding that caused Brandon Stark to ride to Kingslanding. What really caused the war was Aerys' Targaryens subsequent actions as the king. So if we want to blame someone for causing the chain of events that led to Elia's death as well as her children's, the author himself says to blame Aerys; even though I don't think this is right either because we once again stray from the necessary (and sole) context of Elia's murder - Tywin's bloody hands.

Fine. Rhaegar was not responsible for the war. But surely he is responsible for leaving Elia in King's Landing, right in the clutches of Mad King Aerys. Well, this again, is not true. As far as Rhaegar knew, Elia was in Dragonstone with Aegon and Rhaenys where he left them.

As cold winds hammered the city, King Aerys II turned to his pyromancers, charging them to drive the winter off with their magics. Huge green fires burned along the walls of the Red Keep for a moon’s turn. Prince Rhaegar was not in the city to observe them, however. Nor could he be found in Dragonstone with Princess Elia and their young son, Aegon.

“The Year of the False Spring”, The World of Ice and Fire

At some point, Elia was called to King's Landing. And it was Aerys who kept her hostage there as insurance against possible Dornish betrayal (remember, he was paranoid).

Side Note: Aerys kept another important political hostage in King's Landing along with Elia - Jaime Lannister; this is to deter anyone from trying to blame Jaime for doing nothing. He was a teenager and a hostage himself!

“My Sworn Brothers were all away, you see, but Aerys liked to keep me close. I was my father’s son, so he did not trust me. He wanted me where Varys could watch me, day and night. So I heard it all.” He remembered how Rossart’s eyes would shine when he unrolled his maps to show where the substance must be placed. Garigus and Belis were the same. “Rhaegar met Robert on the Trident, and you know what happened there. When the word reached court, Aerys packed the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. Princess Elia would have gone as well, but he forbade it. Somehow he had gotten it in his head that Prince Lewyn must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident, but he thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Elia and Aegon by his side. The traitors want my city, I heard him tell Rossart, but I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat. The Targaryens never bury their dead, they burn them. Aerys meant to have the greatest funeral pyre of them all. Though if truth be told, I do not believe he truly expected to die. Like Aerion Brightfire before him, Aerys thought the fire would transform him … that he would rise again, reborn as a dragon, and turn all his enemies to ash.

Jaime V, ASOS

Ok, fine. So Rhaegar did not abandon her with Aerys then run off to Lyanna. But he should have done something when he came back, right? Why didn't he leave more Kings Guard with Elia and the children?

Well....this is a war. The knights of the KG are important assets on the battle field. Kings Landing, at the time, was not the most dangerous location. The KG were better off at the Trident, as a victory there would protect those who were left behind in KL.

And it's not that Rhaegar didn't do anything. Beyond going off to lead the battle himself, he tried to make moves that would help those who were back in KL (Elia and the children included).

He floated in heat, in memory. “After dancing griffins lost the Battle of the Bells, Aerys exiled him.” Why am I telling this absurd ugly child? “He had finally realized that Robert was no mere outlaw lord to be crushed at whim, but the greatest threat House Targaryen had faced since Daemon Blackfyre. The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad. Jon Darry and Barristan Selmy rode to Stoney Sept to rally what they could of griffins’ men, and Prince Rhaegar returned from the south and persuaded his father to swallow his pride and summon my father. But no raven returned from Casterly Rock, and that made the king even more afraid. He saw traitors everywhere, and Varys was always there to point out any he might have missed. So His Grace commanded his alchemists to place caches of wildfire all over King’s Landing. Beneath Baelor’s Sept and the hovels of Flea Bottom, under stables and storehouses, at all seven gates, even in the cellars of the Red Keep itself.

Jaime V ASOS

And Jaime's POV once again shows us that Rhaegar banked on victory at the Trident, and was fully expecting to come back to KL and amend the fraught political situation.

The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. “Your Grace,” Jaime had pleaded, “let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine.” Prince Rhaegar shook his head. “My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour.” Jaime’s anger had risen up in his throat. “I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard.” “Then guard the king,” Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. “When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey.” Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “When this battle’s done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but … well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return.”

Jaime I, AFFC

So Rhaegar wasn't leaving with no care about what happened back in King's Landing. We don't know what he wanted to do with Aerys, Elia, Lyanna, and the aftermath of the war because he died at the Trident. But we do know that he, at the very least, was planning to do something.

So we can't blame Rhaegar (and Lyanna) for starting the war and we can't blame him either for abandoning Elia in King's Landing with no care about what happens next. So, again, what can we blame him for?

“It's not entirely correct that the Martells stayed out of the war. Rhaegar had Dornish troops with him on the Trident, under the command of Prince Lewyn of the Kingsguard. However, the Dornishmen did not support him as strongly as they might have, in part because of anger at his treatment of Elia, in part because of Prince Doran's innate caution.”

SSM, 09/11/1999

GRRM states that Dorne was angry about Rhaegar's treatment of Elia. What is this treatment, though?

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap.

Eddard XV, AGOT

Specifically, Rhaegar riding past Elia to crown Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty. Yes, that is a humiliation. And it's undeniable that no one was happy.

The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia’s delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar’s cause…Yet if this were true, why did Lady Lyanna’s brothers seem so distraught at the honor the prince had bestowed upon her? Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell, had to be restrained from confronting Rhaegar at what he took as a slight upon his sister’s honor…Eddard Stark, Brandon’s younger brother and a close friend to Lord Robert, was calmer but no more pleased.

“The Year of the False Spring”, The World of Ice and Fire

But, humiliating Elia is not the same thing as being responsible for her death. The narrative never equates these two things in any way. Elia's death is about Tywin's immoral and blood thirsty political actions. It's about Dorne's desire for justice (or is it vengeance?) which they know they will not get from the Lannister regime. House Lannister's downfall in King's Landing will be brought about by Prince Aegon's rise - Aegon who is proclaiming to be the long lost son of Prince Rhaegar, and who is being supported by House Martell as of now.

We can criticize Rhaegar for some things, but Elia's death is surely not one of them.

[n14-4cko]

The squad rolls up and is better than you at everything magic related (they are winging it and will probably make a house blow up)

Kitana Killherway (Kitana Kellaway)

Doran Kickass (Doran Purcell)

Sean The King (Sean Mackin)

Elsie O’Brien (my beloved cariad)

This is how I’ve pictured the 4 17 yr olds, who argeddion gives power to, in kingdom of the wicked. Kitana is that popular girl that is unfairly pretty. Doran’s a thug and a bit of a prick. Sean’s there. And Elsie is that one girl at the back of class listening to ‘My Chemical Romance’, and not only will she lend you anything, she will listen to you info dump. I love her sm she’s so kind to everyone no matter what a true champ.

I love to hate kitana. The boys are good too, LOVE the part where ghastly rips Sean a new one for being a dick to Elsie. And Elsie! What a sweet pea, her kindness towards Sean because she believes in him so much (and a mini crush) is so good in the book. Good on her for not being corrupt and literally not using her powers at all 👍 also early 2000’s casual goth/emo Elsie my beloved.

[jackoshadows]

Sansa not even knowing of Arya's or Jeyne's marriage to Ramsay is an indication of how little Petyr Baelish has told her and the readers of his grand schemes, plans and secret BTS plotting.

Which is one reason why we cannot take any of what Baelish tells Sansa at face value, considering everything he is not telling her.

We can pick up some clues here and there. The food that he is hoarding for his price gouging scheme informs me that he is aware that the food situation has become dire.

At the same time, while Littlefinger appears omnipotent in how much he controls and manipulates situations, we can also see there are other events that are beyond his control and will end up putting a spanner in the works.

For one, Baelish is only able to keep ahead of situations with a lot of luck (Tyrion not exposing him) and with the help of information available to him from an extensive spy network that lets him know of what is happening where and who is doing what. Ex. Dontos telling him of the Tyrell plot to marry Sansa to Willas.

It's easy to have spies in King's Landing (We get a little tidbit of LF asking for some tapestries...). Same with the Riverlands given that Littlefinger has reason to be interested in what's happening there as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.

The rest of the realm and Essos is harder but doable with respect to public events and information that is trickling in everywhere. Like the current chaos in Meereen or the attack on Old Town or the Golden Company and Aegon Targaryen. Dorne (and the separate Quentyn/Arianne plots) would be near impossible considering how secretive Doran Martell has been.

Also trickier is the North considering how isolated it is, the weather and a lot of secretive plotting behind the scenes.

I doubt Littlefinger knows about Robb's will/decree considering it was witnessed and signed by select lords - most of whom are dead, imprisoned or on their way North secretly. I don't think there is a possibility of spies there or anyone blabbing to someone else.

There's no way Littlefinger knows about Rickon because, again, no possibility of spies in Manderly and Glover's secret plotting with Davos given how stealthy they are being on account of the Freys in their camp.

There was a lot of noise recently about an AFfC draft which mentions LF getting a message from White Harbor. But again, what message? If he has a spy there then the information he is getting will about the Manderlys being forced into marriage and alliance with the Freys and the crown in KL.

If he plans to sail to White Harbor to unveil Sansa as the heir in Winterfell based on information he gets from WH, he's going to be in for a big surprise. I do think he will have to course correct because by the time the intrigue in the Vale is all settled, he will get news that the Boltons are defeated and that Rickon/Jon have taken Winterfell and the North. What will he do then? I think he will pivot towards the Riverlands. Or, he may focus on the Riverlands first before he gets the news of Rickon/Jon back in Winterfell .

Apart from Sam Tarly, the only other group who knows that Bran is still alive are select folks of the Mountain clans and again, I can't imagine a Littlefinger plant secretly sending him messages amongst these clans.

Same with Arya Stark. Littlefinger - along with the Lannisters and the Boltons - thinks that Arya is dead and knows an imposter is playing her in the marriage to Ramsay Bolton.

This is most likely a vital part of his plot to get rid of the Boltons by exposing fake Arya as Jeyne, revealing Alayne as Sansa Stark and lay claim to Winterfell through Sansa as the rightful heir just like Tywin intended to eventually do with Tyrion/Sansa. However, Arya Stark is alive and well and unencumbered by marriage and there are no spies or informants who know this.

Littlefinger most likely knows about what's happening at the Wall considering how much information is leaking out of there like a sieve. If Cersei is able to get information, then so can Baelish. He surely knows about Stannis at the Wall, Tycho passing through and will know about Jon's assassination and mutiny. What he does with that information will be interesting to read - how much he will reveal to Sansa, and in what form he will tell her the truth.

And that's what most exciting about all this. The lack of information on what's actually happening in the North that's going to thwart and throw a spanner in Littlefinger's grand plans while Daenerys does the same to Varys' grand schemes. I think it will be fun if events end up surprising these master players of the games.

Arya, Bran and Rickon to Littlefinger...

[atopvisenyashill]

A timeline of the ruling princes and princesses of Dorne from Meria Martell’s death to the formal union of Dorne and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms in 187 AC.

Anything marked with a * means it’s a canon date. The rest are speculation and a lot of math on my part. I also made up the names for a few characters as well! Also rip the quality on this but when you click it, it looks better.

More explanation under the cut.

Where I ran into most trouble in trying to figure out this timeline when we have not nearly as much information as we do about literally every other major Great House of Westeros, is the line from Morion the Mad to Qoren Martell. There’s several quick changes in princes during that time and we don’t even know what their relation is to one another in several instances. So I tried working out the timeline in a few different ways - I tried it with Mara Martell, Morion’s heir, as his very young daughter, as a twin sister, as a younger sister, and I finally settled on her being his much older aunt as making the most sense.

