Asha V courtesy of Sensfan90. Thank you for your contribution ! =)
(Planky Town: 298 AC) Asha V (by Sensfan90)
The poor condition of the room said it all really. A faded orange carpet over old weathered stone lit by a pair of candles and moonlight. The furniture was just as unimpressive; featuring a splintered old table, ink, parchment and a pair of simple wooden chairs. Dust and cobwebs filled the crevices around her, the floor long since cracked and uneven from years of neglect. Even the exterior was depressing, that of a poor broken holdfast from the days of King Daeron. It had never been truly restored after the breaking of Planky Town. Really if one were to look for the Princess of House Martell it was the last place anyone would think of.
She sat across from her in a long simple grey dress, only a pair of golden bracelets around her wrists suggested she was anything but a normal young woman. Whatever had caused Arianne to setup this meeting had shook her to the core. Not a word had been spoken as she arrived, simply a motion to sit across from her. Even the wine she offered was quite watered down, far more conservative than her usual taste.
"A bit dreary don't you think? You used to take me to much nicer places." The Princess failed to take the bait as she tried to lighten the mood. Not even meeting her eyes, the Princess of Dorne turned to the small pile of parchment and began to carefully leaf though them before offering a trio of pages. Taking them without comment she moved closer to the candlelight. Roaming over the words, it became clear it contained the handwritten notes of her companion. Ideas and information covered the page in frantic bits of inks and blots. The Princess had desperately worked to remember as much information as possible. Most of it appeared as insane ramblings of mouthy attendants, but two words never stopped appearing.
Griff and Stag.
She knew the word Griff from somewhere, yet for the life of her she could not remember where. Before she even had time to wonder why the name bugged her so, the Princess began speaking. "We are out of time Asha; my father has quietly begun marshaling Dornish forces."
"I find that hard to believe, one does not simply call the banners without the rest of Westeros knowing." Running her fingers through her long dark hair, the Princess breathed a long sigh.
"Father has sent riders requesting that every Dornish house take a census in preparation for a possible winter. House Martell does this annually by raven, by sending a rider it is code for making material preparations. Even if I thought I was mistaken, there is no question it all started after the arrival of a sellsword by the name of Griff. From the moment my father greeted him in his solar, he changed."
Her mood sharpened at the news, Doran Martell was probably the most conservative man in Westeros. "Sellsword? He is marshaling an army now of all times? Why? For decades he did nothing after the sack!"
Arianne leaned forward in her chair and raised her left arm, slamming her fist on the table. The clang of her golden bracelet echoing throughout the room. Now that they were so close, the dark circles on her eyes became visible under the light from the flame. "I know! My uncle always preached about vengeance for my aunt, yet my father talked him down at every turn. Now he speaks with sellswords, and ones that fill him with such trepidation? Madness!"
"When did this happen? I barely left port more than a month ago from our last meeting."
The Princess breathed softly as she regained her composure. Leaning back in the chair she focused once more,"Yes, father was quite impressed with your work. He gave you a bounty did he not? On the other side of Dorne?"
"Bounty implies a crime, he wanted a boy dead. It was rather boring actually."
Drinking her wine, she lounged on the deck as her crew finally returned and dumped the shackled prize upon the planks of the ship. Donnel Drumm and Tristofer Botley kept firm hands on his shoulders while Jane Shepard strutted up to her side. Clad in a scandalous orange dress on loan from Sunspear the target had taken the bait. Judging by the shit eating grin on her fellow sailor the slip in the drink had worked perfectly.
Truly the night had gone wonderfully, with soothing waters of Torrentine making for lovely ambiance to her evening meal. The river was strong and fast as it approached the Summer Sea, and it had functioned as the source of House Dayne's power since the time of the First Men. It also happened to be a delightful spot for dumping a body. It was an amusing sight, a roguish man with single streak of black in his flowing blond hair, his face a picture of hatred. She remained silent as he glared at her with his harsh violet eyes. She would have enjoyed him once upon a time. However, his stupidity has soured any further interest on her part. Motioning the rest of her crew to take the deck she kicked the man hard enough to bring to his knees.
"Evil bitch! I should have known an Ironborn would have been the one to use such a dishonorable tactic." Sensing his rage, she continued to enjoy her Dornish Red as he became ever more incensed at her lack of reaction. Access to the private stocks of House Martell was proving to be rather delicious upside to her alliance. The fact this particular vintage came from High Hermitage somehow made it even sweeter. "Come now Squid, answer me! Better yet prove you have some worth other than as filthy pirate by fighting me now. No drugs, only skill!"
