"Princess, Prince Doran wishes to see you."
Princess Arianne Martell tilted her head like a bird and looked at the tall, bald and fat maester. It'd been two months since she arrived at the Water Gardens per her father, Prince Doran's, request. Come at once, Prince Doran had written. The dutiful daughter she was, Arianne had left Sunspear instantly with her retinue of friends: Andrey Dalt, Sylva Santagar, her milk brother Garin and Tyene Sand, one of her Sand Snake cousins. They'd rushed to the Water Gardens…only to discover that Doran Martell was too occupied with affairs of state to receive them.
For two long months, Arianne lounged around, waiting impatiently for Prince Doran to summon her. She found no delight in watching the children splash and shriek in the pools like her father did. Then again, she was not a child nor a senile, foolish, old man.
"Princess?" prompted the maester, Caleotte.
Arianne sighed. "Prince Doran called me here two months ago for apparently a rather urgent matter. For those two months, he remained hidden in his chambers. I would have considered this a horrid jape if it was not for the fact that my father does not jest, not even in festive days."
"Prince Doran is waiting," Maester Caleotte repeated. Arianne smiled secretly as she caught sight of him tightening his lips in irritation. She rose lazily from her yellow cushioned seat, the loose layers of her flowing purple silk dress wrapping around her slender legs. The golden bracelets on her wrists jingled as she headed out of her chamber and towards Prince Doran's, Maester Caleotte trailing behind her like her shadow. Maester Caleotte usually does not follow me, Arianne thought, the sound of her snakeskin sandals slapping the pale pink marble pavement floor as she crossed the courtyard. If he is now, it only means…
She halted in her tracks, Maester Caleotte almost crashing into her.
"It is not Lord Estermont is it?" she demanded, crossing her arms.
"P-princess?" stammered Maester Caleotte.
"Lord Estermont," repeated Arianne impatiently. "Prince Doran didn't call me here to inform me that I am to marry him did he?" She was twenty five years old, almost an old maid. If she was born a man, that would not be a problem, but as a woman…not many men would care to marry an old maid. Her heart hardened. As another of his 'japes', her father had presented her with several suitors since she was fifteen, chiefly Lord Ben Beesbury, a blind, toothless and a little deaf old man, now dead; the odious Lord Walder Frey after he lost his seventh wife; the always sickly Lord Gyles Rosby who'd coughed himself to death sometime last year; the old Lord Hugh Grandison, another greybeard; and Prince Doran's favourite: Lord Eldon Estermont, whose son and heir Ser Aemon, would have been a much more suitable match if he'd not already married and had children of his own.
However, in Arianne's stream of suitors, there had been one suitable lord and he – Lord Renly – was suggested by the King's Hand, Lord Stannis Baratheon. He was in favour of it as was Arianne herself, and now doubt Prince Doran too as it'd been an ideal step towards reconciliation between Houses Martell and Baratheon in his mind. All signs of possible amity shattered when the king decided for Lord Renly to marry his old betrothed, the Tyrell girl.
"Prince Doran wishes to speak to you," said Maester Caleotte, recovering from shock. "What he desires to discuss with you is not of mine concern, Princess. It'll not bode well if you keep him waiting."
"Where do you intend to go then, Maester?" inquired Arianne sweetly. Prince Doran had kept her waiting for two months; he could wait a few minutes.
"The schoolroom of course. The young ones have a lesson today."
"Really?" Arianne squinted at the closest fountain full of laughing children. "Is that not my dear cousin Loreza over there, splashing with her sisters?"
Maester Caleotte reddened. "Prince Doran is waiting," he managed to say. That is what he does, Arianne thought, resuming her walk to her father's room. That is all he does. Think and wait.
But for what?
Arianne brushed her thoughts aside and strode to the door. The two Dornish guards stepped aside and allowed her to enter. She glanced back. As the maester had claimed earlier, he continued walking away, probably to the schoolroom. She shrugged her suspicions to the back of her mind and walked up to her father who sat facing the open window, watching the children play.
"Father," greeted Arianne, "You wished to see me?"
Prince Doran glanced at her and gestured for her to sit on the cushioned chair opposite him. He looked so much older now, more tired and weary too. Covering his swollen knees was an orange blanket embroidered with a red sun pierced by a golden spear. Arianne sat down, immediately noticing the cyvasse board on the round weirwood table in between them.
"The maesters say winter is coming," Prince Doran remarked mildly.
"Stark words," said Arianne sharply.
"The truth is it not?" Prince Doran picked up an ivory spearman and studied it intently as if it was an ancient treasure rather than a cyvasse piece. "Winter is on its way. Winter will grace us with its presence after it visits the other regions. We have not felt a true winter in years, Arianne. Our winters will be equal to autumn in the North. Perhaps their springs even."
"You summoned me here to discuss the weather?"