I think it makes the most sense because Morion is considered young and yet his father was Prince for a very long time; it doesn’t make sense that a ruling prince would wait so long to have an heir unless in a parallel to Jaehaerys’ later issue, several of his heirs die and leave the line of succession a bit uncertain. So I concluded that Morion’s father, who I named Voren, had several older children that died, likely during the Vulture King’s first war (we know it’s suspected Deria was funding him) so when Voren died, the throne went to his reckless, dumb ass youngest son, Morion. With Morion dying without any children, the throne passes next to Deria’s second child, Mara, and the Nymeros Martell line descends from them. This also makes sense because in canon, Morion was angry that his father didn’t send soldiers to kick the Iron Throne out of the Dornish Marches during Lord Rogar’s War; if Voren had children that had died in a previous conflict, it would make sense that he’d hesitate to get involved again.

Qoren was also a bit tricky. He had to be old enough to fight in the Stepstones War against Daemon, but young enough to not be married yet and be considered a potential match for Rhaenyra two years later. After a lot of wondering how in the hell I make that work, I finally figured - again, similar to Cregan Stark and Jaeherys, that there was a surplus of heirs at this time. Mara would have come into her throne already old with children and grandchildren, and her heir would come into the throne also already old, same as Meria/Nymor/Deria. Makes sense that the prince before Qoren was therefore a grandfather or great-grandfather, and that Qoren’s father never took the Sunspear Throne.

I stopped at the unification of the Seven Kingdoms simply because we get absolutely no information on what was going on in Dorne until Doran’s mother. Apparently, Dorne was real quiet during the Blackfyre Rebellions, hah.

And as for names...

Voren - we have several instances of Dornishmen with names that end in the -en sound. Doran, Oberyn, Llewyn, Yoren, etc. It seems like a common naming quirk, similar to the Northerners being really fond of -on and -ard endings. I thought Voren sounded the most like a real name.

Ellario - We have Elia and Ellaria so I figured there should be a male version of the name. I didn’t want to use Elio, so Ellario was born.

[rainhadaenerys]

One thing that I always saw from Dany antis, but never really wrote a proper post to refute, is the claim that Quentyn is not the Sun's son, it's Young Griff, and that Young Griff is not the mummer's dragon, it's Jon. So I want to make a post about this.

The argument usually goes: "Quentyn can't be the Sun's son because he is the Sun, not the Sun's son. The Sun's son must be Young Griff". But by this logic, Dany can't be called "the dragon's daughter" because she's the dragon, not the dragon's daughter. And yet, she is called the dragon's daughter and daughter of dragons. At some point people have to recognize that GRRM was just trying to be poetic. Quentyn is pretty much confirmed to be the Sun's son: he tried to steal Dany's dragon, and if that wasn't enough, his death creates a political problem for Dany in her negotiations with Dorne. So he was one of the people that Quaithe warned her she shouldn't trust.

Another argument is that "Aegon is not the mummer's dragon, he really is Elia's son, so Jon is the mummer's dragon, because Jon was hidden and playing a false role just like a mummer". And like… no. First of all, because there's a lot of evidence that Aegon is not the real Aegon, and that he could actually be Illyrio's son:

First, why wouldn’t Illyrio tell Dany and Viserys about him, or at least tell Doran and his family?

If Elia made a deal to save Aegon, why didn’t she try to save Rhaenys as well?

Why didn’t Elia tell anyone about this supposed plan? She could have written a letter to her family and Varys could have delivered it to them so that they would know Aegon survived.

Why would the Golden Company (that was always loyal to the Blackfyres) help a Targaryen prince? Especially when we consider that Viserys asked for the Golden Company’s help and was rejected, so it makes no sense for them to suddenly want to help some other Targaryen;

Illyrio even says something that hints very heavily at Aegon being a Blackfyre, when Tyrion asks him why would the Golden Company help a Targaryen: "Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon."

Illyrio’s wife had golden and silver hair;

Illyrio’s house has children’s clothes but there seems to be no sign of children in his house;

Young Griff is traveling with a septa that has stretch marks from a pregnancy;

Illyrio even says: “I told you, my little friend, not all that a man does is done for gain. Believe as you wish, but even fat old fools like me have friends, and debts of affection to repay.”

Illyrio also sends Young Griff gifts and sounds "oddly sad" when talking about him.

Of course, nothing is set in stone until GRRM writes the next books and reveals the truth, but people have to stop acting like there's no basis for the Aegon Blackfyre theory, because there is basis.

And Jon as the mummer's dragon makes no sense. If Jon was going to be referred to as playing a false role (and therefore being a "mummer's something"), he would be a mummer's wolf, not a mummer's dragon, because no one knows Jon is a "dragon", everybody thinks he is a wolf. He is posing as a wolf, as a Stark bastard. Quaithe and the Undying didn't warn Dany against a mummer's wolf, but against a mummer's dragon. They didn't warn her against someone being paraded as a wolf but who is not a real wolf, they warned her against someone being paraded as a dragon but who is not a real dragon (which can only be Young Griff, because there's no other character being paraded as a dragon in the story).

Finally, all of Dany's other prophecies seem to refer to different people. Daughter of Death refers to Viserys, Rhaego (the tall lord with copper skin and silver hair) and Rhaegar (the dying prince with rubies flowing from his chest); Bride of Fire refers to Drogo, probably Hizdahr (the corpse on the ship), and Jon (blue flower in a wall of ice); Slayer of lies seem to refer to Stannis (blue-eyed king with no shadow), Aegon (mummer's dragon) and probably Euron (stone beast breathing shadow fire from a smoking tower). Jon is already in another prophecy, the bride of fire prophecy. It would break the pattern GRRM wrote if he also was the cloth dragon (I'm not saying that it's impossible for GRRM to decide to break the pattern in these prophecies, just that this pattern is another clue that Jon likely won't appear twice and Aegon is the mummer's dragon).

[stephensmithuk]

The Valley of Fear: The Warning

Originally serialised in The Strand from September 1914 to May 1915 and in US from September to November 1914 in supplements for various Sunday newspapers, the fourth Sherlock Holmes novel was first published in book form by the George H. Doran Company (now part of the Doubleday subsidiary of Penguin Random House) in February 1915 in the United States when that serialisation was done. The UK edition by Smith, Elder & Co. came out in June 1915.

The US version is the one on Wikimedia Commons.

The Greek version of E or "Epsilon" looks like this:

British libel law requires the defendant to prove the contested statement is true on the balance of probabilities, the reverse of the American requirement where the plaintiff must prove the statement is false and the defendant knew that.

The first asteroid had only been identified in 1801; that being Ceres, now officially a dwarf planet in the same category as Pluto, Eris, Sedna and some others. Most asteroids cannot be seen with the naked eye.

The problems of informing someone of the cipher being used and the message being sent without risking compromise has long been a challenge for cryptography.

More on book ciphers here, with spoilers for various other works including BBC's Sherlock:

The Bible not only has a vast range of editions, but it also a vast range of translations available. The standard version used in Church of England churches would be the King James Version and even that has different editions.

Bradshaw's would have a wider range of vocabulary in the city/town guides, but probably not enough for most messages.

Whitaker’s Almanac was an annual reference book published by various publishers, most recently Rebellion Publishing, between 1867 and 2021, it has been on indefinite hiatus since then.

It contained a lot of esoteric material. The 1887 guide includes things like:

The rising and setting times of the five planets visible with the naked eye every seven days.

A calendar of appointed Bible readings in churches for every Sunday.

The date of Easter for every year from 1500 to 2000.

The monthly wages of seamen out of the port of London from 1848 to 1885

A guide to the War Fleets of the World.

Income tax from 1842 to 1887 - it was 8d per £ over £100 in 1887, but nothing under that amount.

Railway stock prices.

The fastest and longest non-stop trains; the 4.17 (I assume pm) from Grantham to King's Cross took 1 hour and 58 minutes to cover 105 1/4 miles, at an average speed of 53 1/2 mph. Today, Hull Trains will get you there in 1 hour and 3 minutes, an average speed of 100mph!

Good and bad harvests... with the marriage rate in the same table.

Mahratta is an old spelling of Maharashtra, the Indian state that is home to Mumbai.

Scotchman was a contemporary term for Scotsman; today using "Scotch" to describe people is considered offensive by many Scottish people. It's fine for certain objects, like the drink.

[asherbakugou]

Valyrian Demigods of Westeros - Daughter of Vermax

Lady Laena Velaryon held Princess Rhaenyra's hand as she screamed, stuck in the birthing bed for the 5th time. Her brother, Ser Laenor, stood on the other side of his wife, wincing at the hold she had upon his arm but supportive and encouraging. Very few men chose to join their wives in the birthing rooms, declaring it against propriety but Laenor cared deeply for Rhaenyra and would not see her endure this pain alone.

With a final scream, the midwife was able to remove the babe, using a knife to cut the life chord from her body. Wailing, the woman happily announced, "A girl, your highness. Healthy and joyous to be here."

Rhaenyra laughed, as the babe's wails softened. "Clean my daughter first, then I shall hold her."

"Right away, your highness."

The midwife rushed towards the small bath that had already been prepared and began cleaning the babe of fluid and blood, gently cooing to soothe her.

"Do you have a name for her, dear sister?" Laena asked, taking a rag to gently wipe away the sweat upon her brow.

"We do. She shall be Princess Visenya, Second of Her Name." Laenor could not help the cheeky grin that appeared, quickly catching his twins attention.

"What did you do this time?"

Switching to High Valyrian, Laenor explained, "We contacted Doran Martell to talk of uniting Dorne and Westeros. We spent moons conversing through letters and creating a contract for Dorne that would allow them to keep the independence they so desire without being allowed to rise against us. Their are conditions, for both of us, and ours happens to be that our next daughter shall marry their 3 year old son, Prince Trystan Martell, when she comes of age."

"If she wishes to. I will not allow my daughter to be forced into a marriage she despises," Rhaenyra added, wincing and gasping as the afterbirth began.

Luckily, the afterbirth was quickly epxpelled and the healers were able to tend to her. Laenor was forced into the sitting room so they could see if Rhaenyra needed stitches or just the ointment. Visenya was quite small and had slipped out in the height of day after barely a few hours of pushing.

The ointment the used would help her heal and prevent infection, a common disease women caught after giving birth. A cold wetcloth was brought to Rhaenyra to help with the pain from her womb, much to her relief.

"I wish to see my Visenya. And my husband," She added as an afterthought, making Laena snort.

"So dear sister, tell me, did you invite Dorne here for your birth? I heard rumors that a delegation arrived late last night but I was far more worried about you to question it."

"They did come. We plan to announce the contract as well as the betrothal in a few days time. I offered to allow them the chance to meet Visenya first in a more familiar setting, so that Prince Trystan may meet his future wife."

Visenya was gently placed into Princess Rhaenyra's arms as Laenor was let back inside. He smiled down at the adorable babe in her arms, reaching out to run a finger over her little chubby cheek.

She had thick curly silver-white hair, inherited from her father with the same dark skin. Her eyes though were the most beautiful shades of green either of them had seen, stunning all three of them.

"Didn't your grandmother, Princess Alyssa have a green eye?" Laena asked, leaning closer to the babe who cooed.

"She did," Rhaenyra agreed, smiling down at Visenya who reached up to smack at Laenors hand. "Did you pick out an egg for her? Or are we allowing her to claim one as her siblings did?"

"I thought it would be best to give her an egg due to her betrothal to Prince Trystan Martell," Laenor admitted. "I picked one from Dreamfyre's latest clutch."

"Good."

The door opened and a maid stepped inside dipping into a shallow bow. Laena scowled at the disrespect.

"You are in the presence of the future Queen, the Crown Princess, the future King, the Prince, and a Lady of a Royal House, wife of a Prince. You will show us the respect we command," Laena snapped, blue-purple eyes sharp as seaglass. The maid flinched back and dipped into a far deeper curtsy.

