A.N. Hey, it's Alvor this time. So, small retcons first and foremost. The journey to Old Town was by boat, with a further boat trip to the Reach, then a journey by the Rose Road and King's Road to King's Landing as much as possible. I made a mistake with distances and time frames - my bad.
CW: And as said before, we'll be toning down the length of our standard chapters from now on. No 20k behemoths looming over the horizon. Well… until we feel like surprising you guys again. Then anything goes.
Other than that, hope you guys like the chapter.
One Who is Many - Die Rabenballade
Unknown
Drifting aimlessly.
Floating uselessly.
What was there to be done? Had it been a mistake? Had there been any choice, or were they led to it by all the ones that preceded it? Since that fateful day, in that fateful battle, was there any point where I'd known life as it was?
Now, it is dark.
All dark as lights float by as I peacefully drifted through the current.
Then a spark of recognition.
Life as I'd known it. Freedom as I'd seen it.
It was back. Somehow, somewhere in this deep empty darkness, I could feel it pulsing steadily. But where? It was beyond my sight, so far away, it might as well be a winking star on a cloudy night.
What purpose had its life served?
What had it accomplished?
Meaningless. Everything meaningless after oblivion. Yet something of it remained, lighting the way through darkness like a beacon. Fleeting and shy as it had always been. As they had always been.
Yet now I sought it.
That light, soft and warm as a fading sun.
Perhaps that was our purpose. To remain together, always.
Ophelia
"Go on boy! Bring another jug already!" Robert belted out a laugh. "Are you sure you're not a woman? With how pretty you Lannisters are I'm sure Pycelle could be forgiven for making that mistake."
The witch frowned, but said nothing, instead twisting up a ball of shadows and embers.
"Watch my prince. Tell me which orb the flame is in."
A simple shell game made out of magic made an effective distraction for the young man.
"It's the one you hid behind the curtain!"
Innocently gesturing at where she had hidden an orb, Ophelia smirked and let it fall open.
"I'm sorry my prince." Her eyes sparkled and she looked up. "But not quite." Tommen gasped when he saw what she'd done. Dozens of shining blue and orange and yellow and white and purple flames flickered in a rotating pattern, the light show contained by a shimmering wall of darkness existing only for him. "Remember, don't watch what you want to watch, watch what others don't want you to watch."
"Come on girl, be quicker if you don't want to end up in my lap!"
And the shouts of her own father ruined the moment.
Travelling with the royal party had been… more frustrating than she thought possible. For one, the witch had never really felt the urge to go places. And sure she'd taken week long "vacations" in Dorne, though those were far more family oriented than what she was putting up with now.
Tobacco smoke, the stink of alcohol, the dull roar of conversation, even the sounds and smells of sex - one of the downsides of her Swarm - stabbed at her attenion.
This was nothing like the trip to King's Landing, or her time in the capitol, or the weeks spent at the Water Gardens. The inn was rough, full of life, and it was… crude. Crude in the ways that still bothered her. She glanced over at Lancel and saw the poor boy flushing at her father's wandering hand. And he most certainly wasn't flushing in pleasure or good humor like her lush of a parent was.
"My prince, go find your mother, ok?"
The young lad gave her a scared look but one glance to Ser Oakheart and the Kingsguard stepped forward and gave the lad a firm nod. She appreciated his discretion and Ophelia hoped she wasn't about to embarrass Lancel by making a scene on his behalf.
'Perhaps I have another route to success here.'
At the moment, Cersei was furious with her. Enough she'd almost forbidden the once heroine from so much as speaking to her children, never mind approaching her. But Tommen had gotten bored when they settled in at the tavern for the night. Robert and her father and many other lords and knights were drinking, gambling, telling bawdy jokes, and generally having a good time.
Her only issue was with how two grown men were making a fifteen year old boy the butt of their jokes.
"Hey, hey, hey. You trying to kill me boy?" Robert growled lowly. "This wine tastes like piss." He snorted, tossing the drink over his shoulder along with the cup. "Get me something that tastes like someone didn't shit in the vat or you'll be sleeping with the horses. Speaking of, where the Hell is Tyrek. He's supposed to be my bloody squire too."
Ophelia knew at this very moment that Tyrek Lannister was bedding a maid.
She wouldn't have cared if that hadn't left his comrade in arms in the lurch. And facing a problem the would-be potioneer had created herself.
A direct consequence of having her cures for hangovers, both Robert and her father could drink like they were fish. To that end, the former had a temper and the latter was a horn dog. And by encouraging this facet of their bad behavior, regardless whether it was out of pity or simply out of political convenience, had directly led to the situation they were in.
Now about a week into the journey, their slow progress had left both men bored. Miserably, utterly, totally bored. And in the case of Lancel, he was the king's squire and very, very pretty.
And her father was starting to get handsy.
Deploying a number of flies, she swiftly bit her father's wrist and drew his attention. The glare she gave him spoke of the kind of trouble only Ellaria had given him before.
She and her stepmother may not have been as close as she was with her father, but she, without a doubt, understood that sometimes her father went a little too far. Their personal history aside, the low born woman tried to do for him what Oberyn had done for her. And Ophelia took that desire to heart in turn. So making sure he understood exactly how… frustrated with his behavior she was, she jerked her head and indicated for him to come see her.
