Yup. Here I go, doing it again. Starting another story.
I couldn't ignore it. I just couldn't. If you know my other work, you know I'm a pretty frequent updater. I can't make any promises now, I don't know how often I will be able to update, but I will not make you wait for too long, especially not if you react well to this story :)
So now we have "Running up that hill", "The Missing Pieces", "Power, Pleasure, Pain" and this one, "The Lost One". I don't know how the hell am I gonna do this, but I'll do my best :D
Disclosure: Jon is not Rhaegar's son. I will reveal more as the story goes, but he is not Rhaegar's child.
The story will follow the show (yes, even Dorne). By the time I catch up with the end of season 7, I'll decide if I'll continue making it up on my own, or if I'll wait for the show. Depends on how fast I right, I suppose.
I do not own anything from the GOT universe. I am simply… borrowing it :)
Well, that's it for now. I hope you like it. It's a short one, it's just an introduction, but if you do, if you like it, please, let me know.
Also, WHAT A FINALE! GOOD GOD! I'm still shaking!
Okay, so that's it. Please, if you like it, favorite, follow and most importantly, review. I need reviews more than I need air. I'll be seeing you this week on my other stories (check them out, if you haven't) and hopefully, I will see you soon on Chapter 2 of this specific journey.
Thank you. I hope you'll love it! :)
As I stand at the very front of the ship, gripping my overcoat tightly, the ground beneath me moves. It moves up and down, up and down, as the ship crashes through a wave. A wave that is followed by another wave. And after that, another one. The water was showing no signs of stopping, no signs of slowing down. It has a temper, this Narrow Sea.
Not even the sound of water hitting the sides of the ship could not disguise the unmistakable sounds of people falling ill; despite their bravery, the Dothraki are confirming the hushed rumor everyone heard about. They truly do not fare well on the open waters.
When I look at them like this, weak and frail, trying hard to ignore the sounds that surround me, I realize that It is quite admirable, what she managed to do. Never before had the Dothraki crossed a sea, and they are doing it for her. At this point, after everything I've seen, I believe that they would follow her anywhere, no matter where she may lead.
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down, still desperate to ignore the sounds as I stare ahead of me. I am not enjoying this journey either, not particularly. But unlike the Dothraki, I can keep my food down. At least I could, so far. The lightheaded feeling and even sickness itself would make a small price for me to pay, next to irrelevant, compared to what this journey actually means.
A part of me waited for the first sign of land before us. It was a foolish, childish hope. Deep down, I know I will not see it yet, no matter how much I want to. I had to remind the child in me that we had only left the shores of Meereen the day before.
No, it is not here, but I do not have to see it to know it. I know it is there. It is somewhere out there, patiently waiting for our overdue return. The land I was born in, the land I should have called home for all my life, it is waiting for me, waiting for us. And so are the people who took it away from us.
Those who took it from us call it their own, sitting on thrones and drinking the finest wines.
The time has come for a change. Their time is over and ours is just beginning. We will take back what is ours by right, something that belongs to us. Something that never should have left our grasp.
Our home is waiting for us to take it back.
"Princess," a voice startles me from my deepest thoughts and with a hand on my heart, while trying to steady my breath, I turn around to see Tyrion Lannister approaching me, looking steadier on his feet than most of our fellow passengers. "I am sorry to disturb you." he tells me, slightly bowing his head in my direction.
"You are not disturbing me, my Lord," I tell him, turning my eyes back to the see before us. From the corner of my eye, I see Lord Tyrion walking over to stand next to me. "I was only immersed in certain thoughts."
"Are you thinking about Westeros?" he asks me.
"I am," I confirm, nodding my head. "It is strange, isn't it? I was born there. I spent the first years of my life there. As I was growing up, all I would ever hear were stories about this strange land that was supposed to be my home. It should have been my home as much as it was yours."
"It should have, Princess," he agrees. "We will change that now," he reassures me with a kind smile. "It will be your home again."
"And yet, I cannot escape the annoyance I fell whenever I remember that it never should have stopped being my home in the first place," I sigh, knowing I might just end up regretting sharing such information with him, despite the trust we have managed to build. "The time has come for a change, my Lord."