"I-I have a message. From the Queen," The maid stated, voice trembling, though none could tell if it was from fear or fury.

"Queen Consort," Rhaenyra corrected. "Queen Consort Alicent is not a Targaryen and as such is not gifted the title of Queen as my mother was."

"What is the message?" Laenor asked, frowning.

"She wishes for the babe to be brought to her before the ceremony so she may greet them. The Queen Consort was upset that she has not been granted the priveledge of meeting her grandchildren before they were introduced to the Realm."

Rhaenyra, Laena, and Laenor had all gone still before the Red Keep shook beneath the fury Vhagar voiced, making the maid flinch.

"Laena," Rhaenyra stated, staring down the maid. She switched to High Valyrian. "Find my uncle and the delegation from Sunspear, bring them to the Queens Apartments. Let them see how the Future Queen is treated."

"Your uncle is with the King, Rhaenyra. Hopefully he will see the kind of woman his chosen consort is. Green as her dresses," Laenor stated, grinning sharply at the woman. "Our mother and father would be most upset to hear what their gooddaughter is going through as well."

"Yes, they will." In a swirl of skirts, Laena dissappeared.

"Get out," Laenor ordered. "We shall bring our child to the Queen Consort ourselves."

"I could take the babe, ser."

"If you lay a hand on my child, I will order them to be removed," Rhaenyra snarled. "Tell your Queen Consort that I will come myself for what kind of mother would I be if I passed my child onto another."

The maid gaped at the blatant insult but scurried away as Ser Harwin, who had entered when Lady Laena had left, reached for his blade. He left behind her, closing the door as the servents, maids, midwives, and healers stared at the door in shock.

"Your highness," A midwife, Laya, began, "It is too soon after the birth. You could hurt yourself from walking."

"The Queen Consort has ordered my presence. Dress me. Please." Her maids immediatley rushed forward, pulling on one of her silk hose and pulled her hair into a simple, messy braid that fell down her back. A soft robe was then pulled over her shoulders and Visenya was cradled back in their arms.

The clothes she had chosen were done on purpose. Alicent would expect a show of power but this would show the Lords and Ladies of how cruel the Queen Consort was, and bring more to her side.

They were interrupted when the egg that had been placed in the fire, cracked and began hatching. A beautiful creamy white hatchling crawled forth, stubby horns of pale gold glinting and black frills swaying as it moved. Laughing to herself, Rhaenyra allowed the hatchling to clamber up her robe and perch on her shoulder, giving it free range to look down at Visenya.

Rhaenyra murmured a quiet thank you to the Gods who had so far shown to be protective of their children with her. Laenor appeared behind her, gently supporting her.

"Shall we, dear wife?"

"We shall, dear husband."

Together they made their way through the halls, Ser Harwin and two healers behind them. They earned odd looks as the Crown Princess was dressed in night clothes, holding a babe, with a hatchling perched on her shoulders. Immediatley whispers spread, so Rhaenyra played into it.

Her voice trembled, "Why would she do this, Laenor? Is she not a mother herself? To order me to have my babe taken to her when she is freshly born? What have I done to the Queen to deserve this?"

She made no attempt to keep her voice low as Laenor soothed her, shaking his head. Around them Lords, Ladies, and servents alike shook their heads in disgust.

Upon arriving at the Queens Apartments, they were met by the Dornish Delegation, the King, Prince Daemon, Princess Rhaenys, and Lord Corlys all of whom looked angry.

Princess Elia looked furious, arms crossed over her chest as her husband, Prince Dorian loomed at her side. Ser Cole looked shocked, furious, and afriad all at once as the King ordered him to open the door.

Queen Consort Alicent turned towards the door as it opened, a poorly concealed smirk on her lips. "Princess–"

She cut herself off, paling as the King stared back at her, flanked by his family and a group of Dornish strangers at his back.

"Husband, what–"

"Did you order my daughter . . . to bring her newly born child . . . to you?"

"My king, I would nev–"

"Ask her maid, Father. The one who came into my rooms, blatantly disrepsected me, and told me the Queen commanded my child be brought to her," Rhaenyra interrupted, looking at the maid who paled dramatically.

"Well," Viserys snarled, looking every bit the dragon he had once been. "Did you? As your King, if you do not tell me the truth, I will have you imprisoned!"

"It's the truth! Queen Alicent sent me to the Crown Princess' rooms to bring her the babe!" The maid nearly sobbed. Alicent looked horrified as the hatchling perched on Rhaenyra's shoulder shrieked in victory.

As Princess Rhaenys and Princess Elia tore into the Queen Consort, absolutely furious that she would abuse her power in such a way towards a member of the royal family.

Noting that it was taken care of, Princess Rhaenyra was taken back to her chambers to rest before the feast that night.

At the feast, Princess Rhaenyra and her husband stood before the masses with the Martells to the right and the King to their left, using a cane to keep his balance.

"Lords and Ladies of the Realm. You have been invited here today to be informed of not one but two miracles," Laenor announced.

"The first is our daughter. Introducing, Princess Visenya Velaryon, Second of Her Name," Rhaenyra called, lifting the babe higher as the crowd cheered. "Whose egg cracked and hatched barely two hours after her birth!"

The dragon on her shoulder shrieked, rearing up to flap its wings.

Lifting his hand, the King called for silence. "When my ancestors came to Westeros, they tried to force Dorne to bend the knee but they fought back. Each King after has tried to do the same, demanding Dorne bow to their true King. But none succeeded. No King was able to bring Dorne into the fold. But the future Queen did.

"A contract has been drawn up for Dorne to be formally added into the Seven Kingdoms as long as a Targaryen Queen or King sits the Iron Throne. As per the treaty, Princess Visenya Targaryen and Prince Trystan Martell shall be betrothed and married upon her six-and-tenth nameday!"

Cheers made the hall itself tremble as the true Heir's supporters made themselves known. Lady Jeyne could be seen holding Princess Alyssa with Prince Jacaerys at her side while Lord Corlys held his heir – as the titles had been relinquished from Ser Laenor. Prince Maegor was in Prince Daemons arms alongside his cousin, Princess Baela as her mother carried her twin sister, Princess Rhaena.

Prince Aegon's supporters, who had grown weaker over the years, gave false cheers, seeking out the Queen who wore black and red upon the order of her husband. Much to Crown Princess Rhaenyra's delight the woman looked pale and washed out in the regal colors of the Royal House. It was a stark reminder that Queen Consort Alicent Hightower was no true Queen for even Aemma Arryn, who was oft bedridden, had looked absolutely stunning in black and red, her maternal house colors.

The strength of the Blacks grew and grew, furthered by the birth of Crown Princess Rhaenyra's fifth child, and second daughter.

Princess Visenya Targaryen, Second of Her Name, Future Princess of Dorne, Future Princess of Sunspear, the Traveler, the Diplomat, the Intelligent, the Learned, had been born.

[nijigasakilove]

Shockingly scarce amount of Tama in this episode, but still a really good one. We’re gradually getting to see different parts of the world, this week we’re off to King Doran’s dwarf kingdom. It seems like the fallen angels are having trouble all over the place and encountering a lot more resistance than they anticipated in taking over the world.

It’s great seeing Ysha again, Wolff came off like an arrogant asshole at first but as the episode went on I came to like him a lot more. I’m sure the big reason he’s so hell bent on stopping the fallen angels on his own is because he feels a lot of responsibility for things, particularly his student Yuriko falling to the dark side.

Pretty dirty trick the Fallen Angels played sending Yuriko to fight Wolff. They know he’s one of if not the strongest wizards and could take them on easily, but if they can’t beat him in physical combat, they can in mental combat. Seeing someone who was so composed just a few minutes before reduced to tears and utter shock at seeing his former student was a total 180.

The whole subplot with Melos and Femmelos is also really cute. Sensei might be upset over losing his coffin, but when it comes to helping people get together with their loved ones there’s no better wingman. Hopefully Melos, the old lady and Wolf get their happy ending

I LOVE the gang’s new dwarf armour upgrades and seeing Toru again is great! Nice to know the orphanage is safe and sound and his bus service is gonna come in clutch.

[esther-dot]

Isn't it more Aery's fault than Rhaegar's that Elia and her kids were murdered? Because they were being kept in King's Landing instead of Dragonstone where they belonged? Not necessarily defending Rhaeger but we don't know the whole story yet.

You know, even with the contributing factors, the agency of other characters, Rhaegar is at the bottom of it:

They wouldn't have been slaughtered without the war

We wouldn’t have had the war of it weren’t for Aerys demanding Robert and Ned’s head after murdering his father and brother (+others!)

Aerys wouldn't have done that if Brandon didn't show up screaming for Rhaegar

Brandon wouldn’t have gone to KL if he didn’t believe he had to save his sister from Rhaegar.

Rhaegar's choice to crown and then kidnap/run away with Lyanna is what started the mess which eventually resulted in the death of his wife and children.

So, yes, I do blame Rhaegar.

Rhaegar’s calculation that everything depended on the prophecy baby, the disaster that befalls procuring it not withstanding, was wrong, and no matter how much anyone romanticizes the man, we all know, Martin is criticizing that kind of blind acceptance/obedience to prophecy which means, even in the most charitable of readings, it's ultimately a Rhaegar critical story.

I’ve mentioned before that you can have a sympathetic view of what prophecies do to a person (the girl in grey prophecy messing with Jon in TWOW seems pertinent), and Martin is likely going for a more nuanced take with Rhaegar than I care for considering his position of power and privilege, but all the same, Rhaegar's choices started the mess. And bear in mind, those choices came after he knew how fallible he was, switching from believing the prophecy was about himself to thinking it was his son ie he was willing to risk everything even knowing he'd already fucked up the interpretation of the prophecy .

Furthermore, we can't argue that he trusted his father and was shocked by the man's inability to handle the situation when we have quotes that tell us, their relationship had deteriorated which is prolly something we don't incorporate into readings of pre canon events enough:

Meanwhile, King Aerys was becoming ever more estranged from his own son and heir. Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell, the delicate young sister of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne. They were wed the following year, in a lavish ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, but Aerys II did not attend. He told the small council that he feared an attempt upon his life if he left the confines of the Red Keep, even with his Kingsguard to protect him. Nor would he allow his younger son, Viserys, to attend his brother's wedding. When Prince Rhaegar and his new wife chose to take up residence on Dragonstone instead of the Red Keep, rumors flew thick and fast across the Seven Kingdoms. Some claimed that the crown prince was planning to depose his father and seize the Iron Throne for himself, whilst others said that King Aerys meant to disinherit Rhaegar and name Viserys heir in his place. Nor did the birth of King Aerys's first grandchild, a girl named Rhaenys, born on Dragonstone in 280 AC, do aught to reconcile father and son. When Prince Rhaegar returned to the Red Keep to present his daughter to his own mother and father, Queen Rhaella embraced the babe warmly, but King Aerys refused to touch or hold the child and complained that she "smells Dornish." (The World of Ice and Fire - The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

and

The Red Keep had its secrets too. Even Rhaegar. The Prince of Dragonstone had never trusted him as he had trusted Arthur Dayne. Harrenhal was proof of that. The year of the false spring. The memory was still bitter. Old Lord Whent had announced the tourney shortly after a visit from his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. With Varys whispering in his ear, King Aerys became convinced that his son was conspiring to depose him, that Whent's tourney was but a ploy to give Rhaegar a pretext for meeting with as many great lords as could be brought together. Aerys had not set foot outside the Red Keep since Duskendale, yet suddenly he announced that he would accompany Prince Rhaegar to Harrenhal, and everything had gone awry from there. If I had been a better knight … if I had unhorsed the prince in that last tilt, as I unhorsed so many others, it would have been for me to choose the queen of love and beauty … (ADWD, The Kingbreaker)

If that was all Aerys' paranoia, it should have told Rhaegar his father was in no condition to handle a crisis, and if it was true that he planned to depose his father/ act against him:

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return." (AFFC, Jaime I)

well, then there is no excuse for Rhaegar throwing everything into turmoil and abandoning his wife and kids to the care of others when his father already distrusted him, and he didn't trust his father.