Just a few moments later, he wobbled his way over to the corner table and flopped into a chair. Slugging back what smelled like strongwine, he gave her the kind of happily glazed over look that told her Oberyn Martell was well and truly drunk.
"I suppose I shall begin with the question if you can even get it up."
"Of course!" The prince's voice was slurred but still intelligible. "But not for my pretty little sand scorpion. Snake. Snake scorpion." He shook his head. "Those Lannisters though? Bwah." Letting out a loud blast of air, he somehow communicated honest appreciation for the physical forms of other human beings… and drunken lust.
Ophelia sighed and let the stern look she'd adopted fade.
"You know Lancel is basically as old as I am?"
Smiling, he took another drink, waving off calls by some of the knights to come gamble.
"And I'm jus' havin' sum fun. 'Sides. I didn' get to use mah new sword and Robb can' see his lad 'cuz the queen is angry. I told him to go fuck 'er, but he said that was the problem."
Maybe it was sensibilities she inherited from a past life, maybe she was just a cold fish, but Ophelia simply couldn't accept that excuse.
"Father." She reached out and took his hand. "I know you're teasing the boy, but it bothers him, deeply. A prank is one thing, but groping him is another. Let the king take out his temper but no more. For me? Please?"
Smiling, her father gave the black haired bastard girl a warm, drunken smile.
"Course! I'll leave 'em all to you 'Phelia."
A half stumbly hug later and Oberyn was returned to the king's side and pounding drinks like the secret to immortality lay at the bottom of a hundred pitchers of wine. Notably, he kept his hands to himself and even kept the king too busy trying to drown themselves to harass his squire.
Content, the Sand Snake rose, ready to step out from the noise and the smoke.
In the end, she knew it wasn't her place to tell her father or the king how to act, or even to interfere with the "training" of a squire. But what had started out as mild jokes was quickly escalating into something unpleasantly similar to the bullying she herself had once been forced to tolerate. And it was always better to head that kind of thing off before her father could egg the king on and encourage him to act on his least noble impulses.
'For all that my father can be a good man, he's just as capable of acting the blind hedonist.'
That didn't mean her seemingly self destructive drive to apologize to the queen was making anything better, of course. Gendry, the great bastard, was more or less hiding in his work. Tobho Mott had found a thousand and one tasks to give the boy and all of them kept him out of the queen's path. Even better, they also tended to put him near Robert and Cersei had needed someone to blame.
"And I suppose it is my fault there too."
Her intention had been to ensure that Gendry received his share of the credit for his sacrifice. The young man hadn't flinched when her knife bit into his skin. And he had only jumped when the flames leapt up and began to swallow each drop of blood as it fell.
She respected that.
Hopefully Tyene would be able to distract the queen from any drastic plans she might feel obligated to make. Or maybe just drug her again. Whichever minimized the body count.
In the end, she was rather glad that the queen had erected her tent away from the rest of the king's party. The large pavilion was erected in an apple orchard, currently being patrolled by four of the kingsguard and a number of Baratheon men at arms, and well away from the raucous inn and the loud men, and women, inside of it.
More to the point, the space was clearly the queens domain. So when Ser Jaimie stepped out of the main area, frowning, she caught his eye. He, in turn, jerked his head. Walking over to a copse of trees he turned to her and spoke in a low whisper.
"I'd caution you not to attempt this. But we both know you are going to brave that storm either way, no?"
He was curt and to the point. Perhaps not rude, but definitely more terse than in the last few exchanges they had when she took the royal children on their riding classes. It was understandable, but Ophelia wouldn't let it get to her.
Whatever anger the man held onto was likely pale in comparison to the Queen's.
That he was letting her through was likely so that his paramour could rant and rage at her than any consideration for the dornish girl's desires.
She thanked him nonetheless.
"My only defense is that I did not intend to do as I had done." Shrugging, she went with honesty. "I brought the boy and the smith to court only so that a son might show his father what he made him." Ophelia lowered her head. "It was an impulsive act."
The knight sighed.
"I'm not enough of a hypocrite to condemn you for impulsiveness. But Cersei won't care, you know that, yes? That the moment you brought that boy to court, you shook whatever trust she had in you."
Ophelia knew that. Or, well, knew now.
The queen deeply resented her husband, resented his cold and sometimes violent treatment of her. She'd fought back with all the weapons she was allowed and that included her children. Keeping the man from ever inflicting upon her the ultimate humiliation of bringing one of his own bastards to court.
In the end, Ophelia had done that for him.
She must be livid.
"Nonetheless, I must try." Otherwise she might make an enemy of a very dangerous woman at a time where her powers were at their lowest. More to the point, she liked Cersei. Even if she wished she could have asked Marissa for advice. Not being able to see her maid was actually starting to seriously get to her. It was just… odd not having had the woman around for more than a month. And the witch had even found herself wishing for her presence. Perhaps just for a quick hug. She liked those… and, if she were being honest, she had become quite greedy for physical affection in this life.
