ARYANA ARAERIS WAS NO KINSLAYER, DESPITE WHAT HAS BEEN DECREED.
She crumbled up the yellow parchment, the one that declared her a murderer and kinslayer by the order of Prince Doran of Sunspear and King Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, before throwing it into a muddy puddle on the ground. The parchment says the same thing as every other letter that has her name written on it; that she was wanted for the murder of her youngest brother, Arton Araeris, who was killed nearly five moons ago. Word had quickly spread throughout Dorne and then, soon throughout all of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.
She had not expected that her sister and Prince Doran would begin spreading their reach into Braavos. If there were yellow parchment with faded words of her accused crime nailed onto the walls of run down inns and loud taverns alongside warnings of other wanted criminals, then Alia must have gone directly to the Sealord and bargained with him to spread the tale. She must have spread word to the sellswords that litter the city too, placing a very large prize on her head. Make it impossible for her to hide in the Free Cities when there were papers everywhere declaring her a kinslayer with a drawing of her face and a reward for her capture.
It's exactly what Aryana would have done. It seems that her little sister paid more attention to her lessons than she thought.
"Bloody hells." Aryana quietly swore as she saw another piece of parchment pinned to the outside wall of a rowdy brothel, her name and face clearly written on it. The paper was nailed onto the wall, amongst many other papers of wanted criminals, from thieves to murderers to a piece of parchment with no drawing of anyone nor any name, only the name Ānogar Nāpāstre. She could not read the words that described his crimes but she can assume that it must have been horrible for the reward money to be higher than was has been placed on her own head.
She tore down that parchment too, ripping it to a hundred pieces before letting all the pieces drop to the ground. She glared at the ground as if it was the reason why she was cursed, before picking up her pace and continuing her walking.
Ragman's Harbor was perhaps the dirtiest and noisiest port Aryana has ever seen. There were all sorts of people there; scantily dressed whores in wispy silks, wearing seductive smiles and wrapping their boney fingers around men's arms and pulling them inside of the loud brothels, rough-spoken sailors carrying large crates and having foul curses tumbling out of their lips every minute, little children with messy hair and carts full of mussels and clams, trying to sell everything in their cart before the day was done. It was loud too, a hundred different tongues speaking at once, and so dirty, with all the mud that caked the ground and all the trash that littered the port.
The port was on the west side of the city of Braavos, not too far from the Drowned Town, a town where most of it's buildings were submerged halfway underwater. Further down, the Purple Harbor rested, the port that served only Braavosi ships, such as those of local merchants and the Iron Bank. Purple Harbor was said to be cleaner and richer, where the famed courtesans of Braavos and the oarsmen of the Sealord would rest. Aryana had thought to go there before deciding against; it was easier to hide in the noise of Ragman's Harbor between the cursing sailors and yelling merchants than the open air of the Purple Harbor.
It was nothing like Scorpion's Harbor back in Emberhall, only similarity it held was that both ports accepted foreign ships. Aryana had grown up walking down to Scorpion's Harbor each morning with her lady mother, watching as her mother greeted all the merchants and bakers and the family who owned the only tavern there by name. The port had many travelers coming and going but it's inhabitants were few, so few that Aryana could name them each individually. It was much quieter, the rustling of the sea being the loudest noise, and so much calmer. There weren't so many strange men running about, dirting up the port.
Arton would have loved Ragman's Port. He would have loved speaking to the colorfully-dressed mummers and exchanging stories with the foul-mouthed sailors. He would have brought a dozen mussels from the child selling them and ate them all, no matter how strange it might taste. He would even speak to the elderly spinster who sat outside the Inn of Green Hill, enthusiastically debating the monsters and doom the mad woman would always go on about.
He would enjoy seeing the Titan of Braavos most of all, a massive statue made of stone and colored bronze that stands guard to the entrance of the lagoon where Braavos begins. It was so wide and large that it could be seen from the most secluded corner of Ragman's Harbor. Arton would love to see it and would have done something stupid, like trying to climb it.
It was one thing Aryana never understood about her brother, how he was always so eager to leave. She was more than happy to remain the rest of her days in Emberhall but Arton was always anxious to see more. Young as ten he would go to their mother and beg her to let him go on the trips their uncle would make to the Free Cities. He even once spoke of sneaking on a ship to the Iron Islands during the Greyjoy Rebellion simply to see the wet rocks they called land, as if there wasn't an entire rebellion happening that they had no reason to take any part in.