And yes, Aerys insisted Elia and the children be in KL, but Rhaegar secreted Lyanna away to Dorne. It's a bit much to swallow that he took Lyanna that distance for her safety, to his wife's homeland, and took no special precautions for his wife, heir, and little girl. It's especially unforgivable when we know Aerys was not only increasingly paranoid, but was a racist, abusive POS, so there were additional reasons why it should have occurred to Rhaegar, he needed to do more regarding their safety.

Obviously, neither Rhaegar nor Aerys knew Tywin would betray them or unleash a monster on innocents, but even when I employ a very sympathetic reading of Rhaegar, I don't think it lessens his responsibility. Rhaegar knew too much, risked too much, to achieve his own ends without the necessary regard for those depending on him:

He found her hiding under her father's bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her. (ASOS, Tyrion VI)

[untilmynextstory]

| Elia Week 2024 | Day 2: Elia + Her Brothers, Reunion Summary: As soon as her feet touched the sand, she wept.

The sky was a vibrant canvas, painted in a mosaic of yellow, orange, pink, and red, casting a warm glow over the horizon. 

Elia, who had only known the desolation and despair of King's Landing for the past few years, was now witnessing a beauty she had never imagined. This beauty momentarily erased the harsh realities of her present. 

The boat was small and rocky. She hadn’t been on a sailboat this small since Ashara Dayne had snuck her out to the Torentine River in her youth. 

Her children were huddled and bundled in the corner of the boat. Surprisingly, Balerion remained calm throughout the journey as he entertained her two small babes. He was one of the few things she had brought back from King’s Landing. She left most of her clothes and jewels gifted by Rhaegar. She only took her favored mementos of Dorne and her family. 

The captain of the small ship was a tiny man with gold teeth and tan, withered skin, a figure shrouded in mystery. Ser Jaime was an acquaintance of the man. She found it best not to ask for details. Ser Jaime was already risking getting her to safety, and she would rather not know the details, adding to the sense of impending danger and uncertainty. 

Yet, she had to trust Jamie that she would get to safety. She found it amusing that the man her mother wanted her to be betrothed to was the one saving her. Now, her family was in debt to the Lannisters. Gods, she could only imagine Tywin’s face once if he ever found out what Jaime did. 

Elia looked out to the horizon. 

She greedily sucked in the air of the sea. It was cleaner than King’s Landing. She could smell the salt and fish. She could smell her freedom. The thought made her smile - a true, genuine smile in years. 

However, her eyes caught on a figure on the shoreline. And even in the distance, she recognized the shapes of her brother. It took her willpower not to jump out of the boat and swim to shore. 

However, her restraint did not apply, especially to her younger brother. As the boat neared, he was halfway into the water, and she met him halfway. 

She didn’t know if she was crying or laughing as she swept into her younger brother’s arms like a wave. His hold is solid and reaffirming, and she knew after this, her younger brother would probably never let her out of his sight.

“Are you okay? Are you alright?” Oberyn asked as he pulled back and looked into her deep brown eyes. 

“I am now,” she assured him. It was the truth. If she had her way, she would never have left Dorne again. 

She kissed her brother’s cheeks, eyelids, and forehead. He returned the greeting, and she inhaled the scent of florals. Eventually, he let her go as the boat with her children neared and helped bring it to shore.

Her dress clung to her legs as she emerged from the shores, and her toes gripped the earth. 

She stumbled on the hot, white sand. She fell to the ground, and she wept.

She was home. 

Rhaenys’ and Aegon’s laughs provided a new type of music in the halls of the Old Palace. She was worried the kids would be scared and timid in a new place. However, with their cousins - family - surrounding them - all the stress from the last year seemed to have melted. 

Elia watched with a smile as Oberyn and his girls played with Balerion and Rhaenys while Aegon was in the lap of Arianne, who was playing with a new toy his uncles had provided. 

Elia was back in her traditional Dorne wardrobe. A wardrobe not altered to appease the Northerners in King’s Landing. 

She sat beside her older brother Doran, who shared a cup of red Dornish. 

“When Jaime Lannister sent word of an escape for you, I could not believe it,” Doran admitted. He gripped her hand tightly. “We will owe him a great debt.”

Elia nodded her head and returned his firm grip. “Surprisingly, Jamie turned out to be the best of them.”

Doran nodded. “You and the children never have to go back there. Never.”

“It was hard trying to find the sun there. It was so dim there,” Elia whispered to her brother. Though now everything is brighter, she thought. 

“Muna, come play with us,” Rhaenys called from the floor. 

For the first time in months, Elia moved up from her chair, and she didn’t feel an ache of pain. 

Links: AO3

[radiowallet]

Meant to Be - Part 4

The Development

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand, Eventual Oberyn Martell x Fem!OC (nameless, third person) Summary: Can a match of two soul mates develop to more? WC: 6.7 K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, grief, death, political intrigue, arragned marriage, drinking, mentions of food, vaginal sex. Arguing. Yearning. Feelings. Angsty feeling yearning feelings, friends. These two are so in it. Oberyn Martell comes with his own warning.

To be notified of new fics and updates follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

A/N: As always, a few things to keep in mind: This is an alternate universe that takes place after the main events of the show. Bran is still king of Westeros. Sansa is still queen of the north. Oberyn lives. Doran never had any children. Our Fem!OC is from Winterfell, but she is not a Stark and is a blank canvas physically.

Masterlist II Series Masterlist

Part 3 >>> Part 5

I trace the curves of your heart

Learn them and know them

Our friendship is meant for more 

To develop and grow and feel so much more

Elia was ever-present in Sunspear; too alive to be a ghost, too quiet to ignore. Oberyn can still hear her at the top of the stairs, her high voice calling for their mother’s input on a dress or an opinion on a necklace. He can still see her sneaking around the corner of the kitchen, long hair whipping away as she sneaks a piece of candy, the cooks chasing her with poorly veiled smiles. He can feel her in the drifts of sand beneath his feet, the sting of salt against his skin, the rise of the tide meeting him here as she once did.

He’s there now, walking along the same shore line they chased each other down as children, their laughter still tracing the crash of each wave. Elia is ever-present, his one constant, and despite the distance between them, Oberyn is reminded how different his life is without his older sister waiting just a few steps ahead of him. 

Doran has called his sentimental longing foolish too many times to keep track, the frequency more deliberate with every passing day. His humor surrounding the issue seemed to grow darker with each shake of his hand; every pain in his joints, every wheeze from his lungs. It is all Oberyn can bear, to listen without commentary as he watches the only sibling he has left wait outside death’s door. 

“Perhaps Elia had it right,” Doran half-joked, his eyes distant, his smile gone. “If one dies young then there is no risk of growing old.”

The joke had ended an already tense council debriefing, Oberyn very quickly losing his taste for his brother’s company. He could feel old wounds billowing up his throat and threatening to spill from his lips, suddenly too tired to remain in the presence of Dorne’s high council. 

He had taken to the beach soon after, desperate to walk in solitude. There was the smallest of hopes he could sort through the shambles of his guilt and anger and frustrations alike, but the scenery only seemed to spur his hostility forward. 

The storm that had been brewing overnight loomed larger by the second. The early summer warmth had turned clammy, cold wind churning the waves higher and higher still. Hazy clouds sit heavy at the bottom of the skyline, distant strikes of white lightning jumping from one to the next. 

Oberyn welcomed the sight, the rising waves a violent match to his anger. 

His privacy is snatched away, interrupted halfway down the beach, the presence of her, unexpected and uninvited. She’s sitting in the sand, the tide slipping closer to her bare feet with every wave that rushes in. She seems oblivious to the change in weather, her gaze pointed at her knees, one of her pathetic pieces of parchment held awkwardly, as she tries to keep the wind from carrying it away. 

Oberyn watches her sweep a piece of charcoal back and forth, her eyes flicking up to the waves and back down, the shape of them clearly escaping her. He casts his own glance at the skyline, daylight bleeding darker, despite the early hour. The storm will be here sooner than expected, and despite her critical eye, she seems oblivious to the dangers racing towards the shore. 

He moves across the sand, steps awkward and slanting, pitching his voice as loud as he can to combat against the crash of the sea.  

“Have you a secret wish to drown?”

She changes the course of her eyes to his towering stance, just long enough to give attention to his question then refusing to answer. Oberyn flails his arms, growling out a curse and spitting at the sand, all as the foamy sea inches rapidly towards them both. 

He does not allow himself to consider patience as a solution. 

“You are to return to the palace this instant.”

“Husband and soulmate you may be but you are not my keeper, Oberyn Martell.”

“For fucks…this is not a negotiation! There is a storm moving in!”

“Then let it come.” 

Oberyn curses again, moving against the wind to snatch the parchment away, the blunt charcoal flying in the opposite direction. He cuts off her protesting cries, pointing back towards the direction of the palace. 

“Now!”

“I am not some child for you to order about!” She shoots up, moving to push at his chest, her anger sparking in a flash, her face twisted into a new kind of annoyance. She tries to grab for the parchment crushed in his fist, but succeeds only in falling more into his arms. 

“A child would have the wherewithal to listen,” he sneers, one hand wrapping easily around both her wrists. “Instead I have a wife who ignores all sense and reason!”

Her lips curl into a smile, sickly sweet mockery coloring the laughter she blasts into his face. The sound is roguish, cutting across him in swift slaps just as the first drops of rain hit his cheeks. She leans in, just enough for the tip of her nose to ghost along his own, her breath hot where it mingles with the cold sea air. 

“Let us not pretend you are here out of any matrimonial obligation.”

She does not give him time to respond, wrenching her hands away and moving around him, heading back towards the palace just as he had asked her too. Oberyn turns just in time to see her retreating back, the wind whipping the tails of her silk dress into a frenzy, the rain soaking the red fabric, bleeding it black. 

He would love nothing more than to stand and admire her figure all while the thrashing, crashing storm drags him out to sea, the lasting image of her beautiful fury burned into his heart, but Oberyn Martell refuses to give up his right to the last word. 

“We chose this!”

She does not give pause as he jogs after her, picking up her pace to avoid the grab of his hands. He curses again, wiping his hand down his face, the rain pounding harder with each passing second. He shakes his hands, moves faster, and this time when he reaches out for her, his hold is true. 

“We made a choice! Yours! And mine!”

“Choice?” She yells, rain water clinging helplessly to her lips, her lashes, the apples of her cheeks. “You speak of choice? Don’t you see, husband? There never was! That right was taken from us the moment our hands touched! Perhaps even long before!”

Oberyn looks down where his hand is still wrapped tightly around her arm, even the heavy drops of rain unable to break between the touch of their skin. The rain continues to fall, soaking them to the bones, but it hardly matters. Without warning, he is taken back to the altar of their wedding and that very first touch of hands. 

His head is above water. 

He can breathe. 

“Why the desperation to keep me safe? Why?” Her voice cracks, breaking around her words, eyes watery and lips trembling.

“Because,” he starts, the answer coming as naturally as the beat of his heart “you are my –”

He stops. He chokes.

He thinks he sees a smile, just the smallest, before she pulls away from him for good. 

He forgets to swim for fear he may drown. 

———

“How has your time in Dorne been thus far, my lady?”

She glances to where Prince Doran watches her, his goblet poised just before the split of his lips, eyes warm in the glow of the candle light. When the invitation to dine with her new brother in law had come this afternoon her nerves had been tangled hopelessly, her and Oberyn’s nasty words still sitting heavy in her gut. 