Still, tea with the queen had been a genuinely enjoyable experience, doubly so because the woman treated her like a person. Not a bastard, not Oberyn's daughter, not a princess, not even like a witch. It had been odd and refreshing. And maybe Ophelia was superimposing another blonde friend of hers, one she hadn't seen since before she caught a nine millimeter aspirin to the head, on top of Cersei.
Jaimie shrugged and stepped away, wishing her luck but not interested in dying on this particular hill. The witch took a moment to sigh and wished for a moment that the person she was apologizing to actually was Lisa.
"The worst thing that would be skewered would be my ego then."
Chuckling to herself, she too left the small stand of trees and, reaching out with a hesitant hand, wrapped against a small wooden board hanging from a metal poll.
"Come in."
Cersei's voice was tight, but not screaming, and Ophelia hoped that was a good sign.
Sarella
Sarella was free!
Free of stuffy castles and shitty streets. Free of overbearing meeting after meeting with her family as they navigated webs of intrigue and betrayal. Free to do as she damn well pleased, roam where she may, and uncover the secrets of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Come back before sunset on the fifteenth day, or I'll be sending half the knights at camp after you." Nymeria reminded her sternly.
Sarella swallowed dry. Her sister meant it too.
So yes, she was mostly free.
But it was a blessing to finally leave King's Landing and it's crowded streets, returning to the beaten roads and fresh airs of nature. As much as Sarella had fun inside the Red Keep, stealing tomes and finding long lost swords, she wanted more, craved the adventure and excitement of the unknown.
At least now that she couldn't go back to Old Town.
In truth, they had made excellent time. Tumbleton wasn't even that far away and with all of their party mounted, and Ophelia to check those mounts, they made excellent time. It had only taken five of their days to find the particular stretch of river they needed.
So, right now, with her shoulders and chest flexing, the whole of her body being used to draw back the string of her bow, Sarella let an arrow fly.
Straight and true, the rabbit she was aiming for was killed instantly, even with Ophelia juking mid hop, and she had secured dinner for them.
"Are you sure you're not threatened by Angui?"
The adventurer scoffed.
"Hardly, there is a marked difference between hitting a target and hunting, sister. You know better than to doubt me."
The witch rolled her eyes at the bragging.
"Yes, yes. Such a fool am I to doubt the uncontested skill of the best archer in the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps we should go ask him and see what he thinks of your shots?"
That earned an annoyed punch to the shoulder.
"Sister or not, I'll not suffer an insult to my skills!"
Ophelia's thin smile became predatory.
"Of course not. Far be it from me doubting the abilities of Sarella Sand. The skilled adventurer who got us kicked out of Oldtown."
At this the incredibly frustrated girl huffed.
"You're not going to let that go, are you?"
Crossing her arms, she turned away, bow held in one hand. She was still a bit surprised when she felt her sister hug her from behind.
"Of course not. Besides, I saw how you blushed when he challenged you that one time." Arms of growing muscle tightened around her waist. "It occurs to me, between the prince from your mother's homeland and now an archer boy… are you thinking of getting married?"
That got a snort of laughter from the prospective scholar.
"Why do you ask, jealous? Afraid someone will take me away from you?"
Her taller sister leaned just so slightly.
"And if I am?"
The words were said in a low voice, half need and half laughter. Sarella just rolled her eyes.
"Because Tyene is the one with the incestuous fantasies and I know you're not even sure if you're like father, Uncle Doran, or Nymeria yet."
Ophelia huffed, giving her sister one last hug, and pulled away from the embrace.
"And you say I'm the one that doesn't know how to play along with a joke."
"A joke can only be played out so many times before it grows stale sister. I have yet to forgive you for siccing Tyene on me back at King's Landing."
"Oh do grow up, Sarella. You know Tyene is harmless."
The adventurer gave the witch a disbelieving look.
"Well, when she's around me." Her younger sister amended.
Fortunately, their wayward sister hadn't come along for this trip. More than happy with staying at their father's side. She smelled blood, opportunity for mayhem at camp. Particularly because of the great bastard and the Queen. It was why they'd left Nymeria behind to keep watch.
The last thing they needed was Tyene somehow convincing Cersei to try and take over the Seven Kingdoms.
She wasn't above convincing the angry woman from attempting it.
"Actually…." Sarella hesitated, unsure how to ask her current question.
"How did my last meeting go with the queen?" Nodding, the young women walked in silence as they collected the rabbit and the arrow. Eventually Ophelia spoke again. "Words were said. Pointed ones. She was kind enough to let Elia keep playing with Tommen and Myrcella."
Wincing, the older sister couldn't help but wish she had a free hand at the moment. Instead, she simply bumped shoulders with her younger sibling, trying to communicate her understanding.
It wasn't much, but Ophelia smiled at her.
Work was consistent for the rest of the night. Sarella gutted, skinned, and cleaned her own kill, oiled and secured her bow, and even washed up just in time for dinner. Of the party, there was her, Ophelia, Lancel Lannister, Gerold Dayne, a half a dozen men at arms from House Martell and House Baratheon, and a full complement of mounts. That hadn't brought spares, only ones to carry supplies, and the two young men sent to protect them were spending more time glaring at each other than anything else.
For some reason, the way the older of the Dayne's she'd met, Edric Dayne, the current lord, was a courteous young man and Lord Dondarrion's squire, made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was the anger in Gerold's eyes. A deep, abiding indignation that spoke of smouldering resentment.