"Yes, because the Dornish are known for their deep commitment to the honorable conduct of war. If I had known all it took was a glance at Sheperd's tits to distract you from your drink, I would have done this in broad daylight. Aren't nobleman supposed to be paragons of virtue? On second thought don't answer, I don't care. Wynch be a dear and grab the rest of the bottle, will you?" Tilting her cup back and forth like some pampered greenlander it caused the man to glower even harder in her direction. As Wynch returned and began to fill her cup he finally seemed to accept his fate and asked the obvious question.
"Why are you here?"
"Money dear boy, for your head. Though given how easy this was I may take in the sights."
"House Dayne will not let my death be ignored. They will find you!"
"A smug noble prick goes after a pretty girl and is never heard from again. Really Darkstar, the honeytrap is almost as old as banditry itself. Besides don't you want to know why you are going to die tonight?"
"Someone in Dorne wants me dead and they hired a foreigner. Who was it, Yronwood, Spottswood, Tor, Sunspear?"
"Somehow the fact you have list does not surprise me. Evidently a rather nice fellow does not want you skulking around his land anymore. Botley finish him and dump the body." The pathetic man barely had time to scream before the cold steel of Botley's blade slit his throat. Without prompting the hulking arms of Donnel Drumm tossed the dying man overboard, the river doing the rest.
"Good work everyone, the evening is yours. We sail in the morning." If only all her jobs were this easy.
"So, the prick Gerold Dayne was just a distraction for you father to keep me away from the Narrow Sea while he discussed plans with his other friends" She bit her tongue before she said something she would regret. She had gotten far too comfortable and been played like some green boy in his first battle.
"Dayne was given a direct order by my father and ignored it. Whatever words were spoken, the level of seriousness was enough that he could not be allowed to live. Still his temporary removal of you is irksome to our plans. Worst of all, I can find no fault in his logic. Sellswords and a Greyjoy in Sunspear? War. plain and simple."
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips at the remark, "Yes, even my uncle Victorian could have made that connection. Still why now of all times? What could cause your father of all people to make such a move?"
"I know he had some sort of prior relationship with this man Griff. Enough that he personally summoned younger guards for the meeting after he entered. Which suggests he is Westerosi, and a noble one at that. I suspect a loyalist to the Targaryens. Such individuals were legion when I was young, especially as the Tyrells looked inward in defeat." A sound argument, but not a particularly helpful one. Despite what most remember, only the North and Westerlands worked in complete unison against the Red Dragon. Her own families contribution a glorified pirate raid. Even decades later it would not be difficult to find those who still favored the reign of the Targaryens in most of Westeros.
"Yet your father did nothing then. Perhaps the dragon lovers sensed what we have? Plans for war from the two Stags? It is not as if the Targaryen cause is lost, we know the girl Ivory is coveted by many."
"Or perhaps Griff hopes to convince him from following the Baratheons at all. Nymeria has written from Crackclaw Point, she has been treated extremely well. Far more than a petty lord and a bastard should expect. As much as my cousin enjoys being treated like a Princess, she is intelligent enough to know she is not." Taken a sip of the wine, she let the cool liquid calm her as it traveled through her body. The web of intrigue was large, she knew that. They had come too far to make a mistake now in haste.
"It is not as if we did not conclude the potential marriage to be a bribe from Azula towards Dorne. A match the Firelord could end with little fanfare. No offence to your cousin, but a lordship for a bastard daughter is not enough of a boon to convince you father to give the loyalty of an entire kingdom. It is however more than enough to give pretext to a deeper partnership."
"Of course, however I know enough from Tyene and Obara that my Uncle Oberyn has been speaking extensively with the Firelord since he arrived in King's Landing. Enough that he has requested a personal tour of Dragonstone alongside the new Hand of the King. There are other things as well which raise even more questions. Merchants and tradesman have been inquiring over my affairs for some time now. My tastes in food, clothing and other mundane facts about my life. It was only when this Griff arrived and that I heard whispers from a few of the looser lipped guards that I understood. He came with an offer, one he believed to be greater than my father had already received."
"Greater offer? Arianne, what is it?" Arianne turned harshly to the lone window and quietly she stared deeply at the moon for a few moments as she gathered her thoughts. Whatever information had placed her in such a mood had come to the fore. Finally, she turned back towards her, the suspicion in her voice palpable.