"The children out there are the sons and daughters of summer," Doran Martell continued as if Arianne had not grumbled. "They have not experienced winter at its fullest." He smiled faintly. "You were a winter child, Arianne," he noted to her embarrassment. "The first winter child in decades. A hot-tempered infant too, so unlike Quentyn and Trystane. Children are precious, Arianne."
Arianne stared at him. "You will not be holding grandchildren any time soon if I remain unmarried," she pointed out.
"I am quite aware of that. Quentyn wrote to me a few months ago, requesting I give permission for him to marry Lord Yronwood's younger daughter."
"Gwyneth Yronwood?" scoffed Arianne. Last she saw the Yronwood girl, she'd been a small, scrawny, little thing. She was not ugly yet not particularly pretty. It was no surprise that Quentyn liked her though. While Arianne preferred to have a more passionate spouse, sensible, cautious Quentyn would be satisfied with the plain Gwyneth Yronwood.
"An ideal match," commented Prince Doran, putting down the ivory spearman and moving the ivory elephant absently. "From Quentyn's letters, it seems he has close friends at Yronwood and has fallen in love with Lady Gwyneth. He said she is clever and as quick with words as with her hands in sewing."
"You will permit the match?"
Her father looked at her. Before he could say anything, Arianne rushed ahead and said hotly. "I know your plans, Father. You want me wedded to some old and sickly greybeard to ship me away from Dorne so your precious Quentyn could be the next Prince of Dorne. Is that it, Father? You think me too fierce-tempered and Dorne would do better to cower in peace than finally seek justice?"
"That was never my plan." Prince Doran's voice was full of grief. "I don't know where you heard it from, but I never wished to ship you from Dorne. I never even planned that. You are my heir, Arianne."
"Is it true about Quentyn?" Arianne persisted. "I heard you!"
"What you heard was false." Her father sounded exhausted now. "Do you think me a weak man, Arianne? A coward easily bullied?"
"A weak man yes," said Arianne boldly. He nodded. "As do most of the Dornish lords," he murmured, "and my enemies. Sometimes a man weak in body is not as weak in the mind. I deplore bloodshed, but that is inevitable. There'll always be a bloody battlefield whether at land or at sea."
Arianne was baffled. "I do not understand."
"You are quite like your uncle Oberyn. Fierce, hot-tempered…thirsty for blood too. Oberyn still craves revenge for the murders of Elia and her children. Why do you wish for revenge, Arianne? It is not as if a Baratheon or a Lannister killed one or more of your loved ones."
Arianne flushed. "All of Dorne cries for vengeance," she said tightly.
Prince Doran nodded. "Dorne never forgets, and neither will I." His red fingers shook. "Do you truly believe I will be satisfied with the peace talks I had with the former King's Hand? All those false promises and flattering words." He shook his head. "All we received were the bodies of the fallen Dornishmen, Lewyn Martell, Elia and her children.
"It was not long before I found an…ally of sorts in the Master of Whisperers. It was then when I thought of the perfect plan." His eyes glittered like black onyxes. "Dorne had sworn fealty to the dragons, not the stags. When King Aerys died, the loyalty we owed the Iron Throne should have ended there. However, if we claim independence, we will be alone and without allies. That will not do. Shortly after Lord Arryn spoke to me, Lord Varys paid me a visit. He told me news that I could not believe. It took Lord Varys half a year to convince me that what he spoke was the truth. Remember our tour of the Free Cities?"
Arianne nodded. Her mother the Lady Mellario had yearned to see her parents again and Prince Doran acquiesced her request, suggesting they all visit the Free Cities. Arianne was nine; Quentyn four. Trystane was not even born yet. Both her mother and father were still happily married and the tour was exciting and full of celebrations and pleasurable pastimes. Arianne met her mother's parents and all her Norvoshi cousins and enjoyed listening to Uncle Oberyn speak confidently of all the great sights.
That tour was also the last cheerful memory Arianne had of her family united. A few years later, Quentyn was sent to be fostered at Yronwood and then one or two years after Trystane was born, Lady Mellario returned to Norvos. A couple of years after that, the torrent of elderly suitors arrived.
"…I went to the manse of Magister Illyrio Mopatis with Oberyn," Prince Doran was saying. "At that time, you were with you mother and Quentyn in the Pentoshi Prince's palace as his guests. Lord Varys claimed that he smuggled Elia's son out of King's Landing and ensured he will be taken care of. Lord Varys promised that Elia's son will have a prestigious education and an excellent upbringing and will remain in Pentos until the time is ripe for his return."
Arianne's mouth dropped open. Baby Aegon Targaryen…alive?
"How are you certain the child was truly Aegon?" she murmured.