'A pity.' The archer mused. 'If his hate didn't make him so ugly, he'd be pretty.'
Sleep that night came quickly. The low summer heat and the buzz of insects, Ophelia kindly not forcing them into a silence that was far more ominous than their noise was annoying, serving as a constant chorus. Even then, she was cuddled up to her sister with only a thin blanket over them. Simply because it was too hot not to, they had slept nude and in their nakedness the older of the two reflected on a number of things.
'Her muscles are starting to come in. And she has a new scar.' Sarella's baby sister was finally growing up. Again. And she didn't know how to feel about it. 'I hope whatever this magic… and all these politics take from her, she doesn't go back to how she was when she was growing up.'
Many years ago, her miserable, sad, depressed, and even sickly baby sister had told her a fantastical story. A story she had told the others more than once. Except this time Sarella actually listened.
More than just the horror of what she was told and the miserable state of a world plagued by apathetic gods and raging demons, it was the sadness and weakness in her sister's voice that hooked her. So she listened and, with a shaky hand, put a child's scrawl to parchment and wrote down nightmare after nightmare. They had spent a week together, little Elia uncomprehending of the words that her older siblings shared, and at the end of it Ophelia - Taylor - was lighter.
Not happier, but at least more open.
Happiness took a few more years to fully bloom in her sometimes caustic, sometimes brooding, sometimes sarcasting, and always, always loving sister.
Most of the time the other world sat in the back of her mind, a fact long since processed and accepted, but never truly drawn upon. Some parts were too fantastical, too insane. And she'd never been told the true ending - the Abomination simply leaving was too clean - but she didn't press for more.
She was a smart girl after all.
She could guess.
Pulling Ophelia a little bit closer, uncaring of the heat of the night, the dark skinned girl could only run her fingers through her sister's hair and hope for the best.
And, of course, find more magic swords.
"My lady, the guide says this is the area where the battle took place."
Lancel was polite, deferential even, standing there in a shirt of chain mail with a sword belted at his waist and carrying a spear in his hand. With him was a short man, a local, that nodded eagerly. Sarella smiled at him and held out a trio of silvers, happily handing them over when her guard nodded. With the squire behind her and to her right, she strolled over to her sister - the white, milky clouds of her power leaving her seemingly blind - and touched her shoulder.
"I found… bones. Rusted armor." Her eyes cleared and, after taking several steadying breaths, the witch could finally speak. "There are dragon bones down there, I think. But also a great many human ones too."
They were outside of Tumbleton proper, on the bank of a rushing river. It was deceptively quiet, with only a light frothing at the moment, but under the surface the current was strong and vicious and the bed of the river was full of holes and sudden drops. Even worse it was just deep enough to trick someone into thinking this part of the river Mander was safe.
So near its source it still held much of the wildness of the branch in it and that made it dangerous.
"How many do you think tried to flee when the dragons burned their camp?"
Ophelia shrugged.
"Hundreds. There is what seems to be plunder down there too."
At that, the Darkstar walked closer, his voice low and smile only somewhat mocking.
"And the sword?" At Lancel's glare he snorted and dipped his head. "My lady."
The mocking man was tall, older than Sarella by a few years, his early twenties perhaps. Silver hair split by a single stripe of midnight black down one side and rich, purple eyes spoke of his powerful ancestry, though the Daynes held that it was the Star Men that gave them their coloration and not the Blood of Valyria. Sarella considered that immaterial at the moment and opened her mouth to speak when her sister beat her too it.
"Muzzle your envy lest you let your tongue wag like a dog, boy." Frowning, the girl had given way to the witch. "Obara knows of you and of your cruelty. I know not why you offered to escort us, but should my mistrust grow too great you will sleep and never wake."
He smiled and it was a pretty thing, sweet and charming and lusty as any woman could want.
"Please, dear lady." This time his voice lacked the mocking tone. "I am dear to your cousin and I would not truly insult you."
One eyebrow raised, Sarella was surprised at what she said next.
"I listen, boy, and my father is not one to judge men falsely. Should you wrong me or mine, I care not for what Arianne's afternoon entertainment thinks. But perhaps I will allow Tyene to indulge with you."
Smirking, he too surprised the dusky skinned Dornishwoman and she almost gaped.
"Then I shall endeavor to leave her wanting more." He was practically leering at Ophelia now. "And from what rumors I have heard, you would be more than welcome."
Looking him up and down with disdain, the younger of the two bastards made a small noise.
"You'll forgive me for declining. The king would be preferable to your company."
"Enough." Any further barbs were forestalled. "Ophelia, yes, you're very scary. Ser Dayne, please excuse us." Grabbing her sister by the shoulder, she stepped closer to the river. "Remember. The sword."
Rolling her eyes, the witch snorted. Sarella said nothing when she noticed hundreds of birds had slowly gathered in the area.
"Speaking of, are you sure it's in the river? We only have a few more days before Nymeria founds a chivalric order to reclaim us."
Nodding, the young woman did her best to sum up her research.
