Letters of Fate Fail to Bring on Hate

"And the bear roared, as angered as… a bear. He was so difficult to tend that the maiden almost left, choosing to forget that he had saved her life…"

The little girl stared at Dyanna enraptured, a captive audience that only made her more inspired and eloquent. At the door of the summer solar, there were two more listeners, unbeknown to either of them.

Mariah Martell clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter. The idyllic picture of the two heads, the dark one and the silver, smaller one, carved against the blue and golden sea behind the polished window was only broken by Mariah's knowledge about the characters from the story. "You?" she whispered to her son.

Maekar nodded. "In all my bear glory," he whispered back and then the smile he had been fighting off made its way across his face. It was a strange thing to amuse him, the Queen noticed, being painted in such unflattering light. A bear, no less! Well-meaning and heroic all right but a hopelessly stupid one. She would have rather expected outrage. But Maekar was straining to hear better, as entranced as Astrea Dayne was.

Then, Dyanna proceeded to fascinate and terrify her sister with stories about the brigands – and Maekar was left stunned. Now, he vaguely remembered that in the fire of his fever, she had been talking to him to keep him awake – and he had tried to follow because her stories were engaging, just like the ones she had been telling him all those nights with the rebels because it had soothed her. But this was the first time he heard a story about something that he had witnessed – and it left him stunned. She wasn't lying –but she was telling the story in a way that left him feeling that they had been at different places. Dyanna talked about a gilded belt, probably taken by force from a young peddler wishing to impress his intended. As "proof" she described how new-looking the thing was and who would start a journey wearing their best, newest belt if they did not have a strong reason to? Where had Maekar been when she had encountered this man and apparently read the story of his life in the thread of his rugs?

"Come on," Mariah urged just and then he, too, heard the steps from the end of the hallway. They entered before they could be caught eavesdropping. Ser Willem Wylde remained at the door. With the knight's dry humour, Maekar had no doubt that he'd do his best to overhear any bear or brigand story Dyanna might come up with.

Both girls dropped into a deep curtsey before the Queen. Dyanna's eyes immediately went to Maekar's arm. The swelling was not completely down yet but he felt almost recovered.

"We didn't expect you so early, Your Grace," Dyanna told his mother.

"But we can entertain you until Mother and Father come down," Astrea offered eagerly. "Dyanna can tell you a story about a bear and a maiden not so fair…"

Dyanna blushed crimson, up to her hair. Maekar lifted an eyebrow. "I'd like that very much," he said, feeling sure that in the second retelling, the bear would be twice as crabbed and two times less heroic.

She didn't even look at him. She was offended again, although he could not understand the reason. "As you know, I can never resist your stories, my lady," he added and Dyanna perked up. And while she was describing a dirty paw striking blindly and saliva dribbling from a vicious snout, he stared at the left profile she had turned to him and tried to guess where the place for all those stories was located. He had never been as entertained in a girl's company as he was with her. No whispering and giggling. No coy blushing. She was as direct as his mother, not making him wonder what she truly meant when she said something. Of course, she was dangerous. But she was bold and amusing.

His own amusement flew right out the window the very next day when he was informed that he'd wed her in about a year. In the beginning, he only huffed which, to him, equaled a burst of laughter. But then, looking at his parents, he slowly realized that the King and Queen were entirely serious. "I won't do it," he said simply. "Please. Anyone else but her."

His mother studied him a long time until he felt uncomfortable. And then Rhaegel chose this moment to look back from tracing forms against the window pane, forms that only he could see, and look at him just as thoughtfully as their mother did. "I thought you liked her."

"I do," Maekar confirmed, although he would have happily broken Aerys' nose for making such a remark. Or Baelor's… again. But it looked that with Rhaegel, he could never be this volatile. "With her, it is as if I am having a mummer show all for myself. She's great to be around – but not constantly."

Having her in his life full time? She'd cut his lifetime twice as short without even meaning to. Whoever took her to wife had to either live in constant danger because Dyanna Dayne was walking trouble, always dragging others in as well, or beat it out of her at which point she'd lose the sparkle that he enjoyed so much. Somehow, the idea of this Dyanna made him scowl. He didn't want her to become like the other maidens in his mother's household, always crowding together, ready to flatter and bat their eyelashes. He didn't know how to react to those pretenses – in truth, he barely knew how to react to honesty. Interactions had never been his strong suit. And girls were another species altogether, making him feel even more awkward than usual. Not that it was a reason to wed someone who'd have him constantly on the alert just because he felt he understood her. Which was ridiculous anyway – she lied as easily as other people breathed.