"I suspect Azula Baratheon has broached the subject of a potential marriage between Steffon Baratheon and myself." She nearly choked as the Princess finished. The idea was simple but immensely frightening, one did not simply ask such a thing without political fallout.
"Fuck the bloody Drowned God. Do you have any proof beyond hearsay and conjecture? Princess, I simply cannot fathom why your father all people would make such a bold move. It seems so sudden, so disruptive."
Arianne frowned as she finished, a look of confusion on her face. "He will be my lesser Asha, and it does tie Dorne back into the royal family, if once removed. He is of high enough birth to be acceptable in eyes of our senior lords. His actions in the Stepstones alone would placate some of our more eastern houses. You believe it will be scandalous?" Jumping to her feet she resisted the urge to scream in frustration. Harshly she gripped the table, the old wood cracked under her fingers. Hesitating she took a deep breath, Arianne did not deserve to have the bloody thing flipped in frustration. Removing her hands, she dusted the small flecks of withered timber in a vain attempt to regain her composure. The Princess tilted her head in understanding, clearly having shared the frustration.
"Symbolism Princess, it all comes down to how this looks. Azula Baratheon, the Firelord, has never truly made it a secret she considers herself the Queen of her people. An engagement of you to her son, a scant few months after Joffrey Baratheon is betrothed to Sansa Stark, is no coincidence. She is telling Westeros that Steffon Baratheon is just as deserving of royal wife as the Crown Prince. Stark, Arryn, Lannister, Baratheon and Martell, there can be no greater bloodlines in Westeros. A brilliant counterstrike without actually giving the Iron Throne offence. Even the mere rumor of such a thing will cause issues." Taking the goblet from the table, she briskly brought it to her lips. Downing more wine, the aggravation of it all refuse to be washed away. The winds of intrigue had shifted and her mind proved unable to ignore it.
"And perhaps it is but a rumor. However, I know it spooked this man Griff on towards setting a meeting with the Prince of Dorne. The fact my father allowed me to attend his arrival but not the meeting itself was all the more telling." She nodded, the reasoning behind such a move was rather simple.
"He wanted you to know about it, but he did not trust you enough to keep the details secret." Barking out a harsh laugh she realized Prince Doran was quite right to do so. "Given we are speaking about whatever this Griff entertained your father with…"She stilled as the name Griff finally clicked, why the word bugged her so. The missing ships, the changing of the guard, the Targaryen connection, even the reason for the subterfuge.
Arianne noticed her mood immediately rose from her chair. The moonlight shining brilliantly over her dark locks as curiosity lingered in her eyes. "Asha, what is it?"
"Griff, Griffen, Griffin…. it's fucking Jon Connington!" The Princess blinked owlishly as she too realized the man's identity. Suddenly the secrecy made considerably more sense to both of them. "The former Hand of the King, and perhaps Rhaegar Targaryen's most faithful supporter. He supposedly died a broken man in Essos. Now he arrives as the champion of some unseen mercenary force? There can be only one purpose, a Targaryen restoration."
"Clearly, but at what cost? If the Iron Throne get's even a whisper of the hired blades sailing from Essos, the Iron Ships of Dragonstone will set the waters aflame. It would do more for securing Baratheon rule then the humbling of the Ironborn. We are missing something, something important to give my father pause. If Griff is in fact Jon Connington, what could he have learned now that would force him to confront my father?" Arianne walked towards her as she finished speaking, the look of uncertainty clear in her eyes as she answered her.
"Timing, the only thing that makes sense is timing. Whatever Azula Baratheon, the Firelord plans to show House Stark within Dragonstone must be priceless. Something to give your father and uncle pause to consider beyond revenge. Or at the very least attractive enough to make the offer of marriage all but assured in their eyes. Whomever the Griffin is working with could not risk remaining in the shadows." The Princess said nothing but offered her arm as she finished speaking, the unspoken order to follow her out plain as the light from the moon. Leaving a half empty cup of wine on the table she let the Princess lead them into the hallway. With nothing but the crackling of torchlight to stave off the silence she wondered what Arianne was thinking. Before she could ask, the Princess stopped at a small window overlooking the Shadow City. Feeling the grip of the Dornishwoman tighten she turned to look at her one last time.
"Father would not have sent Uncle Oberyn to King's Landing without purpose. Whether the plan was always to sail to Dragonstone ...I cannot say. Regardless I fear our ability to chart our future in this conflict will soon be taken. Do not leave Sunspear until I know what my father plans. But you and I both know there is no stopping it now."
Feeling the cold desert wind wash over her, she did know. "War."