The storm that he had promised was still raging outside her bedroom windows as she traced the elegant turn of Doran Martell’s quill, only the ends of his letters breaking into a jagged etch. As the lightning crackled in the distance, her heart thundering with the regret of cruel honesty, she wondered what it could be that the current Lord of Sunspear had hoped to discuss.

She had accepted, reluctantly unsure, but in hindsight she is glad she did. Doran is a kind man, a shrewd lord and a protective brother. It was clear after only a short time in his presence that he loved fiercely if quietly, and that love now extended to her.

“It has had its ups and downs, my lord, but the weather is agreeable and everyone has been so kind.”

“You are quite generous, my lady, but I must confess, you are an atrocious liar.” 

Heat creeps slowly up her cheeks, and she ducks her head for a bite of roast meat in a pitiful attempt to avoid Doran’s eyeline. She can feel his smile pinned to the crown of her head, the silence thick with intent between them. Finally she can take it no more and she chances a glance back in his direction. 

“Neither of us really prepared for this possibility.”

“Oh, I don’t think finding your soulmate is truly something you can plan for,” he reasons, and even though his tone is teasing, she takes it in stride, matching his smile with her own small one. 

“Is this truly the worst kept secret in Westeros?” 

Doran laughs, loud and deep, his head tilted back, eyes closed, and for just a breath of it, she thinks how very alive he looks, eyes bright and smile wide. But then his laughter breaks, a cough disrupting the moment, stealing the joy momentarily from the room. The prince is quick to recapture it, his hand finding hers, halting the lift of her cup and ensuring her attention is fully on him.

“My brother has a good heart. I think by now that is something we can agree on.”

She takes the time to release her goblet, turning her hand to clasp Doran’s just so, squeezing around his grasp to assure him of her attention. 

“But he is impetuous. It is the worst and best of him. In this he needs the trust of those around him.”

“Trust?”

“A far more difficult gift to give than love, but I can promise you, Oberyn would not take either for granted.” 

With that, he releases her hand, freeing her to reach for her wine again. She does, taking a long sip, letting the sweet taste of plums sit heavy on her tongue as she considers all that remains to learn of her husband. 

———

Oberyn trails the pad of his finger slowly up then down, gooseflesh forming in his wake as he maps the slope of Ellaria’s breast. Her breath comes in stuttering drags, parting her lips as he follows the same path along her other tit. He leans in, close enough to let his hot breath hit the pebbled peak of her nipple, a gasp rising up and out of her. 

“You are insatiable tonight,” she sighs, long fingers carding through his hair, a soothing motion that does little to curb his appetite. 

“Could one ever tire of such a decadent indulgence?” He emphasizes his point without hesitation, lips sealing around her nipple, tongue swirling a delicate pattern around the sensitive heat of her skin. 

“Then have your fill, my love,” she coos, pulling him up and over her, her lips tracing the length of his neck. 

He fills her slowly, inch by inch, relishing in the tight clench of her pussy around his cock. She is soaked, drenched in her own release and filled with his, the evidence of their night together sticky sweet between them. 

Oberyn could have her a thousand different on a thousand different nights. He could bury himself between her legs and drown on the taste of her, her tempered voice and supple skin wrapped around him from every end. Ellaria Sand has seen him in his best and his worst and all there could ever be, and still she stays by his side. He does not deserve the adoration she heaps upon him, the gifts of her body and mind and soul, when it is his own hands that are so very empty in return.

Something snaps inside him, a tipping point that dips the scales too heavy to one side. He grinds his hips down hard, teeth and tongue scraping along the delicate skin of her neck, the steady beat of her heart printed on his lips. He molds his body to her own, one hand bruised into her side, the other cradling the curve of her head, the two touches so diametrically opposed. 

A heavy storm crashing into soft mounds of sand.

“I want to feel you. Please, my love, let me feel you come again.”

Ellaria’s hips rise to meet his own, the tight grip of her cunt stronger with each thrust of his cock inside her, her mewls of pleasure drowning out the slap of their skin. They hold each other close and rock together, lips gasping as they crash together between panting pleas for more harder yes and more still. 

It does not matter that this is the third time he’s had her tonight – there is a certainty he will have her soon again – when the waves of their release crash into them, it is blinding, unfettered heat clinging to their skin as he fills her with his seed. 

It is later, much more so, the sunset finding the strength to break through the last of the storm clouds, that Oberyn finally rests, his head finding purchase along the plush give of Ellaria’s thighs. 

He breathes in the scent of her skin and licks the taste of phantom rainwater from his lips, his eyes heavy, his limbs loose. His robes are still piled at the foot of the bed, charcoal fingerprints staining the gold stitching, possibly forever. 

He thinks he could sleep, long and hard and deep, and yet he surprises himself when he instead chooses to speak.

“How is it that I lo—“ He cuts his own words off at the knee, refusing to say them out loud. “I hardly know her?”

The lightest touch finds the curve of his cheek, tracing the corners of it down to his chin and back up again, Ellaria’s tone giving him the answer in the form of a thinly veiled joke. 

“If only there was a solution to that very easily fixed problem, my prince.” 

———

The knock on her door is tentative, half insistent but with no discernible rush to it. She half expects one of the girls on the other side, the youngest two taking a shine to her during the many hours spent with Ellaria in the citrus groves, bonding over silly drawings and flower crowns. But when she pulls the heavy door open, it is not the wide eyes of a little girl she meets but the cunning ones of her soulmate. 

For a second she does not know what to say, the roof of her mouth tacky, the lingering taste of her honey tea still clinging to her tongue. She licks her lips to no avail, words failing a second time as she stares at the man she calls husband. He appears as tired as she feels, dark rings circling the curve of his eyes, his shoulders hunched, his robes just barely cinched shut, and his hand wrapped around…

“I brought you paint.”

She sees it now, small bottles clutched in his left hand, each one filled with liquid rich shades of reds and blues and yellows. He holds them up higher, their jewel tones catching in the early morning light, and suddenly she can see it so clearly in her mind – crashing waves and burning sunsets and the plush velvet of a throne – coming to life in vibrant blooming color beneath her fingertips. She opens her mouth and wishes desperately for the ability to say something. 

Anything. 

But her voice fails her yet again.

“They’re used mostly for shields and armor, but I thought maybe…you…” 

Oberyn’s words trail off, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. He grunts, drawing her eyeline back to his own, and she does her best to read the expressions drawn across his features. 

A small frown drags his lips down and away from the blush atop his cheeks, his brows caved in where he seems to be worrying over what to say next. Just as she thinks maybe she should push the door open wider, perhaps offer her husband more than just a blank stare and thick silence, he speaks again, an edge cutting across his tone, the plush of his lips pouting in the most dramatic fashion.

“Am I truly to be punished forever?”

If possible, the silence grows even thicker, the pair of them trapped in an impossible match of wills, every ridiculous and cruel thing they’ve said to one another sticking heavy and honest between them.

And then they are both laughing. Short, broken spurts of it, that grow louder with every breath they pull in, until the room is filled from corner to corner, the sound mixing with the bright yellow of sunlight and washing away the bitter taste of honey and replacing it with something so much sweeter.

———

Oberyn hovers towards the center of the room, close enough to see her but just far enough to keep his restless hands at bay. He had been surprised when she had pushed the door open, inviting him in and as equally surprised when he accepted. 

She kept her quarters tidy, save for the small writing desk at the far end of the room, its sturdy top covered in broken charcoal, stains of ink, and scraps of parchment. The doors to the balcony were opened wide letting in every drop of sunlight available so early in the morning. It also gifted them both a gracious view of the lemon groves, the sound of the waves of the Dornish sea crashing in the distance.  

He watches in interest as she sets the little jars of paint down in a neat row along the sill of a window, a heavy trunk set just beneath that she kneels upon to balance herself. She touches her fingertips to each one, as if to imprint herself upon the colors captured in the little glass jars, eyes distant as her mind begins to create. 

He knows now the paint had been the right choice. He had wandered the markets in search of a gift for hours, all manner of trinket for him to choose from. Dresses and jewels, yards of silk, spools of gold, endless options fit for a princess. But then he thought of charcoal stains, of hectic scratches on scraps of parchment, of eyes that searched the horizon for an answer to some unasked question. 

The paints had cost pennies but Oberyn was certain. They were priceless. 

She takes care with each one, eyes flitting from the luscious colors to the open window and back to him, her lips parting around an unspoken question. He wishes she would speak it now and end his misery, the tension from earlier having made the smallest of returns after she invited him over the threshold of her quarters. 

Oberyn knows it was untoward to appear at her door with no notice. Wife and soulmate she may be, but the unfamiliarity lent itself the strangeness of it all. He had felt landlocked when she left him behind on that beach, trapped from moving in either direction until the matter of their match had been broached upon. 

“Prince Oberyn?” 

She calls to him, straightening to her full height, twisting the jar of red between her fingers, eyes searching him in quiet observation. He steels himself for her questions of why, of how and when, fingers flexing around the tendrils of his nerves, his lungs too tight to draw breath.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome, my lady.”

Breathing comes just a little bit easier after that.

———

“What is it you are reading, my lord?”

Oberyn glances up from the thick book laying open in his lap. The text is resting on his legs, criss crossed comfortably on the tiled floor of her balcony, and a bored shrug tilts his shoulders in one direction.

He had taken to stopping by her quarters regularly, coming and going much in the same way he had the very first time, something small to offer clutched in his hands. A bundle of paint brushes one morning, fresh rolls of thick, white parchment the next.

He had made a swift and awkward exit after each visit, her offer of a cup of tea politely declined with thin excuses and increasing embarrassment. His voice cracked as he rambled about needing to meet with Doran about all manner of things from trade negotiations to border disputes to what the cooks should make for supper. It would have been endearing if the rejection had not left her feelings so sore. 

An issue in and of itself.

But before he left he always took pause, one foot still inside the doorway, his head turned just enough to catch her eye. 

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

This morning he came with a heavy tome under his arm and a bowl of fresh berries in the other, and this time when she offered him a cup of tea, he somehow found the words to agree. The tension felt just as broad as it had the day prior, stocky and wide spread between them. She paid it as little mind as she could, pushing the door wide enough to allow the prince entry. 

He had made himself comfortable, seated on the floor, the fruit set in front of him and his book splayed open, almost immediately engrossed in the elegant print set before him. She stood off to the side, one new paint brush held tight to her chest as she tried to fight the almost-memory of her body curled into his lap in place of his studies.

A ridiculous notion considering she has no real way to draw upon such an image. 

For a while they remained quiet; only the sound of a page turning rising to meet the sound of paint on parchment. But as the sun danced higher and higher into the sky, she swore she could feel Oberyn’s eyes on her, diverting his studious gaze from the words on the page to the paint on her parchment. She was making similar motions in kind, admiring the streams of sunlight as they kissed along the tops of his cheeks, his plush lips moving in time with whatever had captivated his attention so. 

“I am attempting to learn more about soulmates.”

“Do the histories cover these matters?”

He hums, turning a page slowly, but his eyes stay on her. 

“They do, but it is not a history book I have brought with me, but one of poetry.”

This gives her pause.

“I do not think the poets are a wealth of facts, husband.” 

For a second icy panic slips in between her heartbeats, worried that the intention of her teasing could be misrepresented by her blunt tone of voice, but he cuts that worry down at the knees, his own teasing smile breaching the corner of his lips.

“You would question them? Experts on true love?”

“I do not think it possible anyone save for myself can be an expert on my heart,” she muses, stirring the ruby red paint slowly, watching his features carefully for answers she was not quite ready to ask for.

“Then you have not been reading the right poetry, my wife.”

“Well then, I suppose you and I will simply have to disagree,” she chides, no venom to be had in her words as she turns back to her painting with finality. 