"Well," Daeron offered, "you can always send her to a castle well away from King's Landing as soon as she's done her duty. No need to see her every day if you don't want to. You can visit from time to time and…"

Mariah shot out of her chair and crossed the solar to her husband, glowering. "What did I just hear?" she asked and he laughed.

"Peace, my lady," he said. "I was jesting. I knew it would irk you."

"You have no idea…" she murmured, returning to her seat.

Daeron gave Maekar a stern look. "Listen," he ordered. "I'll talk to you the way I'd have talked to my Hand. At the moment, I have no time for your apprehensions although I do admit that the girl seems quite a handful. I need to balance the Marcher lords' influence with a counter weight. They've never been the most peaceful ones among our subjects and they're overreaching. In all directions. It's a matter of time before they clash with their own overlords. And Dorne. The clashes are still minor ones but they feel sure that I won't make steps against them because one of their own is the future king. I believe this match will bring some much-needed redistribution of influence in the region. The Red Mountains should not turn red again."

His voice was level, his face against the lavender falling star on the tapestry serene. This situation was not troubling him. He had planned this match for years, not just a few short months. And of course, he hadn't told Maekar. Why should he? Maekar was so young. It was Baelor who enjoyed full trust.

"But she isn't the only girl available who can help you achieve this," he said.

"No, indeed," Daeron agreed.

"House Dayne is one of the most ancient Houses in Dorne," Mariah cut into the conversation. Daeron wasn't supposed to agree! Of all available girls on this side of the Red Mountains, she wanted this one.

"And Dyanna Dayne is one of the wildest girls in Dorne," Maekar reminded her and then stopped. He didn't know this. All he had to compare her to were the girls sent by their Houses to serve his mother – and they did their best to conform to the customs that were not Dornish. But even if he was right… Did he want a girl like one of them if he could have a choice? Or should I wed someone like Dyanna – a trouble, a liar, and a constant source of unsolicited opinions – just because I'm always clear about where I stand with her and she amuses me all the time like Mother amuses Father?

"Why not, in fact?" Maekar asked aloud and for the first time gave the matter some serious consideration.

Unfortunately, Dyanna's thoughts were that she could not wed Maekar – not for the world. Not that she would ever say so to her parents. She had learned to read them well enough to know when she was losing her time. Her mother was fiercely against the match. Her father seemed content and that was what mattered.

"You aren't really going to wed him, are you?" Ultor asked when he came to her chamber to discuss the situation late at night.

Dyanna looked at him as he sprawled on one of the sofas in what they still called their solar. The third one had been returned ever so recently, with Astrea growing up enough. He seemed so at ease, so devoid of torment. Had he forgotten already? She rose and busied herself with one of the oil lamps.

"Have you noticed that they don't use oil lamps much at King's Landing?" she asked absent-mindedly.

"There are many things that they don't use much at King's Landing," Ultor replied. "So, are you going to refuse to say the words?"

There was fear in his eyes and Dyanna felt angry. Did he truly thought her this stupid?

"I won't," she said. I'll make him refuse the betrothal before it's even announced, she added silently but the suspicion in her brother's eyes did not lessen.

And yet, the next morning the idea didn't seem so terrible. So Maekar was northerner and far removed from Dornish ways but he had never told her not to express her opinion. He even looked interested in it. He just didn't follow it and presumably, that could be worked around. He had gotten her in trouble that had caused her to fall into the rebels' hands but he had helped her escape later. He had risked his life to take this snake off her, so he was not lacking in bravery. At King's Landing, she had gone repeatedly to watch the boys train and he looked very promising in this regard which mattered to her. He was pleasing to her to look at. So he was gruff, morose, humourless, and short of words – and what of it? He couldn't resist her stories and that was almost as important as his fighting skills. Ultor listened to her politely but he was never truly interested in the tales she spun out of nothing. Her life with Maekar wouldn't be such a bad one. And besides, he was so warm that with him, she shouldn't need to pile three blankets so she could go to sleep in the ice northerners called mild spring.

On the con side, he didn't find her beautiful. Well, I won't become plump just to fit his idea of beauty, Dyanna vowed. But what if he got bored with her and her stories, one day? She'd have nothing to keep his interest with, he'd feel free to chase other girls and she wouldn't be allowed the same freedom. She wouldn't be able to even return home because her father and mother wouldn't accept her, so she'd have to spend her life lonely and unloved, away from all she held dear. He showed no respect. He didn't treat her like a highborn maiden but a troublesome boy – or a kitchen maid! Was that how it was going to be? Forever?