"Aye. During the Dance, Lord Ormund Hightower sided with the Greens and had command of a contingent of men. Here they brutalized Tumbleton and were set upon it. It was during this battle that Roddy the Ruin slew him and his cousin, despite losing an arm, and the blade was lost." She smirked. "However, when going through the Grand Maestar's personal collection, I came across a few diaries. Most of them were filled with lewd stories, so I kept the best ones and hid the rest, but there was one I really liked. In it, however, the knight claimed to have fought here for the Greens and he was sworn to Lord Hightower. Most importantly, however, is that during the second battle he and his comrade attempted to cross the river to escape the burning camp… with large quantities of valuables. Their makeshift raft capsized and he lamented that, worst of all, the Valyrian steel sword Vigilance was lost." She paused in her telling of the story for a moment. "If only because of all the, and I quote here, 'fine and wet love' it would have won him."
Ophelia sighed.
"So we are here on the words of a perpetually horny nobleman… from a hundred and fifty years ago?"
Sarella made a so-so gesture.
"The diary was written in one thirty three, so a hundred and sixty four years. And I think it might have been recopied at some point, but yes."
Rubbing her face, the witch shook her head.
"You were right about the shit-sword in the shit-city. So you're right about the horny-sword written about by the horny-knight. I'll find it, just don't start a riot in Tumbleton too, ok?"
Punching her sister in the arm, the scholar went in for a quick, crushing hug.
"I'll have the men set up targets and practice my archery!"
Rolling her eyes, the younger sister couldn't help but make a comment.
"Maybe if you flirt with them they'll try to set one up to your lofty standards."
Her sister grinned cheekily, and Ophelia realized her mistake.
"Do or do not, there is no try!"
Ignoring the gobsmacked look her sister was sporting, the older sister winked at her and ran off. She was definitely going to be able to find another treasure and put Angui in his place when she got back! This was shaping up to be a truly awesome quest!
Ophelia
She didn't mind the situation she was in.
Soft lips were covering hers, a warm hand was on her hip and the other on her cheek. Firm breasts pressed into her own and Tyene's tongue was exploring her mouth and their embrace was only growing deeper. Fingers pushed down the back of her breeches and down her small clothes, eagerly cupping her buttocks.
Kissing back, she fought for dominance but being both surprised and unprepared Ophelia failed to assert herself. Instead, she found herself pushed down into her bedding and forced to endure long, agonizing minutes of kissing an incredibly attractive young woman.
Pulling back suddenly, chest heaving, Tyene took a deep breath.
Knowing she wanted more, the girl who had never truly appreciated how nice it felt to be kissed… even if you had been asleep just a few moments before, leaned up and resumed the kiss. This time it was Tyene who was surprised and the younger of the two found it easy to pull her companion to the ground, holding her close and tight until they parted for breath once more, both panting and blushing.
"Welcome back."
Her sister's words were needy, almost as needy as her embrace, but most of all it was the tremor of fear in her words that scared Ophelia.
By now they had ended up half on their sides, sprawled out on top of the sleeping roll the witch was using. In truth, she should have been surprised that Tyene had ridden out to meet them, after all she had no way of knowing they were approaching the party. But it seemed like such a her thing to do that the surprised teenager who'd just managed to finish waking up was actually glad. Still, though, the worry made her a bit confused and, shifting so that their position was a bit more comfortable, she pulled her older sister closer. One of the benefits of being so tall was that comforting another was an easy thing to do, after all.
"What's wrong?"
Obvious first words, but necessary all the same.
"Nothing." That was a half lie. They both knew it. The witch let it pass and gave her sister time to formulate a response. "I missed you."
Those simple words were true. And, thankfully, ones that were understandable. Even if she strongly suspected they weren't the whole truth. Still, smiling, the once hero spoke even as she held her sister close.
"It was only two weeks. You couldn't wait one more day?"
A head of blonde hair shook and the younger of the two chuckled.
"Such a big baby sometimes." In a fey mood, the normally more reticent of the two found herself a bit willing to indulge. For a while, she kissed the young woman she wasn't sure if truly loved, their fingers searching each other as their tongues intertwined and they nipped and bit and embraced. But in that moment this was enough, a degree of closeness and familiarity and intimacy.
Even if she still felt like an old pervert indulging in a broken young girl's affections.
After a while, they calmed and settled into bed together. At peace, they were quiet, so quiet they almost could have been mistaken for sleeping, but as Sarella came into the tent they shuffled to the side as the giggling sister of theirs simply grabbed her bow and quiver.
"Oh don't let me disturb the two lovers. After all, I've enjoyed your company every night for the last two weeks dear Ophelia. It would be wrong to deny it to poor, kind Tyene now."
The blonde looked up at her.
"I don't like to sleep alone." Offering an honest defense, she hoped that was enough. And, when her… most innocent seeming of sisters huffed and grabbed Sarella by the arm it was apparently accepted. At least once their third sister was trapped between then and Tyene was snuggled in as closely as she could be.
"So, did you find the sword?" The most committed poisoner of the three asked. "Was it where you thought it would be?"
Sarella groaned at that, half shaking her head.
"It was awful!"
Refusing to say more, she left the rest up to the third sister to explain, quite happily putting that memory out of her mind. For her part, Ophelia mostly found it all a bit darkly amusing and chuckled.