Behind her Oberyn laughs, the sound bright and sweet, unable to let anyone have the last word. 

“What else is new?”

———

They slip into this new routine easily enough, the agreement between them as unspoken as it is sure, meeting most days, allowing them the opportunity of one another’s company outside of all that is expected of them. 

Husband and wife. Prince and Princess of Dorne.  Soulmates.

But what of friendship?

———

“Why cherry wine?”

“It’s the only fruit that grows in the north.”

———

“It fascinates you.”

“Hmm?”

“The throne of Sunspear?”

He had grown restless with his reading, instead taking to aimless turns about her quarters as she fiddled with a crown of silk flowers — a gift for Loreza, not an ounce of hesitation in her admission.  

He had lingered at her writing desk, eyes raking over her odds and ends, small notes in slanted cursive and little doodles that kept more secrets than they shared. One particular piece caught his eye immediately.

She looks up from her delicate work, eyes focusing on the scrap of parchment in his hand, edges curling, charcoal smudged, but the image still clear. 

“I thought it was merely a chair,” she murmurs, eyes dropping back down, the confounding confession doing little to explain her fixation. 

He wants to pry, feels the urge pressing at the seal of his lips, but then she is looking at him again, the smallest glance of fear twisting her features.

“I dreamt of it…back at Winterfell.”  

For a second Oberyn is silent, a different sort of gravity settling on his shoulders as he takes in the weight of her words. After a moment’s brevity he licks his lips and laughs, short and hard and filled with mirth.

“It seems my poets have much to learn.”

———

“Why the red viper?”

“I like poison.”

“Clever.”

“Easy, wolf.”

———

“I still love Ellaria.” 

“I know. I feel it too.”

“Perhaps things would be easier if I did not.”

———

The summer heat refuses to break, even the shade of the lemon trees are not nearly enough to soften the harsh glare of the sun above. Ellaria’s hand is sweaty, her fingers slipping where they’re tangled together with her own as they walk slowly through the groves. The conversation had shifted from topic to topic before words were exchanged for silence, their shared company more comfort than anything else. 

Spending time with Ellaria had become an integral part of her life in the palace, the two women growing closer with each setting sun. They traded stories and secrets with equal give and take, finding common ground in their love of art, and taking part in spirited debates over the trivial goings-on of the Dornish court.

“Have you taken any thought on attending court? As princess you’re allowed certain funds towards your own aims.”

The pair slows, twin seats taken beneath a single wide branch, a sparkling pond at their back. She gives herself a moment to think on the question, so unsure of what would even be proper. It feels a decision that should be made with one’s head, an impossible feat with her whole being so entangled in matters of the heart. 

“Does anyone expect much from me? It feels as though I am meant to be merely window dressing. No one expects more than that. Not even myself; stumbling into my stations at every turn.” 

Ellaria does not take to her floundering with patience. She grabs both of her hands and holds tight, leaning in until she can feel the other woman’s breath on her cheek. 

“You, my dear one, are a friend to a queen, matched with a prince, raised side by side with wolves. Embrace it.” 

All she can do is nod, the advice as overwhelming as Ellaria’s insistent touch. They sit like that a moment longer, the sun still high, the sky so blue, another wash of silence engulfing them. The serenity stays with them until the shout of Oberyn calls their attention out towards where he is walking slowly towards them, a young girl at his side. 

He had been anxious the day prior, boundless energy pouring out of him as he paced the length of her quarters, unable to stop the smile splitting his features as spoke of Elia Martell. The feeling was ten fold inside her own heart, Oberyn’s own love for his daughters saturating her senses in the best way. 

The fourteen year old was home from the citadel, word of her uncle’s condition finally reaching her in the most western part of Oldtown. Ellaria had mentioned how the pair of them had not left each other’s side since she arrived late last night, the pair falling asleep mid-conversation, Oberyn’s arm tight around his daughter’s waist. 

They had woken early, intent on a ride across the sandy beaches, a moment the prince had been looking forward to greatly. 

“My El has no patience for her studies. In this we differ greatly. She is too wild for it. Would rather be on the back of her filly with the wind in her hair.”

She couldn’t help but wonder if the young girl would agree to take a ride with her at some point in her visit. Horseback was something she had only managed to master on the solid ground of a dense forest, but it would be untoward to ask a newly minted stepdaughter to help her find footing on the sandy dunes of Dorne? 

Another time perhaps, she muses to herself, happy to look on as the two of them laugh, their cheeks newly kissed by the sun, sand sticking to their boots and salt water dripping from their fingertips. 

Elia carries herself like her father, chin tilted high, sharp brown eyes and a rapt smile, her dark hair plaited elegantly down her back. She moves almost erratically, her steps wide then short, skipping around her father’s as they walk together. Ellaria watches with amusement, her own joy at having her oldest daughter home palpable. 

“He frets over all of them,” she shares, nodding in the direction of Oberyn and Elia. “But more so the ones he cannot keep close. Always anxious they would be pulled into some intrigue or another.” 

She nods, seeing firsthand how dangerous it can be to be an unmarried daughter in a world such as this one. Flashes of Sansa’s bright blue eyes, dulled from years of playing a pawn in her own life spring forth too fast for her to fight, and she can’t help the ache of loneliness she suddenly feels. 

Oberyn catches her eye at that very moment, brows creasing, his lips parting mid laugh as he takes her in from across the courtyard. Another sharp reminder of their bond, love and pain shared so equally it was difficult to know what went where and who was meant to keep it for their own. It was jarring, still catching her breath when she was caught so unaware. 

“He frets over other things as well,” Ellaria hums, a smile tilting across her pretty lips. “For instance, he still thinks there is a choice to be made.”

She does not look away from him, gaining casual ground as he and El move close enough to hear bits and bobs of their conversation, her eyes meeting his again beneath the bright sunlight break through the treetops. It burns, just a bit, but she finds that she cannot look away. 

“Foolish man.”

———

Oberyn is having difficulty concentrating. 

The day had been hectic, but in the most pleasant of ways, leaving him sated and at ease, the comfort of having his beloved El home with him again. She had spent the night before listening intently as he updated her on all that she missed in her time away, and in turn, the next morning he had told him of her studies at the citadel. 

He could not help how he chuckled at the fierceness in her eyes as she brushed the dirt and sand away from her horse’s slick coat, all but begging to cut her time there short. 

“I am not suited for an education, Papa. You must know my time is best spent elsewhere.”

Elsewhere, indeed. He feels grim at the thought, knowing what Elia craved was the cold steel of a lance in her hand, a challenge always burning at the tip of her tongue. It was his impetuous rage that she inherited, and perhaps in a different time he would allow her to abandon her studies in lieu of preparing for war. But times had changed, and though Westeros still felt as if on shaky ground, it seemed those days were set firmly in the past. 

As it was, an agreement had been struck. She would finish the last of the lessons she has been enrolled in, a duty she would honor. If at the end of it she still felt a thirst for something more wild in nature, then Oberyn would help her in any and every way he knew how. 

This satisfied her for the time being, throwing herself onto the back of the black filly, her easy smile returning, her sharp eyes already scanning the path that led from the stables down to the beach. 

“Next time,” she mused, a bit of nervous humor creeping along the edge of her words, “you should bring your new bride along.” 

The request was almost enough to knock him from his own steed, but he regained his composure quickly enough. 

Only to lose it again upon seeing his wife and his paramour lost in conversation beneath the shade of the lemon trees, hands clasped, foreheads barely a breath apart. 

His heart felt too full, flailing helplessly as watched the two women from across the courtyard. 

The feeling nipped at his steps for most of the day, easily set aside as he spent time with Ellaria and the girls. They had all retired for the evening, the younger girl’s desperate for their own time with their sister. He could hardly blame them for it, his own hunger for their company just as voracious. 

It made him long for a visit from the eldest of his three despite knowing that logic was the biggest factor at play. They would come when they could, a reality of parenthood he did not relish but accepted all the same. 

Alone for the evening, thoughts of his soulmate soon returned. There had a longing in her today, he had felt it strongly in the courtyard; a yearning he could almost taste for friendship and acceptance and the embrace of family.

It’s how he found himself in her quarters this night, watching as she went through the motions of her evening routine, sunshine traded in for the soft filtering of moonlight. It surrounded her in a stunning halo, encapsulating her beauty, and as distracted as he was, Oberyn finally felt a small fraction of peace. 

“What is in the trunk?” 

He had noticed it the first morning he had been allowed into her private space, the weathered wood thick and dark, a color not normally seen outside the hearty grounds of the north. He had a guess, more of an assumption really, but his restless mood was pushing him to tease. 

She casts the objection of his attention a sparring glance before giving him his answer. 

“My dowry.” 

He is up and across the room before she can squeak out a protest. 

“Is it not my husbandly right?” 

She bites her lip and scowls, both of them knowing that it very much was, even though no formal request for a dowry had been made. Oberyn had put his foot down on that; to equate a marriage to a sack of gold felt tacky and ill-suited, especially when the consideration that it was not born in love came into play. 

Not born into it, but certainly meant for it, Oberyn thinks, mostly in a joking manner. 

He flips the trunk open with a flourish, shooting her a wolfish smile over the turn of his shoulder before turning back around. Most of the contents are not surprising — a large bag of gold, a second of jewels — both he ignores. There are ribbons and stockings and robes, all folded neatly, perfect piles of silk and gauze left untouched. 

And nestled directly in the middle of it all is a dress. 

Shades of silver and grey and white, every bit a winter daydream, a vision Oberyn swears he can see at the forefront of his mind. He goes to lift it then stops, waiting to see if she will protest. When she stays quiet, he reaches back in, fingers wrapping gently around the edges of the dress. 

“It was my mother’s.” 

“And you didn’t want to wear it?” 

She doesn’t answer right away, falling to her knees beside him, eyes raking over her own belongings, the loneliness from earlier slamming him hard in the chest. Her fingers wrap around the wood, mirroring the hold he has on her dress and with little preamble she nudges the curve of her shoulder into his own. He can see her smiling from the corner of his eye, in on the joke just before she speaks it. 

“You didn’t find your bride beautiful that day, my husband?”

“Annoyingly so.” And then, “You would have looked beautiful in this too.”

She hums, noncommittal to his compliments as she stands and moves away. “There’s a veil in there too. A gift from Sansa.” 

“You miss her terribly.”

He is not asking. He does not need to. 

“I do.”

Oberyn looks back to the dress, years of history stitched into the fine fabric, beads and lace marching through time long after those who had loved it are gone. 

He thinks of his sister, his daughters, his lovers. He thinks of his family and of his people and the strength born into Dorne. His life and his home, still unbroken after all this time. 

He licks his lips and nods his head, standing quickly as a feeling just out of reach finally falls into place. 

“We will visit soon. I promise…I….”

It is her hands on his shoulder that pulls his gaze back to her, the tips of her fingers trailing sweetly to the belt on his robe, her smile light even through her tears and he swears — swears — he will never question this feeling again. 

“We will have to teach you how to properly tie your robes then, my prince.”

———

Oberyn had thought the storm was over. He had assumed the rolling thunder and crashing waves would no longer plague him after they receded from the shore and back out into the black depths of the Dornish sea. He had thought there would be peace. 

Quiet. 

He thought he would be able to breathe.  

He had been so very very wrong. 

Sleep evades him, the storm raging on inside his heart, waves rising up and crashing down, dragging out so far that he fears he may be lost to it forever. He had retired only hours prior, parting from her with more reluctance than ever before, and in that time he had only grown more sure of what he knew to already be so true. 

His knock is loud, insistent and he does not stop until her door opens wide, tired eyes and clumsy hands hastily tying her dressing gown closed. He does not wait for her to gather her bearings before he rushes in, unable to hold back anymore. 

“I cannot breathe.”