"He is no longer a child," her father said, eyeing the ivory dragon piece. "He's a young man of nineteen. During our stay at Pentos, Oberyn and I saw the boy Lord Varys claimed to be Elia's son. He is Elia's son, Arianne. When we were at Pentos, I was convinced he was not my nephew, but when I looked at him and held him, I knew that he is Aegon Targaryen, the true king."
"Where is he now?"
"Waiting. Magister Illyrio had already contracted for him a couple of sellsword companies including the Windblown and the Golden Company. Aegon will not be waiting for much longer though."
"Uncle Oberyn oft told me you said to him that Dorne would not survive alone and without allies."
Doran nodded. "We do have an ally – House Tyrell."
"The Tyrells?"
"I negotiated a pact with Lady Olenna Tyrell many years ago. We agreed that a day in the future, we'll restore the Targaryens to the Iron Throne which will also end all disputes and enmities between Dorne and the Reach. As you're aware, the best method to seal a pact is through marriage. In our case, marriages." He gazed at Arianne again. "Dornishmen usually do not wed Reachmen and with a strong, united alliance, the Stormlands will be isolated between us. That's something the king and his Hand do not want."
"The King's Hand is the Lord of Storm's End."
Doran nodded again. "As you are a woman and my heir, it would have aroused the Lord Hand's suspicions if I did not betroth you to any lord."
"Ben Beesbury, Walder Frey, Gyles Rosby, Eldon Estermont, Hugh Grandison," Arianne chanted bitterly. "All old men. Did you mean to insult me, Father? Every single consort you suggested were all slights."
"You have been promised for sixteen years," said Doran softly. "As part of the alliance with House Tyrell, you are to marry Willas Tyrell."
"I tried to travel to Highgarden with Tyene but you had ordered Uncle Oberyn to intercept us!"
"The time was not ripe."
The time is never ripe to you Father. "I know my duty's to provide an heir – I'd never forgotten it. I would have gladly went to Highgarden and wed Willas Tyrell, but why did you not tell me about my betrothal for sixteen years? I am no longer a young maiden, Father."
"I have not finished," said Prince Doran calmly. "The original pact between our Houses were to include three marriages: yours to Willas, the Lady Margaery's to Aegon Targaryen and Princess Daenerys's to Quentyn. The marriages were to be set in place once Aegon arrives in Westeros."
Arianne frowned. "Who is Daenerys Targaryen? There hadn't been a Daenerys Targaryen since the Princess Daenerys who wedded our ancestor Prince Maron. I never heard of another Daenerys Targaryen."
"Princess Daenerys is the daughter of the Mad King," her father explained. "It's not widely known that she is still alive." He smiled. "Only a few people know that she is in Winterfell masquerading as the late Lord Dayne's bastard daughter. It'd been convenient the Daynes looked similar to Targaryens and the late lord didn't keep much contact with his sister and good-kin. Besides, it was Lord Varys's idea to have the Targaryen girl hide in Winterfell. It was the least obvious place you'd find a Targaryen after all. When she grew up, Lord Varys attempted to have a few of his little birds hint her true heritage to her. It failed and Lord Varys left the boy to survive in Winterfell alone. There were plans to have Daenerys sent here for a year or two of fostering, but I feared some would put the pieces together and find out her true identity. It would be disastrous for say a Lannister to discover it and spirit Daenerys away to Casterly Rock." He darkened. "It would be even worse if the Lannister weds her and claims the Iron Throne. However, plans changed two weeks ago. The pieces moved drastically. The board needs to be reset."
Arianne was more confused than ever. "I do not understand."
"Daenerys Targaryen married," said Doran simply. "Lord Stark is travelling to King's Landing as we speak. Instead of wedding Princess Lyanna, Robb Stark had wedded Daenerys, knowing her as Daenerys Sand."
"A fool!" Even in Dorne where bastards were accepted as the products of love, a Dornish lord would never marry one. Though Uncle Oberyn loved Ellaria Sand, she would always remain his paramour. For the honourable Eddard Stark's heir to spurn a princess for the girl he known as a bastard-! "What will happen now? I assume the Tyrells are aware of this?"
Doran shook his head. "This concerns us more than them. The Lady Margaery will still be Aegon's queen. We lose a Targaryen marriage."
"What will happen now?"
"Nothing much at all. We are still of Aegon's blood. The plan will proceed, even with Lady Margaery, now Lady Baratheon of Dragonstone. Her marriage to Lord Renly will never be consummated – Ser Loras will ensure that – and she will still be a maiden when she is presented to Aegon. In fact, her marriage will benefit us and the Tyrells more than the king would have expected. Lord Varys's little birds reported that Ser Loras had already convinced Lord Renly to remove the men the Lord Hand placed at Dragonstone when he was Lord Protector and replace all of them with Tyrell men. That will be useful when Aegon returns."
Arianne's mind was still spinning at all this information. "I'll no longer be your heir when I marry Willas," she said tightly. "Dornish law states that a female heir loses her place as heir apparent if she weds another heir or great lord."