She barely slept and woke up with the servants a little before dawn. The head cook, already wide awake, in her white apron, shook her head and almost chased after Dyanna with the ladle she was holding when the girl grabbed a piece of cheese and a pepper in one hand, a cup of tea in the other and darted off for the gardens followed by a few drops of reddish tea.

As usual, strong emotions made her ravenous. At the time she arrived at her beloved lilac, she was only holding the cup. She pressed her face against the purple petals and smiled, inhaling. "Good morning," she whispered to the lilac, the day, the world stirring into functioning once again.

"Does it talk back to you?"

Dyanna spun back, startled. Was he mocking her? As a child, she had named all her favourite belongings, to her mother's discontent and Ultor's jests.

"Oh I was just asking it what it thought on the matter of our wedding," she said nonchalantly.

"And what did it say back?" Maekar looked mildly interested.

Well, what had she expected? An outburst of joy? He might be enjoying her stories but catching her talk to the lilac was probably too much. His lack of enthusiasm made her remember all the surprises she had served him, the danger she had placed him less than a month ago – after all, the blame had not been entirely his, - all the lies he had heard her say, all the things that were too much even in Dorne that he had seen her do. And what about the snake! He would take her to wife because he was dutiful. And then, he'd try to knock it out of her because her behavior was clearly not dutiful.

"That it was a very bad idea," she replied. She truly feared the prospect of being tied to such a strong personality and grim temper under those circumstances.

He didn't even object. Instead, he became thoughtful. "I can see why it would think so," he agreed. "There seems to be something inherently wrong about that."

To her frustration, Dyanna felt jaded. He could have at least pretended! But then he wouldn't be he. He didn't think she was lovely, he didn't like her and worst of all, he didn't even seem to share the turmoil raging in her soul. She disliked him in turn but there was something about him that kept her in his company. Something that made her feel warm and content. Not that he made her happy, far from it. But when she was with him, she felt that yes, that was where she belonged. How could he not feel the same?

"Anyway, I am not heeding a lilac brush," Maekar went on, very prosaically. "As far as I know, the betrothal will be announced at King's Landing."

It won't, Dyanna thought. I won't go to someone who doesn't want me at all. And I'll use the very gifts you despise to save myself.

The storm came all of a sudden, as sometimes happened in the Sunset Sea. It coincided with the high tide, so the Torentine thundered black and ugly, riding the crests on a wave that only rose in death and destruction. As the sun set in scarlet glory, nonchalant to anything but its own sublimity, the first shouts echoed from the mainland, crossing the Torrentine and reaching the rock on the island that housed Starfall. They blended with the roar of the sea and the black rage of the river; standing upright over the top of the Palestone Sword Tower, Dyanna imagined the despair of the smallfolk living on the shores, their scrambling to get away from the overspread tie, the tears running down their cheeks. Right now, some of them were losing their livelihood, their houses, perhaps. Dyanna's most fervent prayers were with those fishermen who had not yet managed to come home. Had the sun set red last night as well? Had they seen it if it had? Alone up there, she prayed and waited, absent-mindedly rubbing away the pain in her breast from time to time. She felt cold inside, colder than even when the snake had coiled up over her, and when the cold spread on the outside, she turned and climbed down the stairs.

In the great hall, her father was having a heated argument with Ser Nymor of High Hermitage and Lord Blackmont. "This tidal wave wouldn't have been nearly as fierce if you had maintained your parts of the Torentine well cleaned!" he was saying, his voice rising uncharacteristically. "Those poor people wouldn't have lost their fields of crops if you have done your share as is your duty!"

"My coasts are well-cleaned," Lord Blackmont snapped back. "And the river bed as well. I have done my duty without dodging and I'll keep doing so in the future."

Her father huffed. "As if!"

Dyanna immediately took his side. He kept the part of the Torentine flowing through his lands as controlled as possible. Their people shouldn't suffer because someone else hadn't done his part!

It was a matter of time before the conversation turned to the Marcher lords further up the Torentine. Dyanna knew that the issue would probably reach the King's ears, with both sides blaming each other for the extent of the flood. The hostilities would be renewed again. All of a sudden, her desire to avoid marrying Prince Maekar looked petty and willful, a whim of a petulant child who insisted that her father should stop the storm or stopped the wheel of the wheelhouse from breaking in the first place. There was a tragedy raging just above the windows, the new and green peace could still be endangered – and she was sulking over the fact that Maekar didn't like her looks.