“I do not understand.”

“I love you,” he gasps, the words spilling out of him as if he were a broken vase, the cracks too deep to hold back the sheer volume of his affections. “I love you so and I cannot swim like this forever. I cannot. I am at the bottom of the ocean, waiting, where I cannot breathe. And you are the only one who can help me.” 

“My lord… I …. We… it is our bond…you do not—“

“I do,” he insists, fists balled and feet stamping. “Your messy scribbles and your thick robes and your stupid sense of honor. I love it all and then some, and I think you love me too. So say it. Say it, my lady and save us both.” 

He pauses, waiting as patiently as he is wholly capable for her answer. He knows he is a far cry from the venomous viper that he aims to be, his breathing ragged, his face flushed but it is not to be worried upon. The only concern there is in this moment’s notice is the choice she has to make. 

———

Dedications:

To my dearest @jazzelsaur who continues to listen to me gripe and moan and lament my google search and how it is literally nothing but Game of Thrones trivia and who beta read this chapter that I love but am so so nervous to share. Thank you, my love. I love you.

To @magpie-to-the-morning my pumpkin wife, who is this story's biggest cheerleader. Thank you, emma for loving this story and cheering me on and joining me in my daily Oberyn brain rot. I love you so so much.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: Arianne II

The Peregrine made port at the Weeping Town, where the corpse of the Young Dragon had once lingered for three days on its journey home from Dorne.

Could be relevant.

The Dornish prince was three days dying. - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

+.+.+

The town was large enough to support three inns, and all their common rooms were rife with rumors. Arianne sent her men into each of them, to hear what they might hear. In the Broken Shield, Daemon Sand was told that the great septry on the Holf of Men had been burned and looted by raiders from the sea, and a hundred young novices from the motherhouse on Maiden Isle carried off into slavery. In the Loon, Joss Hood learned that half a hundred men and boys from the Weeping Town had set off north to join Jon Connington at Griffin's Roost, including young Ser Addam, old Lord Whitehead's son and heir. But in the aptly named Drunken Dornishman, Feathers heard men muttering that the griffin had put Red Ronnet's brother to death and raped his maiden sister. Ronnet himself was said to be rushing south to avenge his brother's death and his sister's dishonor. That night Arianne dispatched the first of her ravens back to Dorne, reporting to her father on all they'd seen and heard. 

I'm going to laugh if she's sending him a bunch of gossip and hearsay.

"Send a raven whenever you have news," Prince Doran told her, "but report only what you know to be true. We are lost in fog here, besieged by rumors, falsehoods, and traveler's tales. I dare not act until I know for a certainty what is happening." - Arianne I, TWOW

For the record, Jon Connington didn't actually kill Red Ronnet's brother, or rape his maiden sister. However, he's currently holding his own family hostage, one of his men threw a maester from a tower, and only four of the castle garrison survived the attack.

Similar to Daenerys Targaryen in Slaver's Bay, sometimes knowing the truth of a situation doesn't bring much more reassurance.

+.+.+

Huge willows grew along the watercourses, larger than any that Arianne had ever seen, their great trunks as gnarled and twisted as an old man's face and festooned with beards of silvery moss. Trees pressed close on every side, shutting out the sun; hemlock and red cedars, white oaks, soldier pines that stood as tall and straight as towers, colossal sentinels, big-leaf maples, redwoods, wormtrees, even here and there a wild weirwood.

I don't think this is anything, but I get paranoid.

+.+.+

Arianne had once heard her father and Maester Caleotte arguing with a septon about why the north and south sides of the Sea of Dorne were so different. The septon thought it was because of Durran Godsgrief, the first Storm King, who had stolen the daughter of the sea god and the goddess of the wind and earned their eternal emnity. Prince Doran and the maester inclined more toward wind and water, and spoke of how the big storms that formed down in the Summer Sea would pick up moisture moving north until they slammed into Cape Wrath. For some strange reason the storms never seemed to strike at Dorne, she recalled her father saying. "I know your reason," the septon had responded. "No Dornishmen ever stole away the daughter of two gods."

It's astonishing to me that a priest lacks understanding of the scientific field of meteorology.

For some strange reason the storms never seemed to strike at Dorne

+.+.+

The princess lost another game of cyvasse to Daemon Sand, won one from Joss Hood, then retired as the two of them began to teach Jayne Ladybright the rules. She was tired of such games.

There ya go!

You better not be tired.

+.+.+

Nym and Tyene may have reached King's Landing by now, she mused, as she settled down crosslegged by the mouth of the cave to watch the falling rain. If not they ought to be there soon.

Yeah? Is that what you'd like me to believe, George?

Boy, I'm eagerly anticipating the amusing antics that will unfold between Cersei Lannister, the High Sparrow, Nym Sand, and Tyene Sand. That's definitely a plot you can count on happening, no shadow of a doubt.

+.+.+

Prince Trystane had remained safely back at Sunspear, after a tearful parting from Princess Myrcella. 

That moment you realize nowhere in Dorne is safe.

Reminds me of this one:

Steffon and Stannis were thousands of leagues from the fighting and safe from harm, but Devan was at Castle Black, a squire to the king. - Davos II, ADWD

Nope!

+.+.+

That accounts for one brother, thought Arianne, but where is Quentyn, if not with the griffin? Had he wed his dragon queen? King Quentyn. It still sounded silly. This new Daenerys Targaryen was younger than Arianne by half a dozen years. What would a maid that age want with her dull, bookish brother? Young girls dreamed of dashing knights with wicked smiles, not solemn boys who always did their duty. She will want Dorne, though. If she hopes to sit the Iron Throne, she must have Sunspear. If Quentyn was the price for that, this dragon queen would pay it. What if she was at Griffin's End with Connington, and all this about another Targaryen was just some sort of subtle ruse? Her brother could well be with her. King Quentyn. Will I need to kneel to him?

You are too old to be acting like this.

+.+.+

No good would come of wondering about it. Quentyn would be king or he would not. I pray Daenerys treats him him more gently than she did her own brother.

The irony of this thought occurring immediately after she ponders the absurdity of her own brother as king shouldn't be lost on you.

+.+.+

It was only as she settled down that Arianne realized Elia Sand had not returned from her explorations.  [...] The cave proved much deeper than any of them had suspected. Beyond the stony mouth where her company had made their camp and hobbled their horses, a series of twisty passageways led down and down, with black holes snaking off to either side. Further in, the walls opened up again, and the searchers found themselves in a vast limestone cavern, larger than the great hall of a castle. Their shouts disturbed a nest of bats, who flapped about them noisily, but only distant echoes shouted back. A slow circuit of the hall revealed three further passages, one so small that it would have required them to proceed on hands and knees.

Giving House of the Undying, House of Black and White, and Red Keep vibes.

+.+.+

And all at once she found herself in another cavern, five times as big as the last one, surrounded by a forest of stone columns. Daemon Sand moved to her side and raised his torch. "Look how the stone's been shaped," he said. "Those columns, and the wall there. See them?" "Faces," said Arianne. So many sad eyes, staring. "This place belonged to the children of the forest." "A thousand years ago." Arianne turned her head. "Listen. Is that Joss?" It was. The other searchers had found Elia, as she and Daemon learned after they made their way back up the slippery slope to the last hall. 

Wait a second, I know this scene!

Are you telling me that wasn't real?

Okay, but what about this?

↓ 

Might I ask about these corpses in the ice cells? They make the men uneasy. And to keep them under guard? Surely that is a waste of two good men, unless you fear that they …"

"… will rise? I pray they do." - Jon VIII, ADWD

x

"Thrice I flew Silverwing high above Castle Black, and thrice I tried to take her north beyond the Wall," Alysanne wrote to Jaehaerys, "but every time she veered back south again and refused to go. Never before has she refused to take me where I wished to go." - Fire & Blood

Shit!

Okay, but what about this?

↓

Mormont snorted. "Because I sent him, why do you think? He's bringing the hand your Ghost tore off the end of Jafer Flowers's wrist. I have commanded him to take ship to King's Landing and lay it before this boy king. That should get young Joffrey's attention, I'd think … and Ser Alliser's a knight, highborn, anointed, with old friends at court, altogether harder to ignore than a glorified crow." - Jon VIII, AGOT 

Shit!

Okay, but what about this?

↓ 

The Cinnamon Wind was spinning all around them and he could taste the rum on Gilly's tongue and the next thing her breasts were bare and he was touching them. - Samwell IV, AFFC

Shit!

Gosh, it's almost as if the creators of Game of Thrones pulled an entire season and romance from their ass.

+.+.+

Their passageway led down to a still black pool, where they discovered the girl up to her waist in water, catching blind white fish with her bare hands, her torch burning red and smoky in the sand where she had planted it.

That black pool sounds familiar.

Blind white fish swam in the black river, but they tasted just as good as fish with eyes once you cooked them up. - Bran III, ADWD

Where else does this river go?

+.+.+

"I caught two fish," said Elia Sand. "You could have died," said Arianne again. Her words echoed off the cavern walls. "… died … died … died …"

A bit ominous.

+.+.+

"Elia, this must end," she told her. "We are not in Dorne now. You are not with your sisters, and this is not a game. I want your word that you will play the maidservant until we are safely back at Sunspear. I want you meek and mild and obedient. You need to hold your tongue. I'll hear no more talk of Lady Lance or jousting, no mention of your father or your sisters. The men that I must treat with are sellswords. Today they serve this man who calls himself Jon Connington, but come the morrow they could just as easily serve the Lannisters. All it takes to win a sellsword's heart is gold, and Casterly Rock does not lack for that. If the wrong man should learn who you are, you could be seized and held for ransom–"

[...]

"You are a Sand Snake, and Prince Doran would pay any price to keep you and your sisters safe from harm." That made the child smile at least. "Do I have your sworn word? Or must I send you back?"

"I swear." Elia did not sound happy.

"On your father's bones."

"On my father's bones."

That vow she will keep, Arianne decided. She kissed her cousin on the cheek and sent her off to sleep. Perhaps some good would come of her adventure. "I never knew how wild she was till now," Arianne complained to Daemon Sand, afterward. "Why would my father inflict her on me?" "Vengeance?" the knight suggested, with a smile.

Later:

Arianne was on her way back to her own chamber when she heard muffled laughter from the adjoining room. She paused and listened for a moment, then pushed the door open to find Elia Sand curled up in a window seat, kissing Feathers.

[...]

"Feathers is a man." A serving man, but still a man. It did not escape the princess that Elia was the same age she had been when she gave her maidenhead to Daemon Sand. 

Lmao.

This is why I'm never having children. I would be cursed with raising another version of myself.

+.+.+

Mistfall's new sellsword masters called themselves Young John Mudd and Chain. Both knights, to hear them tell it. Neither behaved like any knight that Arianne had ever met. Mudd wore brown from head to heel, the same shade as his skin, but a pair of golden coins dangled from his ears. The Mudds had been kings up by the Trident a thousand years ago, she knew, but there was nothing royal about this one. Nor was he particularly young, but it seemed his father had also served in the Golden Company, where he had been known as Old John Mudd.

That's considered fAegon evidence.

Young John Mudd (Young Griff), son of Old John Mudd of the Golden Company, bears the name of previous kings in Westeros. However, it's clear there's no real ancestral ties to that royal bloodline.

+.+.+

At evenfall a fine supper was served to them in the solar, high in the Tower of Owls, where they were joined by the dowager Lady Mertyns and her maester. Though a captive in her own castle, the old woman seemed spry and cheerful. "My sons and grandsons went off when Lord Renly called his banners," she told the princess and her party. "I have not seen them since, though from time to time they send a raven. One of my grandsons took a wound at the Blackwater, but he's since recovered. I expect they will return here soon enough to hang this lot of thieves." She waved a duck leg at Mudd and Chain across the table. "We are no thieves," said Mudd. "We're foragers." "Did you buy all that food down in the yard?" "We foraged it," said Mudd. “The smallfolk can grow more. We serve your rightful king, old crone.” He seemed to be enjoying this. “You should learn to speak more courteous to knights.”