"Are you ready for such a change, Princess?"
When I turn around to look at him, I can see true worry on his face; his brows furrowed and his lips in a thin line, with no inkling of a smile. I see worry and I see fear. I cannot allow for that to transfer onto me. I do not have the luxury of feeling fear, not now.
"I have been ready for it for many years, my Lord. I am getting what I want." I promise him.
"What it is that you want, Princess?" he asks, looking surprised at my words.
"My home back and in the hands of my family. And revenge."
I have been spoon-fed with vengeance for many years. It would come from different sources and in different amounts, but it was constant.
The only true family member I have ever known and felt comfortable with calling my family was Oberyn Martell. And ever since the first time we have met, he had been persistent. He would always say that a time will come when all of us will have a chance to collect our debts. He wanted vengeance for many years and he died before he got it. Long before death knocked on his door, he made sure that I had the same desires in me, and he had nursed them, whenever he possibly could.
A woman named Althea did the same. In a much gentler way, compared to my uncle, but she did it all the same. We did not have the same blood, or the same name, but she raised me as if I was her own and without her, I would have been dead, many times over. I will never forget what she did for me, nor the words she would speak in a low voice, always afraid that someone might overhear our conversation and out me for who I really was.
I am a woman grown. Many years have passed since the time I was a child who needed guidance and other people's opinions in order to form my own. I miss both of them terribly, every single day. But as much as I wish to still have them by my side, I know that this is a journey I was supposed to take on my own, and not with my childhood heroes and protectors.
Then again, I am not really alone, am I? I am not the last dragon and neither is she.
Living in a desert, in such scorching heat made me only miss my former home more and more each day. I did not want to leave Lys and I was hoping for a way to stay. I have lived there for 3 years and I have managed to make myself a home, even gain a few weak friendships that would have a chance to bloom, had there been more time. And that was the problem. I could not allow myself to get too comfortable. I could not make a home for myself, have friends and spend days in meaningless conversations. Doing that would make me lower my guard and I could not have that.
I needed to be ready at all times. Even when I am not training with my uncle.
I can't say who is a bigger nemesis, the sun in Volantis that was burning my skin, or him, who was eyeing me up, not as an opponent but as an old, rag doll.
I don't even have a chance to hold my spear up properly before he knocks it right out of my hand.
"Keep a strong grip on it!" he warns me with a peculiar expression. He is frowning and grinning at the very same time, keeping his brown eyes connected to mine. That is how good of a fighter he is; he does not need to look at my limbs. He only needed to look at my eyes and he would know what my next move would be.
I wanted to have the same ability. I have tried and in his defense, he did share his secrets with me, but I never could master it. Not as well as he could. His eyes might be the same color and shape as mine are, but right now, he was not my uncle. He was my enemy and my teacher, at the very same time.
"You told me not to hold it with a firm grip!" I complain, remembering very clearly how he had told me not to hold the spear as if I am holding onto it for my dear life.
"You need to find a middle, love," he smiles as he starts circling around me. He was the wolf and I was the pray, standing here, with my weapon on the ground, watching as he waits for the perfect moment to attack. If I was to grab my weapon again, by the time I stand up with it in my hands, he would already have his spear to my throat, ready for a deathly stab. "I can't use your hands for you. You need to find a middle ground. It is different, with each spear. You need to sense its weight when you hold it, before you start a fight. You must know your weapon."
"Yes, if I ever was to fight somebody, I am positive they would take their time with the attack, waiting for me to familiarize myself with the weapon I am using," I roll my eyes. "You might be a good teacher, but this is not a realistic situation, is it?" I ask, watching as he raises his eyebrows at me.
"No," he smiles at me. "If it was, you would have already been dead."
It was his voice, his low, accented voice. I knew he would never harm me, not in any way, but the words sounded like a promise, like a genuine threat.
If he is not playing games anymore, I will not play them either. Knowing the risk, I decide to grab my spear off ground, as fast as I possibly can and this time, I was fast enough. He did attack, just as I thought, targeting my throat, but I was fast enough to block his attack. I only had a second to notice his reaction, but that second alone was enough; he did not expect me to be as fast. I look away instantly, knowing he will attack again. And unlike him, I can't read the attack from the eyes.