"Oh we found it all right. And you won't believe this, but, somehow, it was lodged through at four different skulls."
Reaching over to her side, she grabbed a small bundle of furs and sat them down, opening it up to reveal the still pristine blade of Vigilance.
"Finding the pommel and guard was actually more time consuming, as they'd fallen off. But our innocent sister here got quite the fright when I had it brought up."
Glaring at the grinning witch, the middle sister couldn't keep the sarcasm out of our voice.
"Oh, no, it wasn't horrifying at all. Four grinning, mud preserved, impaled skulls. All crawling with water bugs and held up by river eels."
"Aww. Poor thing. It must have been awful." Tyene pressed herself against the trapped sister, lips to her ear, and even Ophelia herself was grinning as Sarella grew more and more flustered.
"Would a little kiss help, dear sister? I'm sure that between the three of us we can have a little fun."
Groaning, the scholar simply wriggled free, and made to flee.
"Gods above, you're as bad as Father! Both of you!"
She didn't make it very far.
An hour later they were all three on their horses, clad in breeches or trousers so as to be able to ride them properly. At least in Ophelia's opinion. Side saddle was a quick way to break your neck and she'd insist on that fact till the day she died. It also boggled her mind that no one had bothered to provide the queen or the princess Myrcella with proper riding skirts until she stepped in.
'Scandal be damned, a broken neck isn't worth a bit of perceived impropriety.'
Her thoughts wavered a bit as the day went on, with the party reaching the royal procession by nightfall. Thankfully, in the two weeks of their absence the whole of the thing had only inched forward - relative to their heady pace - and so their return trip was near enough to the same as their leaving to be simple in its familiarity. Meaning finding the damn thing was easy!
Dispersing now that they were returned, the men at arms broke away to return their extra supplies, Darkstar broke to go do as he was want to do, and Lancel gave the trio of young women a nod and excused himself to report to the king.
"I'll go see Father. He'll want to know all about how you pranked me, I'm sure." Sarella was half smirking as she spoke. "Besides, we need to get the sword to Mott."
A hug and the middle sister trotted off on her horse, deftly weaving through the camp.
"You should see the queen." Tyene's words were low. "She was the one that asked me to come find you."
And just like that, Ophelia knew what had her most… attentive of companions truly bothered.
"You know I'll never replace you, right?"
The other girl just shook her head.
"We'll talk more later. Go."
With a sad smile she moved to part ways. Ophelia, however, asserted control over her sister's mount and trotted them behind an out of the way tree. Ignoring the risk, she leaned over and pressed a fierce kiss to Tyene's lips and broke away.
"Now I will. I'm serious. As horrible I am about actually knowing what I want, I'll never replace you, never abandon you. I promise."
Swallowing, the not quite most terrifying blonde Ophelia knew of gave her a smile. It was small, a little afraid and a little hopeful, and they clasped hands for a moment. Then, they too parted, moving out from behind the trees and heading to their respective destination - from the heading of the woman who loved her, the reincarnated human guessed it would be towards the part of the camp where their family was staying. After all, she could hear shouts of excitement and there was a great crowd gathered. Who better than the Dornish to cause excitement?
Smiling to herself, the witch maneuvered towards where her Swarm told her the queen's tent was set and braced herself, wondering what reception she could expect.
"Hello Ophelia." Her hand was halfway to the wooden plate and paused. "I have been waiting for you." Cersei's words seemed unnaturally prescient and Ophelia's own creatures told her that the queen was sitting and reading, sipping from a cup of tea. "Please, come in."
Pushing the entry flap out of the way, she noted that no one else was around save for Ser Jaimie. No servants, no guards, even her children were elsewhere in the camp - only a silent brother that gave her a small smile and stepped outside. On the whole, she wondered what was going and what was about to happen. She even wondered a little if she was about to be asked to sit down on a chair or touch a poisoned dish.
"Your grace."
Caution was no excuse for a lack of courtesy and she dipped her head.
"Sit down." The mother of three waved a hand at her. "I… have a few things to say." There was a little hesitation in the voice of another woman she simply didn't expect that from. "But first, let me say that I am glad you are back. Was your mission successful?"
The queen took a drink from her see and Ophelia nodded and took a seat in a large, plush chair.
"Sarella is a clever woman."
"Of course she is." Cersei gave her a small smile. "Good. Will you be turning this third sword into another masterpiece? Perhaps use it to bring glory to another of Robert's bastards?"
Letting an internal sigh, the amateur alchemist readied herself to respond, taking in the pinched, angry face of the scorned woman she was talking to. And then, it was gone.
"I - we - yes." Swallowing, the blonde beauty shook her head. "What I want to say is that my words were untrue. Both what I just said and what I said before you left. The things I called you…."
"They weren't all untrue." Still tense, the Dornishwoman firmly shook her head. "It was impulsive, thoughtless, and I shamed you in front of the court. I ended up dragging a wife's greatest humiliation in front of the people you're supposed to rule over and practically rubbed your nose in it. My desires for Gendry to be able to make his father proud aside, you… you are my friend. I'm sorry too."