"I had considered Quentyn as the next Prince of Dorne," her father admitted. "I am not proud of it, but it would be more befitting for Princess Daenerys to be the mother of future Dornish princes. It would not be right for the last Targaryen girl to be wife of any Dornish prince." He looked at her helplessly. "The people won't accept a Tyrell as your consort, Arianne. Especially the future Lord of Highgarden. I want peace between Dorne and the Reach, but…"
Arianne nodded curtly. "It is too big of a step." She stood up. "I hope you'll be a great deal happy when this Aegon Targaryen is restored to the throne," she said sarcastically. "With it will come the rise of the Tyrells, not us Martells Father, but the Tyrells. The Tyrells will not thank us – they will bask in power and leave us in the dirt. I hope Quentyn will be a successful Prince of Dorne being as weak as you, Father, and I will never forget you robbing me of my rights." She stormed off, her anger augmenting as her father wheeled himself after her.
"Quentyn will not be my successor," Prince Doran called out to her. "Daenerys is already married. There is no point declaring Quentyn my heir."
"You said no Dornishman will accept the Lord of Highgarden as my consort. It is the truth after all."
"I have no desire to rob you of your rights, Arianne…"
"I would rather marry Eldon Estermont," said Arianne savagely. "At least with him as a husband, he would probably die bedding me and I will still succeed you as Princess of Dorne. You said you have no desire to rob me of my rights, but you intend to with the Spider and the roses of Highgarden." She scowled and pointed at the cyvasse board. "All you care about is your game! All this waiting! Have you considered what would happen if Aegon does not win the Iron Throne?"
"I thought of everything," said Doran softly. "If we win or if we lose…there had been nothing I had not thought of."
Arianne ferociously jabbed a blood orange with her dagger as she fumed with rage. Forcing her to wait two months before telling her she would lose her rights – and to Quentyn! She cursed under her breath. She had never been close to both her brothers, with Quentyn at Yronwood than Sunspear and Trystane residing at the Water Gardens (not to mention the eleven years between him and her); she'd never hated either of them though…until now.
It was Quentyn Arianne loathed. He was too much like their father: cautious, a thinker, weak and prone to waiting. He had absolutely no passion in his veins and their ancestor the warrior queen Nymeria would undoubtedly be disappointed in him. According to her cousin Nymeria Sand who heard it from one or both of the Fowler twins, that Quentyn was still a virgin. Arianne almost laughed. She herself had lost her virginity to Daemon Sand at the age of fourteen. If she was born into House Lannister or House Tyrell, she would've been sent to the Silent Sisters for her harlot behaviour and losing her maidenhead.
When Arianne told her father about it immediately after the sweet and clumsy encounter with Daemon Sand, he had done nothing. He's very good at it, Arianne reflected, doing nothing. She despised him for that. Doran did nothing when she'd lost her maidenhead; not a single reproach or punishment for Daemon. He never did anything except sit and think.
"I need a drink," Arianne muttered, yanking out her dagger, the blood orange's juice splattering on the front of her dress. She didn't care. She viciously stabbed a second blood orange and sullenly watched the juice oozing out of its thick orange skin. The last time she wounded blood oranges was when her father offered Lord Walder Frey as a potential consort…during a family supper.
Arianne darkened. I will be the next Princess of Dorne, she promised, her dark eyes glittering with determination. She looked at herself in the round mirror that hung on the wall opposite her. Her thick black hair fell into ringlets over her slim shoulders and her full lips formed into a tight line.
I will not lose my rights, Father. I will be the next Princess of Dorne.
I tried to upload the chapter last night but the internet connection was terribly slow and then gone :( I attempted to upload it again early this morning, but same situation so my apologies for the lateness of the chapter. My apologies again if this chapter isn't particularly interesting, but it serves more as a reminder of The Patient Prince chapter and Doran's plotting.
The winner of the competition is Igl! :D Igl, can you please tell me which pairing you wish for me to write a festive oneshot about and set at what point during their lives?
BigStevie, I like unusual pairings and I'll write the Arianne/Jon Snow oneshot. It might not be done before New Year's, but I'll still write it :) Would you prefer it in Jon's perspective or Arianne's?
Personally I enjoyed setting the competition so much that I think I'll do it again haha - like now. Here are a few hints to hopefully help you guess who the next chapter's POV is:
- Again, it's a woman's POV
- She had more than one POV in The Dance of Spring
- She has POVs in the ASOIAF books
- Her chapter is part of the Northern arc (Eg. Wildlings and Robb and Daenerys's marriage)
For the winner: Set me a ASOIAF oneshot prompt about your favourite pairing you really want to see written and I will write it for you.
The winner will be the first person who tells me the correct POV.
Have fun guessing! :)