He attacks and I block, over and over again. Whenever we train together, I am never the one who attacks; I never have a chance to do it. He always was too fast for me, living up to his reputation. The only thing I could ever do was block his attacks and hope for the best.
How will I ever learn to be a proper fighter if I do not attack? I may stand my ground, I may know how to defend myself, but can I ever give a deathly blow? Not to the Red Viper.
"Dance, love," he instructs me. I open my mouth to snap back at him, but I never have a chance to do so; I need to block again and this time, I need to step away in order to avoid his spear. With dance on my mind, I turn around, as fast as I can. The moment I do so, I feel a blunt spear pressing into my back. I never even had a chance to turn around. "Don't you ever turn your back on an enemy."
"How do you expect me to dance and not turn around?" I ask. His words are more contradictions than actual advice. Keep a firm grip, but do not hold it too tightly. Dance, but don't turn your back. Having him laugh at my annoyance did not help my motivation, which I was already lacking to begin with. "I've had enough for today." I say as I throw my spear on the ground, not even bothering to hide my annoyance.
"An enemy will not give you a chance to stop a fight like this." He smiles at me.
"I am not fighting an enemy, I am fighting my family," I remind him. "Or has that changed?"
"Never, love," he smiles as he lays his spear down. He treats his spear with respect, slowly lowering it down. I, on the other hand, simply threw mine on the ground. "Never an enemy, always a family."
"You should have brought Nym with you," I complain. "I am better with a whip than I am with a spear."
"A whip is a toy," he dismisses me, as if he is speaking to a child. "A spear is a serious weapon and one you should master. You have talent in you," he smiles as he walks towards me. He stands in front of me, and rests his hand on my shoulder with a firm grip. "Your mother never was the one for a fight. She was gentle and elegant. You may look very much like her, my love, but you have my talents. You are a good fighter. You deserve to learn how to be a better fighter, Rhaenys."
The moment I hear my name spoken out loud, my heart drops.
"Rhae," I remind him in a stern tone. "Do not use my real name, not here." I say.
I cannot call him uncle, not here. I had managed to be inconspicuous so far and I do not want that to change. Not when I am so close to those who might find the information of my lineage very interesting.
Over the years, I had to go through the same thing. The moment I relax, the moment I start enjoying the place I am in, the moment I start enjoying my life, I need to turn around and walk away from it. I do not wait for the threat. I need to be faster than it. I need to make my escape before it finds me.
If I had to run away from places where no one knew my name, what would happen to me if someone was to overhear my uncle and decide to believe their ears?
"You should not be ashamed of your name," he tells me as he shakes his head, looking disappointed, perhaps even disgusted with me. "You should say your name with pride. You are a Princess, a Princess of Westeros, taken from-"
"Oberyn," I warn him, knowing how easily he could get carried away when speaking of my parents and what was stolen from me. His tongue is as fast as he is with a spear. "Do not talk like that. I know very well who I am and what was taken from me. I am not ashamed of my name, nor will I ever be. My name is not safe and you know it."
"Do you truly believe that no one knows?" he asks. At least this time he lowers his voice. "Do you think that the fat, drunk King had not spent years trying to find you? He did not believe that poor child was you, not from the day the bodies were shown to him. He was always paranoid and for good reason. He knows you and your father's siblings are alive. Countless assassins were sent your way, Rhaenys. You were simply lucky enough to avoid them in time. People know of you, I promise you that."
"They do not," I shake my head. "They know about Viserys and Daenerys. I am but a rumor."
"You were nothing more than a rumor many years ago," he shakes his head, persistent as ever. "Dorne knows the truth. Dorne is speaking the truth. People are listening and people are better talkers than they are listeners. Soon enough, the entire realm will know that Rhaenys Targaryen, their Princess and rightful heir, is alive."
"They will never find it out from me," I tell him, standing my ground. He knows very well just how stubborn I can be. I got that from my mother's side of the family, him more than anyone else. "I am Rhae. I will never forget the name my parents gave me, nor who they were. I will never forget that, Oberyn. But in order to remember, I need to be alive."