"You really are, aren't you?" Cersei's green, green eyes search Ophelia's face for any sign of a lie, a mild amazement in her tone. "Why?" It wasn't an accusatory question, but a searching one. Spoke out of utter, totally confusion. "Why me? Why you? Why now?" Her words were soft and questing, as if being the Gods for an answer. "Why are you sorry? I accused you and your sisters of seducing my husband, of seducing his son, of infiltrating the court, of manipulating me, and I accused you of being just like me." The last word was said with a bitterness, deep and earthy and full of rot. "Of being like an oath breaker and an adulterer and far, far worse. What I called you would be grounds for a feud and I screamed loudly enough that others could hear… to be honest, I half expected Tyene to be my death."
Snorting, the witch shook her head.
"I told her to watch over you. She won't kill you. Not unless she truly believes you mean to turn against me." Now she shrugged, trying to communicate how much she truly did not understand about her desires, Ophelia forged ahead. "And the truth is I enjoy your company. More than I probably should. Your eyes remind me of a friend I once had."
That last statement had been blurted out. And it was the truth. Cersei didn't have the same mocking wit as Lisa, though both could most definitely be cutting, but they had the same anger and hurt and sense of failure in them. Even if the former had more experience at it.
'Am I truly so attached to the memories of a friend that is lost to me that I am forcing her onto Cersei?' It was clearly an illogical decision, perhaps understandable in the context of the excitement of everything going on around her and the lust born of puberty. 'But I suppose it's true. It's easy to see what you want to see. And maybe I want to see Lisa in her?'
Cersei snorted, she chuckled, she threw her head back and gave a full throated laugh to the heavens.
"A wonder of wonders. That a child would have such a simple reason to do a thing. Tell me, child, of this lost friend of yours?"
There was earnest interest in the question and it was not truly such an odd thing to ask. Ophelia had been the one to bring it up and even now she remembered Lisa, her loyalty, her strength, her failures, her defeats. A glasgow grin, red and ugly and fresh, and how, even at the end, she never left. Even when Taylor was gone and Khepri was barely holding herself together Lisa Wilbourn had been her constant.
One of a few, perhaps, and she shouldn't discount Danny Hebert, her first father, but he just didn't get what she was ever going through. She and Brian had drifted apart, Rachel was… Rachel, Alec died to save Aisha, and Aisha was Aisha too.
There was also Lily and Sabah, even if Sabah had never trusted her, Charlotte, Forest, Sierra, and all the rest of the people who had supported her as Skitter.
Sometimes they died.
Sometimes they disappeared.
Sometimes things just stopped them from reconnecting.
But Lisa was always there. Always figuring out a way to reach out to her, to keep her going, to just help.
"Her name was Sarah Livesy. But I knew her as Lisa Wilbourne." She smiled, something small and a little sad. "Well, that's not quite true. I knew her first as Tattletale."
Doran Nymeros Martell
"She's doing well my prince." Marissa dipped her head, bowing lowly. "And the child is growing well too. However, the cravings have well and truly started. Her last meal was pickled fish eggs, roasted cabbage, and pomegranates."
Doran chuckled, amused as always at the eccentricities of his brother's paramour.
"You are a loyal attendant." She smiled at his praise. "Have you noticed anything else unusual recently?"
Frowning, the maid shook her head.
"I have not and that is what worries me."
Wholeheartedly agreeing, the crippled prince made his worries known.
"If one little bird was caught, surely there are more. Will you go back to her? Protect her as you protected my niece when she was so sickly?"
Bowing again, the maid nodded.
"Of course, my prince. It will be my honor."
This drew a snort of approval from him.
"If only I had married a woman like you. Aye. Thank you dear."
"I am but gutter trash." Immediately disagreeing, the woman shook her head. "A whore permitted to be a mother, if only by surrogate. It is to you and your brother I owe my thanks."
At this he too had to disagree.
"Hardly. Few women can love the child of another as fiercely as her own. I'll not hear you speak ill of yourself in my presence again."
"You flatter me, my prince. Any more and I'd have you mistaken for Oberyn." She meant it in jest, but he was quite serious. Doran's younger brother had done quite a lot to earn his reputation, something involving a mile long line of lovers and trying to entice anyone he saw as attractive to his bed.
His paramour was no different.
In fact, she could be worse when it came to inviting others to the couple's shared bed.
An invitation that maid had been tempted with… on more than one occasion. Even after she'd taken up a more permanent position as maid to his children.
"I will have you know, my dear, that I am no slouch either. Though I have our bright little Ophelia's remedies to thank . Being a cripple in totality is… unpleasant in the extreme. Even if it is merely a case of rather advanced gout." And that was the least of it. The Witch of Dorne already had earned the Prince's thankfulness and favor a hundred times over by the time she left childhood. "Tell me though. How are the others? Doreah, Lorezza, and Obella? Are they giving you or the other maids trouble?"
Marissa smiled, a warm tender thing, something only a proud mother could manage.
"They are behaving as expected, rowdy at some points, as were their sisters. They miss their sisters and act out to get attention. Thinking that maybe if they cause enough of a mess, their sisters and father will come back to soothe them."
Sunspear was much quieter without most of the Sand Snakes.
And those left were doing their level best to make some noise. Oberyn's children down to their very bones.
"I'm tempted to recall them just to be free of the little ones."