Her brother always spoke about going to the Free Cities, making plans to do such. But those plans would always be pushed to later. First by their lady mother's death and Aryana begging him to remain at home as she began her duties as the ruling Lady of Emberhall, a title that once belonged to their mother. Then again, when Cassella died and Arton pushed his plans to help her. Then again, when she urged Arton to marry Daenora Manwoody and again, when his wife announced that she was with child.
A bitter taste formed in Aryana's mouth. She should have never urged him to marry so soon or asked him to stay in Emberhall. He should be running wild throughout the Free Cities, making friends with all sorts of strange men and women. Instead he lies as a corpse in the dirt, she thought, biting the tip of her tongue until she could taste the metallic flavor of blood. Still and cold as ice.
She closed her eyes and she could almost see him again; a deep, red slash against his throat and gasping for air, choking on the same blood that kept his skin warm and pumped his heart. She could almost feel the sticky blood coating her hands as she tried to close his wound and she could almost see the silver glint of the dagger that caused the damage, now burning a hole in her pocket. She could almost see Arton's life fading right in front of her, as if it was happening all over again.
Aryana opened her eyes and bit her tongue harder.
"Clams! Mussels!" a child called out as she walked by, shoving his cart in front of her so she could not walk through. "'Alms! P'ussels!" he said again, this time in the Common Tongue, though his accent made it difficult to understand.
"I do not have any coins." Aryana said to the boy in High Valyrian, hoping the child understands. "No coins."
Aryana had been forced to learn High Valyrian as part of her education, as every highborn heir seems to do. She had hated learning such a confusing language as a child but she forced herself to sit down and learn to pronounce each word and learn all the strange markings on each letter. Her mother had always reminded her it would be a useful skill to know, especially since they did so much trading with merchants from the Free Cities and High Valyrian was their native tongue.
Knowing High Valyrian in Braavos, however, seems to be worth very little. Braavosi men and women do not seem to speak High Valyrian but a bastardized version where words seemed to be misplaced and exchanged. Aryana could hardly keep up with it and she only seems to understand bits and pieces. Though, their bastardized version of High Valyrian was still far easier to understand than the trade tongue that was spoken by many sailors by the wharves. It was a jumble of many different languages, with varying phrases and words from each, followed by wild hand gestures that seem to either offend the men on the receiving end of it, or make them laugh. It gave Aryana too much of a headache to even try to understand it.
The boy gave her a pointed look. "'Alms," he stubbornly repeated, not moving his cart. "P'ussels."
"Clams," Aryana said, kneeling down so she could be at eye-level with the boy. "Mussels. Move."
The boy wrinkled his nose. "'Alms. Mussels."
Aryana snorted. Close enough, she thought as the boy beamed. The boy smiled like Sunny, wide and showing off his teeth. But this boy was a good few years older than Sunny and there was no gap between his teeth. He was paler than Sunny too, and his eyes were a bright green instead of a deep brown. Her heart clenched at the thought of Sunny. His third nameday passed a few weeks ago and she wasn't there. What did Nymor tell him? she wondered. Did he say I was dead like our Cassella is?
She sighed, digging a few coins out of her pocket and placing them in the boy's open hand. "Happy?"
The boy glanced at the three square irons coins before giving her an unimpressed glare, his hand still outstretched and his cart unmoving. Aryana groaned, digging more coins out of her hand and placing it in the boy's hand. The boy smiled, dropping the coins into a little can on his cart before digging a handful of clams and placing them in Aryana's hands. She grimaced, suddenly feeling bad for comparing Sunny to this boy; her boy is far better well-behaved than this little thief.
"If you had tried this with someone else, they would have cuffed both of your ears." Aryana grumbled, standing up as the boy finally moved her cart. "On your way, you little rascal."
Aryana kept walking after that, almost aimlessly, down Ragman's Port, placing the clams on her tongue and grimacing the at the salty taste. She had always hated the taste of seafood and clams were no exception; she preferred her meat to be of cow and sheep rather than squirming fishes from the sea. But more oft than not, she would be forced to eat fish as the Braavosi loved their fish. Even in Emberhall, she would hide her groan and eat whatever slimy creature that was served in front of her, as most of her family adored to eat such salty and slippery food. Sunny liked to slurp on oysters, just like his father does.