Without thinking twice, she left the great hall and ran through halls and hallways, up stairs and along walls to reach the gallery that led from the rooms Maekar had been put in to the practice yard. A short while before the storm, he had still been there, practicing his swordplay. Perhaps he had gone through the other hallway. Or perhaps he had walked fast as he was wont to. Perhaps he hadn't seen the bunch of parchments carpeting the small square landing at the top of the staircase. Perhaps the rain had doused the torches…

"Is this what you're looking for?"

She startled and spun around. Leaning against the wall near his door, Maekar was staring her down angrily. She immediately saw the parchment in his hand and a fierce blush overcame her.

"Come here," he ordered without moving. "Let's go inside."

She recoiled. "Alone? In your bedchamber?"

"What, are you being mindful of your reputation now? That horse has long bolted the stable," he replied, looking meaningfully at the letter.

Dyanna swallowed and followed him.

Inside, a few oil lamps gave a lovely light. Blood orange peelings hung over small braziers, filling the room with aroma. A few books, meticulously piled exactly over each other, rose at the table. Dyanna saw the wet spots near the windows and thought that like her, he might have been watching the storm, preparing to unleash one of his own.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, his voice surprisingly controlled. "I thought we had gotten to the point of some tolerance. Why do you want to make me a laughingstock for all Westeros?"

Dyanna thought about her answer and came down with nothing. "You mean all the other men? I didn't know that anyone would think of a match between us and…"

"I mean that there are no men," he interrupted and glared at her. "We've been joined at the hip for weeks. I've seen your reactions, even when you were tending me. There is no way that you've even seen someone who wasn't decently clad before, let alone do with them everything you describe in those very interesting letters of yours…"

Dyanna reached to take the parchments back but he put a hand over them. "So," he said, still very evenly. "Who did you write those letters to? Half the lords in Dorne?"

"Half the lords in the realm," she admitted because there was no use to lie. He'd see for himself anyway.

Maekar closed his eyes. A muscle rippled on his jaw and Dyanna wondered what emotions he was fighting. Anger, this much was clear. What else?

"I see," he finally said. His eyes bore into her. "Perhaps I should indeed ask your father to release me from the marriage promise. And then, I should send the addressees those very interesting letters."

Dyanna gaped in horror. "But that will turn me into an outcast! No man will want to take me to wife!"

"You ought to have thought of that before deciding to play me for a fool."

"I didn't quite manage it, did I? You know the letters do not correspond to reality. You won't really…"

"I don't know what I will do!" Finally, his self-control cracked. He rose and Dyanna stepped back so quickly that she tripped over her hem, fell back against a wooden table and felt the edge cut painfully in her back. Tears welled in her eyes.

Maekar, of course, came to check on her but once he saw she could move her fingers and feet, he didn't feel obliged to help her up. He stepped back and watched as she crawled back to her feet.

"I suppose I can show those to your father," he said. "And ask for a maester and midwife to examine you."

Examine her? She gave him a bewildered look.

"Or better, seek the truth myself," he went on.

This time, she understood him and gasped in fear. He looked furious enough to cause her considerable harm. That was, if she lived so long. If her father got to read the letters, it wasn't a certainty. And then, another thought, also very displeasing, came to her mind and she spoke it before she could think twice. "I won't be your first, will I?" she asked.

He paused. "You're really a fool if you ask me such a question right now," he said and she didn't protest. "Why did you do it?" he finally asked again. "Am I such a monster that you'd resort to such measures just to get rid of me?"

There was something in the tone of his voice, the eyes he quickly averted that made her pause. As if her answer really mattered. As if he feared it.

"I was scared."

"What of, by the Seven? Me?" He looked at her, disbelieving. "I thought you didn't fear anything."

He now looked more surprised than enraged, so she dared an answer. "I am scared of being wed to a man who doesn't want me."

Now, Maekar looked at her as if he was seeing a madwoman. "Where did this come from?"

"Do you want to wed me?"

He frowned, thinking. "Yes," he finally said. This time, he seemed to have grasped some idea of what not to say, so he didn't add why he wanted to wed her. It was better this way. Dyanna nodded.

"I won't try anything again, then. I'll just burn the letters… all eighteen of them…"

"What?" he interrupted sharply. "How many?"

"Eighteen," she said in a small voice. Somehow, she already knew what he'd say and he confirmed it.

"There are only twelve letters here."

They looked at each other and ran for the door, Maekar dragging her along because her back wouldn't let her stand upright and the pain in the spot of the snake had suddenly intensified.

But their frantic search yielded no results. The letters would stay forever like a hidden threat, a hand reaching out from the darkness for them and theirs, a blade hidden in the silk of a single ill-considered decision that a young and spoiled girl should have never allowed herself to make.