"If you two are knights, I'm still a maiden," said Lady Mertyns. "And I'll speak as I please. What will you do, kill me? I have lived too long already."

Princess Arianne said, "Have you been treated well, my lady?"

"I have not been raped, if that is what you're asking," the old woman said. "Some of the serving girls have been less fortunate. Married or unmarried, the men make no distinctions."

"No one's been doing any raping," insisted Young John Mudd. "Connington won't have that. We follow orders."

Chain nodded. "Some girls was persuaded, might be."

"The same way our smallfolk were persuaded to give you all their crops. Melons or maidenheads, it's all the same to your sort. If you want it, you take it." Lady Mertyns turned to Arianne. "If you should see this Lord Connington, you tell him that I knew his mother, and she would be ashamed." Perhaps I shall, the princess thought.

Might as well start the obituaries now.

+.+.+

That night when she told Ser Daemon what Chain had said, the Bastard of Godsgrace seemed as perplexed as she was. "Storm's End was still held by men loyal to Lord Stannis when last I heard. You would think Connington might do better to make common cause with another rebel, rather than making war upon him too." "Stannis is too far away to be of help to him," Arianne mused. "Capturing a few minor castles whilst their lords and garrisons are off at distant wars, that's one thing, but if Lord Connington and his pet dragon can somehow take one of the great strongholds of the realm …" "…the realm would have to take them seriously," Ser Daemon finished.

Including Daenerys!

+.+.+

Near dusk on the fourth day, not long after Chain and his wagons had taken their leave of them, Arianne's company was met by a column of sellswords down from Griffin's Roost, led by the most exotic creature that the princess had ever laid her eyes on, with painted fingernails and gemstones sparkling in his ears.

Lysono Maar spoke the Common Tongue very well. "I have the honor to be the eyes and ears of the Golden Company, princess."

"You look…" She hesitated.

"…like a woman?" He laughed. "That I am not."

"…like a Targaryen," Arianne insisted. His eyes were a pale lilac, his hair a waterfall of white and gold. All the same, something about him made her skin crawl. Was this what Viserys looked like? she found herself wondering. If so perhaps it is a good thing he is dead.

(Please give yourself a moment to laugh at her discomfort at the sight of someone resembling a Targaryen.)

That's considered fAegon evidence.

It's another reminder that people from Lys have the Targaryen look.

"Your Grace is kind," said Waters with a smile. A wicked smile, the queen thought. Aurane did not resemble Prince Rhaegar as much as she had thought. He has the hair, but so do half the whores in Lys, if the tales are true. Rhaegar was a man. This is a sly boy, no more. Useful in his way, though. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

↓ 

"Serra. I found her in a Lysene pillow house and brought her home to warm my bed, but in the end I wed her. Me, whose first wife had been a cousin of the Prince of Pentos. The palace gates were closed to me thereafter, but I did not care. The price was small enough, for Serra." - Tyrion II, ADWD

Somewhat worrisome, because Aegon also resembles young Illyrio.

A naked boy stood on the water, poised to duel with a bravo's blade in hand. He was lithe and handsome, no older than sixteen, with straight blond hair that brushed his shoulders. So lifelike did he seem that it took the dwarf a long moment to realize he was made of painted marble, though his sword shimmered like true steel. - tyrion I, ADWD

↓ 

He was a lithe and well-made youth, with a lanky build and a shock of dark blue hair. The dwarf put his age at fifteen, sixteen, or near enough to make no matter. - Tyrion III, ADWD

+.+.+

"I am flattered. The women of House Targaryen are said to be without peer in all the world."

"And the men of House Targaryen?"

"Oh, even prettier. Though if truth be told, I have only seen the one."

That's considered fAegon evidence. The author made it ambiguous.

Lysono Maar is the spymaster for the Golden Company, it's possible he's met Viserys Targaryen.

Her brother Viserys had once feasted the captains of the Golden Company, in hopes they might take up his cause. They ate his food and heard his pleas and laughed at him. - Daenerys III, ADWD

+.+.+

"Do you play cyvasse, my lord?" asked Arianne. "My father has been teaching me. I am not very skilled, I must confess, but I do know that the dragon is stronger than the elephant." "The Golden Company was founded by a dragon." "Bittersteel was half-dragon, and all bastard. I am no maester, but I know some history. You are still sellswords." "If it please you, princess," he said, all silken courtesy. "We prefer to call ourselves a free brotherhood of exiles." "As you will. As free brothers go, your company stands well above the rest, I grant you. Yet the Golden Company has been defeated every time it has crossed into Westeros. They lost when Bittersteel commanded them, they failed the Blackfyre Pretenders, they faltered when Maelys the Monstrous led them." That seemed to amuse him.

That's considered fAegon evidence.

He might find it amusing if he knows they have another Blackfyre.

+.+.+

By midmorning a light rain began to fall, as they were making their way north through a land of green fields and little villages. 

x

The rain still fell, soft and steady. The sound of moisture dripping off the leaves was all around them, and every mile or so the music of another little waterfall would call to them.

x

They travelled to the music of steady, lashing rains beating at the treetops up above, though underneath the green great canopy of leaves and branches she and her riders stayed surprisingly dry. 

x

And finally Griffin's Roost emerged from the sea mists, on a grey wet day as the rain fell thin and cold. 

Rain falling from start to finish...

+.+.+

"Has no one told you?" Halden Halfmaester favored her with a smile thin and hard as a dagger cut. "Storm's End is ours. The Hand awaits you there." Daemon Sand stepped up beside her. "Shipbreaker Bay can be perilous even on a fair summer's day. The safer way to Storm's End is overland." "These rains have turned the roads to mud. The journey would take two days, perhaps three," said Halden Halfmaester. A ship will have the princess there in half a day or less. There is an army descending on Storm's End from King's Landing. You will want to be safe inside the walls before the battle." Will we? Wondered Arianne. "Battle? Or siege?" She did not intend to let herself be trapped inside Storm's End. "Battle," Halden said firmly. "Prince Aegon means to smash his enemies in the field."

Let's talk about a few things.

One.

Previously covered in ADWD's Epilogue.

There's two hosts in King's Landing, both belonging to the Reach.

Randyll Tarly and Mace Tyrell had both brought armies to King's Landing, whilst the best part of the strength of House Lannister remained in the riverlands, fast melting away. - Epilogue, ADWD

Mace Tyrell intended to deal with Aegon and the Golden Company after Margaery's and Cersei's trials.

"[...] we must destroy Connington and his pretender now, before Daenerys Stormborn can come west."

Mace Tyrell crossed his arms. "I mean to do just that, ser. After the trials." - Epilogue, ADWD

If Cersei carries out a massively destructive and violent act at that trial, causing significant harm to House Tyrell (and we have a lot of reasons to believe she will), then it seems logical to conclude that the host coming from King's Landing intends to join Aegon, not fight him.

"… as for Connington," Tyrell repeated, "what victories has he ever won that we should fear him? He could have ended Robert's Rebellion at Stoney Sept. He failed. Just as the Golden Company has always failed. Some may rush to join them, aye. The realm is well rid of such fools." - Epilogue, ADWD

Two.

"Battle," Halden said firmly. "Prince Aegon means to smash his enemies in the field."

Once again, the author is reinforcing the idea that Aegon is lacking necessary skills for this job.

In Jon Connington's last chapter, we learned the Golden Company does not currently have the strength to face enemies in the field.

The great beasts would be useful in a pitched battle, no doubt, but it would be some time before they had the strength to face their foes in the field. - The Griffin Reborn, ADWD

Now, at Aegon's command, they're going to ABANDON THE WALLS OF STORM'S END, and meet the King's Landing host in an open field.

That is unbelievably stupid, and the only reason it won't end in disaster is because the Tyrell host probably isn't coming to fight.

Regardless, what is it telling us about the future?

Ser Jorah considered that for a moment. "Robert should have been born Dothraki," he said at last. "Your khal would tell you that only a coward hides behind stone walls instead of facing his enemy with a blade in hand. The Usurper would agree. He is a strong man, brave … and rash enough to meet a Dothraki horde in the open field. But the men around him, well, their pipers play a different tune. His brother Stannis, Lord Tywin Lannister, Eddard Stark …" He spat. - Daenerys IV, AGOT

This is the problem with Jon Connington: he's dying, therefore he's no longer patient.

He will allow Aegon to be reckless, and use flawed strategy.

" … once we have Storm's End . . ."

The princess let that aside go without comment, though it gave her considerable pause. Storm's End. This griffin is a bold one, it would seem. Or else a fool. The seat of House Baratheon for three centuries, of the ancient Storm Kings for thousands of years before that, Storm’s End was said by some to be impregnable. Arianne had heard men argue about which was the strongest castle in the realm.

Three.

Has this girl lost her mind? Why would you voluntarily go to Storm's End when an army is descending upon it?

Catelyn Stark also found herself in the middle of a dispute at Storm's End, but Catelyn Stark isn't the heir to Dorne.

+.+.+

"Your brother is not at Storm's End, we know that now," Ser Daemon said, as soon as they were behind closed doors. "If Daenerys Targaryen has dragons, they are half a world away, and of no use to Dorne. There is nothing for us at Storm's End, princess. If Prince Doran meant to send you into the middle of a battle, he would have given you three hundred knights, not three."

Do not be so certain of that, ser. He sent my brother off to Slaver's Bay with five knights and a maester. "I need to speak with Connington." Arianne undid the interlocked sun and spear that clasped her cloak, and let the rain-soaked garment slip from her shoulders to puddle on the floor. "And I want to see this dragon prince of his. If he is truly Elia's son…"

"Whoever's son he is, if Connington challenges Mace Tyrell in open battle he may soon be a captive, or a corpse."

"Tyrell is not a man to fear. My uncle Oberyn–"

" –is dead, princess. And ten thousand men is equal to the whole strength of the Golden Company."

"Lord Connington knows his own strength, surely. If he means to risk battle, he must believe that he can win it."

"And how many men have died in battles they believed that they could win?" Ser Daemon asked her. "Refuse them, princess. I mistrust these sellswords. Do not go to Storm's End."

I think it's a little concerning that the designated Voice of Reason doesn't want her going any further in this journey.

+.+.+

"Ser Daemon, you squired for my uncle Oberyn," she said. "If you were with him now, would you be counseling him to refuse as well?" She did not wait for him to respond. "I know the answer. And if you are about to remind me that I am no Red Viper, I know that too. But Prince Oberyn is dead, Prince Doran is old and ill, and I am the heir to Dorne."

"And that is why you should not put yourself at risk." Daemon Sand went to one knee. "Send me to Storm's End in your stead. Then if the griffin's plans should go awry and Mace Tyrell takes the castle back, I will be just another landless knight who swore his sword to this pretender in hopes of gain and glory."

Whereas if I am taken, the Iron Throne will take that for proof that Dorne conspired with these sellswords, and lent aid to their invasion. "It is brave for you to seek to shield me, ser. I thank you for that." She took his hands and drew him back to his feet. "But my father entrusted this task to me, not you. Come the morrow, I sail to beard the dragon in its den."

Yeah, I don't have a good feeling about any of this.

I don't think the danger is the host coming from King's Landing. I think it's the decisions she makes after that.

Final thoughts:

What happens when Daemon Sand is the more likeable man in the love triangle?

Let it be known, I'm Team Bastard of Godgrace. I'll let you guys enjoy the one assuming the role of Joffrey.

Next chapter: The Forsaken (Aeron Dam-phair)

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