Aryana's shoulders tensed as her thoughts wandered to Nymor. Does he miss her? Does he believe her capable of this crime? She could understand how Alia could be so dangerously mistaken, that day relives in her mind every hour. She remembers how Alia and numerous guards flooded the halls, just in time to see Aryana standing over Arton's corpse with bloody hands and the weapon that did the deed in her lap. She had no choice but to flee, especially with how Alia had looked at her with so much betrayal and grief, and ordered the guards to place her in the cells.
But surely, Nymor would know better? He is her husband, the father of her children, her closest friend since she was a little girl, he surely knows her better than what is being said of her. He would know that she loves Arton and would never wish him harm, that she would not disgrace her family's name so cruelly. That she would not leave Sunny, not unless she had no choice but to.
Fleeing was the only option to her that would allow her to find her brother's true murderer. It is the only way she could clear the dishonor off her own name. She knows the name of the woman who has done the deed and it is the only reason she remains in Braavos, to find her. Nymor must know that.
She had made little progress in finding her brother's murderer, only that the woman was somewhere in Braavos and that was nearly three moons ago. She has no idea if the woman is still in Braavos or if she had slipped away back to Dorne or one of the many other Free Cities. She could be far and gone, and Aryana is playing the part of the fool.
Aryana kicked a rock on the ground, her mouth twisting into a deep frown. "Fuck," she swore, before quickly slapping her hand over mouth. Her mother hated when she used foul language growing up, shoving a bar of soap in her mouth whenever she dared to use any sailor's swears. Aryana had never cared much for swears anyways, and she cared even less when Sunny was born and then later, Cassella. She didn't want her children to be exposed to such foul words. But her mother and Cassella were long dead and Sunny was miles away from her.
"Fuck," she whisper again, a giggle tumbling out of her mouth. She never swore this much. Arton would dissolve into laughter if he could see his strict sister cursing like a sailor from the docks. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Her smile fades and her laughter abruptly stops. "Fuck," she repeated, more angry, kicking another rock. I was the Lady of Emberhall, I was respected. "Fuck," she said again. I had a home, I had a family who stood beside me. I had a husband, a son, a sister. "Fuck."
I had a brother, she thought, biting her tongue again and tasting the fresh blood. She had a brother, a little brother who would follow her around and tug on her braids when they were small children. A brother who would throw mud in her face and argue against everyone one of her decisions, simply for the sake of arguing. A brother who stood beside her as they buried their mother and held her when she had to bury her own child. Dead and gone, she numbly thinks. Still and cold as ice.
Aryana bit harder on her tongue, until all she could taste was her own blood. "FUCK!" she screamed, earning the glares and curious stares from bystanders. Aryana glared at all the curious stares, pulling her head down as she hurried her pace down the port.
She walked past a group of men leaning over a roll of parchment paper outside of a tavern, only to double back when she caught a glimpse of her face sketched onto the paper. Aryana groaned; she had hoped she had taken all of them down. Her hands drifted to the two dirks that were hanging by the sides of her hips, hidden between the fabrics of her skirts.
The men were speaking in low voices, in the Low Valyrian Aryana struggled to properly understand. But she understood enough, especially when they started to speak about the coin they would receive if they captured her. Each of them had a sword by their hips and were wearing brightly-colored clothes. She was certain they were bravos that Braavos was famous for and if not that, then sellswords. Perhaps if it was three men, she could hold them back long enough to make an escape if they confronted her but it was a group of six men.
One of the men turned his gaze to her and Aryana quickly turned away her own head, resuming her walking and picking up her pace. The man began shouting foreign words, too fast for her to try to understand. She did, however, understand what it meant when the man began following her, three of his companions following her.
Aryana began running, turning corners and pushing people behind her as she ran, but the men pursed. If it came to a fight, she could defeat them, especially if they underestimated her. She didn't look particularly impressive; she was not as tall and muscular as her cousin, Venna was, nor was her face as hardened and sharp as Alia's was. Her face was round and she was short and wiry; she hardly looked the part of a terrifying force of nature. But she fast and quick on her feet, years of training with a shortsword in each of her hands made sure of it. The dirks she brought from a bellowed merchant were not as sharp nor as dangerous as the two shortswords she left behind in Emberhall but they'll do well if she must use them in defense.
But killing them will do her no good. Bravos may challenge each other and kill each other but it is all lawful in the streets of Braavos as long as it is a fair fight and proper challenge and acceptance of that challenge has been issued. That would not be the case for Aryana if she kills the sellswords who are following her. While sellswords may be lawless men with no honor and only have desire for whores and gold, Aryana would not dare to break any laws of the land she was on. Besides, it would cause too much distraction and attention onto her. It would be better for her to hide, somewhere between the corners of the ports and the taverns that held it together.
Aryana took another left turn, and then another and another, until the sellswords were hidden behind the walls and corners before slipping inside the first tavern she came across. The tavern was empty, barring a single woman who was picking up large cups off of tables and placing them on the counters with a loud slam.
The woman nearly jumped a foot in the air when she saw her, a tumble of words falling out of her lips, too fast for Aryana to understand. But the wild hand gestures and angry glint in her eyes Aryana understood quite well.
"Please," Aryana pleaded, praying that this woman understands the High Valyrian that she speaks. "I don't understand what you are saying. Just let me stay here for an hour."
The woman did not reply at first. Then a laugh escaped her lips. "I had not heard such an awful accent in years." she said in the Common Tongue, snorting and shaking her head. "Come in, you may sit for an hour. But only an hour, then you leave."
Aryana gaped, slowly moving forward. She had not expected to see anyone who spoke the Common Tongue, much less it be someone from the poorer port of the Ragman's Harbor. "You speak the Common Tongue?"
"It is my native tongue." the woman said, resuming her work of putting away her dishes.
The woman must have been at least a decade older than Aryana is; laughter lines creased the corners of her mouth and strands of gray rested in her yellow, corkscrew curls, despite how she couldn't have reached her fortieth nameday yet. She was short and plump, with a round face and tan skin and wide, almost doe-like, brown eyes. Her accent was silky, rolling and stretching over letters as typical of the Dornish drawl.
That only made Aryana more surprised. She had not expected to meet anyone from Westeros, much less Dorne. At least the woman was not from Emberhall, her skin was too pale and her hair and eyes were too light for that. Most that hailed from Emberhall had skin that was brown and eyes and hair that was black as the night sky, same as Aryana had. The woman must be from the deserts of Vaith or near the rivers of Yronwood.
Despite clearly being from Dorne, with the accent her voice fell into when she spoke the Common Tongue, the woman dressed like a Braavosi peasant woman. She wore a white kirtle that went all the way up to her neck under her gown that had puffed sleeves the color of burnt orange, and she wore brown doublet over the bodice of her gown. Her hair was wrapped in a white cap that many of the older women of Braavos would wear, only a few strands of her yellow curls falling out.
Aryana wore the same type of clothing, to disguise herself better while she walked through the ports of Braavos. She wore a red gown with puffed sleeves over a loose kirtle and a white cap that covered much of her black hair that she had twisted into a tight braid. It was another thing she missed about Emberhall, she could wear her hair loose and cover it with a flowing scarf. The garments were more loose fitting and the fabrics were more thin to accommodate to the heat. She would wear long tunics that reached below her knees and whose long sleeves were not puffed and loose, baggy trousers that would tightened when it reached her ankles, or she would wear skirts that she could easily run in.
"You are from Westeros," Aryana stated, more of a fact than a question. "I can tell by how you speak."
The woman turned her gaze to her, a small smile lingering on her lips. "I was born in this tiny village near the Vaith, one that you most likely have never heard of. My father was a tanner there, before he took me and my mother to the Red Mountains when his brother told him of opportunities as a cook in the kitchens of Starfall."
"Dorne?" Aryana repeated, pretending to act surprised. But from the woman's subtle eye roll and snort, she must have not been very convincing. "I was not expecting to see any Westerosi here, much less one of Dornish blood."
"Let me make a guess of my own, you hail from Sunspear?"
"Emberhall." Aryana instinctively said, before winching. "My father was a spice merchant who sold his goods in Scorpion's Port." she quickly added.
"The daughter of a Spice Merchant who knows High Valyrian, but not Low Valyrian." the woman hummed. "Your father must have truly valued your education."
Aryana's breath hitched in her throat; she has never been a good liar. "He did."
The woman did not call her out on her lie nor did she seem very angry about the deception. She only shook her head and laughed. "Why are you so far from home?"
"I wanted to see the famed Titain of Braavos. And you?"
"My husband is a Braavosi man. He owns his tavern." the woman answered. "His name is Burnet and I am Milah. And you are?"
Aryana hesitated. What is my name? She wondered. It cannot be Aryana, not here. "Ana." she answered instead of Aryana, softly chewing the inside of her cheek as she remembered how Arton would call her that when he was little and Aryana was too hard for him to say. "How long has it been since you have been to Dorne?"
"Since before my eldest boy was born. Twelve years or so."
Twelve years. Aryana could hardly imagine being away from her home for so long. The amount of time she has been forced to spend away is more than enough for her lifetime. "Do you miss it? It has not been half a year for me and all I dream of is home." she asked, sitting down on one of the few clean tables in the tavern.
Milah shrugged, taking a seat besides Aryana. "Sometimes. But more oft than not, I have no desire to go back, far too many bad memories. Besides, in the condition the bloody Seven Kingdoms found themselves in, I have no intention of ever going back."
"What has happened?" Aryana asked. "I'm afraid I am behind on what has happened."
"That king of theirs had died."
"Robert Baratheon?" Aryana frowned. She never liked Robert Baratheon, not after the great offense he had done to Dorne and how he refused to give justice. "I saw the man once before. He was a drunk, hardly a great loss. His boy must be king now."
"I suppose so. It might be difficult since so many of those lordlings keep declaring themselves king and rebelling."
That was curious news to Aryana. "Why? Which ones?"
"The dead king's brothers, I think. Some northern lordling, I can't recall any of their names for the life of me." Milah told her, frowning as she struggled to remember the details. "Don't know why, perhaps they have become bored resting on their knees and wish to bloodied their swords."
"Have they dragged Dorne into their mess?"
"Not that I have heard of." Milah said and Aryana allowed herself to relax. If Dorne was not apart whatever silly fighting that is taking place, then she had no reason to worry. The last war killed her father and her uncle, when she was only a girl of eight years. She had no intention of ever letting House Araeris lose blood of their own over petty fights over crowns and thrones ever again.
Milah stared at her, her dark eyes drilling holes into Aryana. "You are not really here to see the great Titan of Braavos, truly?" At Aryana's worried face, Milah softly smiles. "Do not worry, I have told a lie or two before too."
Aryana hesitates before relaxing. It would not be too dangerous to tell Milah parts of the truth, the only parts that are true. The part that matters the most. "I'm looking for a woman," she said, carefully choosing her words. "She calls herself Dahlia of Nowhere."
Milah snorted. "Dahlia of Nowhere? A silly name, isn't it?"
"Silly name, very dangerous woman." Aryana said. "She is a thief, she sneaks into castles that belong to those of noble blood and take what is theirs and disappears. I am looking for her, so she may face justice."
Aryana had only managed to track her to Braavos, after confronting a young sailor boy who wore a necklace of House Redwyne around his neck, one that Aryana knew that Dahlia had stolen. All she had to do was point her dirk to his gut and the boy spilled every secret that he knew; how his captain gave safe passage to a woman named Dahlia to Braavos and how in return, the woman gave them many precious jewels and gold she had boasted of stealing. The boy had not laid eyes on Dahlia nor did he know of her whereabouts after the ship docked in the Ragman's Port, or Aryana would be home already.
"The difficulty is," she continued. "Not a single man seems to agree on what this Dahlia of Nowhere looks like. Some say she was old and gray haired with saggy skin, others say she's young and bright eyes with a seductive figure that distracts even the most noble of knights. Some say she has white hair and bright blue eyes while others say her hair is black as night and her eyes are even darker. Some say she's Wenda the White Fawn reborn and others say she's Wenda herself!"
"A thief who sneaks into a castle to steal precious jewels and no one even knows what she looks like?" Milah laughed. "I would like to meet this thief."
Aryana did not laugh. "I pray you do not. She is a murderer too." She killed my brother, Aryana nearly said but the words remained close to heart.
Milah's smile faded away. "I will keep my ears open for any word of this Dahlia of Nowhere. She stole something from you?"
In her head, Arton was bleeding and gasping for air. "Yes." she numbly replied. In her head, she was standing helpless and unable to help Arton.
Milah nodded. "I know the same grief, I once had something very close to my heart stolen from me. A necklace. A simple little thing, only a rusted silver chain with a broken clasp and this pendant in the shape of a star, in the prettiest shade of purple you would ever see. I suppose it doesn't matter much anymore but I did care for it greatly."
A necklace, my brother is comparable to a rusted necklace. Aryana almost laughed. She knew Milah meant no ill-will nor did she mean to offend, but her words still brought a surge of bitterness in Aryana. "I'm sorry about your necklace." she forced herself to say before something more cruel escaped her lips.
Milah rested her hand over Aryana's. "I'm sorry about what has been taken from you, Ana." she earnestly said. Aryana returned the smile, more small and weak, but still there.
The sound of the door opening and slamming shut, forced Aryana to snatch her hand away and turn her attention away to the new presence in the tavern. A man walked inside, immediately rushing to the counter where a jug of ale stood. Aryana's hand drifted to her dirk, only letting her hand relax when she caught Milah's face, which seemed more amused and annoyed than frightened.
She turned her head to Milah. "Your husband?"
"Thankfully no." Milah said before raising her voice. "That is Vaegon, he comes to steal all our ale."
Vaegon barked out laughter, glancing at Milah before his gaze landed on Aryana. He wasn't a particularly tall man, with brown skin and brown eyes that watched her with suspicion. His hair was nearly black and rested as tiny spiral curls on top of his head with a beard of the same shade covering the bottom half of his face. He dressed in the same brightly colored way most Braavosi do, the puffy-shoulder shirt he wore being a bright shade of lavender, and the unbuttoned doublet he placed over it only a darker shade of that same purple. Though, the thin sword hanging by his hips interested Aryana more.
"Your ale is not worth stealing." Vaegon said, taking a long sip of the ale from the jug. His gaze remained on Aryana, a frown settling on his lips.
"Where is Burnet?" Milah asked. "And Valerian and Admon?"
"Burnet is still by the port and those demons you call children are with him." Vaegon muttered, snatching two cups and pouring some of the ale into the cups, before walking over and placing it on Aryana's table. Milah gulped down the contents of the cup in one sip while Aryana reluctantly took a small sip of her own. "Burnet could only speak of Ānogar Nāpāstre. I think he wanted to find her himself to get the coin that is placed for her head. Or he is impressed by her."
"Blood traitor." Milah translated for Aryana before turning Vaegon. "I am impressed by her, by how one girl managed to create so much chaos."
"And even she would be nothing compared to those boys of yours." Vaegon sighed. "I need a drink after being forced to spend an afternoon with those little monsters."
Milah picked a few crumbles off the table and threw them at Vaegon. "Don't call my sons monsters."
Vaegon ignored her, focusing on Aryana. "Have we met before? I have seen your face before."
Aryana nervously laughed, standing up. "I can assure you, we have not." she said, her eyes darting to the door. It will only be a short amount of time before Vaegon recalls where he has seen her before. It would be best for her to leave by then. There is a prince on her head and if he was a sellsword, he will gladly try to capture her. And it would be rude to stain Milah's tavern with the blood of her friend after she openly welcomed her in.
"This is Ana, she is looking for a woman." Milah said. "Perhaps Vaegon can help you, he is apart of the Golden Company and knows many terrible men and women."
Milah expectantly glanced at her and Aryana reluctantly answered. "Dahlia of Nowhere."
Vaegon's face broke into a wide grin. "I've heard of her, bloody thief who made fools of those lordlings in Westeros. I do not know her but I would gladly shake her hand if I've ever met her."
"She is a murderer."
"I've made friends with worse." Vaegon's smile widened, lifting his jug. "I shared drinks with worse."
Aryana decided she had heard enough. Milah was a lovely woman and strangely kind but Aryana had no intention to stay and make friends with an honorless man such as a sellsword, one that will recognize who she is after a drink or two. "Thank you, Milah," she said to the other woman. "For allowing me to stay here and offering me this drink. But I should take my leave."
Milah nodded. "I hope you find your thief."
"I will find her." Aryana said, before slipping out of the tavern, gone as quick as she came.
The sellswords that were following her were nowhere to be seen when she reached outside, only the sight of merchants selling their goods and the sounds of the rustling winds greeted her. She bitterly smiled; it seems the gods can bless her with luck when they care enough to slink off their golden thrones and glare over the creations they made.
She leaned against the wall of Milah's tavern, staring at the scene in front of her and for a moment, she could almost see why Arton would love the Ragman's Port. There was a strange serenity, watching the children run amok and quiet bursts of laughter escaping their parents and guardians. The low rustling of the wind and the quiet sound of small waves crashing against each other that Aryana had to strain her ears to hear... she could almost see why Arton would love it here.
Her smile began to fade when she caught sight of a young girl, slipping her hands into the pockets of others and taking their coin before they noticed. Her frown deepens as the girl continues, taking what is not hers with such ease. Thief, she thought, a surge of anger flooding though her as the girl slipped away, her victims unaware of what she had done. It was not right; for the girl to take what is not hers and suffer no consequences. It was not right for her to rob and steal and fade away from justice.
She thought of Dahlia, the thief and murderer who ran free of punishments. In her mind, Dahlia had strings of gold slipping through her fingers and wore the finest of gowns, her face constantly shifting. But more and more gold will slip through her hands until the red on her hands begins to show. Her shifting face only smiled at the red.
She won't be smiling for long, not when Aryana finally catches her. When she drags her back to Emberhall and proves her own innocence. Then she will show who the true murderer is, before hanging the thief in front of the gates of Emberhall for all of Dorne to see. Arton will get his justice, she thought. And I will get to go home again.
The girl stole a bracelet off a whore's wrist and three coins out of a man's pocket before slipping away into the shadows, unnoticed and unseen. Only Aryana saw her, whistling and creeping away, and only Aryana followed the girl though the shadows.
SO for who do not know, this fic is a companion piece to great glory but you don't have read that fic to read this since all three books in the series can technically be read as a stand alone.
so i tried to keep what is happening to aryana vague but a semi clear picture should be painted right now (thought some details remain untold still) and she is quite the shitty situation. for clarity, her bro was murdered, ppl think it was her and she thinks it was the infamous thief, dahlia of nowhere (why? we will see soon enough). she is hunting her down but to no avail but don't worry, our girl doesn't give up easy.
a quick rundown on the house araeris family tree: aryana is the eldest daughter of aaryanna araeris and alvar blackmont, and aryana has two younger siblings, arton and alia (can you sense a theme here?). aaryanna was the oldest of her siblings (daughter of arron araeris and deria - deria is still alive btw) and her younger siblings are arash (who has five children and only one is legitmate), maron (who died in robert's rebellion before marrying or having kids), and marianne (the mother of our favorite lannisters). aryana is married too, to nymor dalt, and has very small kids of her own.
i based the clothing of braavos off of the renaissance era (specially dutch) bc essos seems to be more advanced than westeros in a lot of things. fun fact, i forgot the word kirtle for like twenty minutes and i put down white sheet instead, which drove me insane. with aryana reminiscing about her clothes in dorne, i kinda based it off of earlier arab styles which is technically not every accurate to what many people say dorne is based off of but i don't rlly care so.
anyways i tried to emphasize on the culture clash aryana is feeling mixed with a lot of homesickness, which is making her more anxious to leave braavos but she can't do that because the plots says ✨ no ✨
i know this chapter kinda feels like a filler but i swear it contains a lot of information, including bits that seem relevant but will reveal to be actually important later on.
i didn't state aryana's age but she is 24 rn (a year older than arianne martell) and i think she is my only oc who is a pov character who starts off her story being over the age of twenty, married, and a mother.
also, aryana not wanting to kill the sellswords bc it was against the law and not bc she thinks killing is bad is so funny to me. like babe, you're already wanted for murder i think there is some breathing room here.
what do you think is going down in emberhall after aryana left? do you think dahlia killed arton? what do you think is going to happen next? is there a detail that seems meaningless but you think means a bit more?