"Oh? So confident you could convince me to order it, my dear?" Doran smirked in challenge.
"My Prince is a wise man, and just ruler. You will always do what benefits our Kingdom and his family. But perhaps he should think of what benefits himself more often."
Well now, consider Doran interested.
But tempted as he was, there was still work to be done.
"Perhaps another time, Marissa. There is much I need to do. Dorne won't elevate itself alone."
"It would if you considered handing it to our dear Witch."
This time Doran laughed.
"If only it were that easy, maybe I'd have considered earlier. But no, even if I offered to make Ophelia my heir, I am sure she would refuse to accept it and lock herself in her glass house. She does not appreciate the weight of the crown."
This time it was the maid who laughed.
"Yes, that shy little thing wouldn't like having to sit on a throne."
Sometimes Doran forgot how well Marissa knew his niece. The woman had been the one who practically raised Ophelia back when she was brought to the palace. Such a quiet little babe, never making a noise. Even back then she unnerved people with how different she was.
But not the woman before him.
She loved and raised the girl, accepting every revelation as it came, never judging or fearing her. No matter how distant the girl was or how strange she acted, there was no doubt that Marissa loved her, and that Ophelia grew to love her back.
"You are quite the wonder yourself, Marissa."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, my Prince."
Well, if there were ever a time Doran felt like having Ophelia and her miracle concoctions back. This would have been it. Alas, duty comes before pleasure. And so it was with great effort that Doran resolved to continue investigating this avenue at a later time.
"Is the council ready?"
The maid pouted, her hopes for fun dashed entirely.
"Yes, they have been summoned. I dare say they've been waiting for you for the past five minutes."
Doran's eye twitched.
Really? Distracting him from working himself to death? This cheeky maid was applying what she learnt from Ophelia well. He'd make sure to reward her… thoughtfulness sometime later.
But now? It was time to work.
Grunting, he stood. His body ached and the redness and swelling around his knees and ankles were surely getting worse. Opening up the last flask of potion his niece had prepared for him, the prince knocked it back with a single long, deep swig. Taking a deep breath and suitably fortified, he marched down from his throne and strode over to his table.
"Let them in."
Areo Hotah, his ever faithful guard, saluted.
Looking around the room, he counted those knives he had gathered. His physical state was augmented, of course. Both his brace and his cane were concealed behind a tapestry and his wheelchair was in a side room. His hair and beard had been trimmed, the shots of grey intentionally shaped to exaggerate the sharpness of the planes of his face. Even his robes were such that they suggested a man with vigor the prince had not had in years.
Clad in gold and black, with a samite belt hanging around his waist. His trousers were loose, light, and made of silk in a satin weave. His shirt, if it could be called such, opened down to his waist and it allowed the rest of his guests to see the abdominal muscles he'd cultivated.
'I may not have been able to walk, but I was certainly not lazy.'
On the whole, he was doing everything he could to look like his brother.
Murmuring voices appeared behind him and still, he did not turn to them. Before him was lain out dozens of maps, charts, reports, lists, and even rough sketches of the key targets.
"My prince."
Finally acknowledging the others, he gave Ricasso, his seneschal, a nod. With him came Ser Manfrey Martell, his cousin and castellan, and Lady Allbright, his treasurer. So too was Dantalos of Braavos and Lorsenyo of Braavos with them as well. He greeted Dantalos, an engineer, first, but let the second Braavosi wait for a few moments. His love for the banker was very little, even if he needed the man's help.
"Your sons, my prince."
One of the men at arms walked over, saluting, and withdrawing away. These men were his best and he appreciated the twenty four spearmen in the room with him. Clad in light mail over gambesons, each men wore linen and were black head to toe, save for House Martell sigil on their shields, the veiled warriors stood silent and watched the growing war counsel.
"Stand firm Quentyn, Trystane. The fun begins now."
Quentyn's nod was slightly hesitant but there was determination in his eyes, while Trystane seemed almost arrogant in how the preteen gave as firm a nod as such a child could.
Next came the lords.
First was Anders Yronwood, his strongest vassal and, up until Quentyn fostered with the man, the man most likely to try and usurp him. He was still a threat. Well built with brown hair and dark eyes, he stood there in mail and satin. Behind him was Ryon Allerion and his bastard, Daemon Sand. Larra Blackmont and Allyria Dayne and Franklyn Fowler and Trebor Jordayne and Quenton Qorgyle and all the rest came next.
The lords Santagar, Toland, Uller, Vaith, and Wyl were all there. Representing the sell swords was Prince Xalabhar Xho and Ser Gerris Drinkwater had been elected to represent the hedge knights and volunteers that Quentyn himself had tasked with recruiting. Others stood behind the main body, sons and daughters, either heirs or talented warriors each, and they waited.
"And our guests?"
A final body of men entered the hall. Lord Paxter Redwyne and Lord Arstan Selmy lead the contingents from the Reach and the Stormlands respectively. Garlan Tyrell, however, led them both. The second son of Mace Tyrell was in half plate and nodded to Doran when the prince nodded at him.
"Good. Then we shall begin. Gather round."
He let his vassals and allies sort themselves, seeing how they organized themselves and only using a glare to suppress any potential unrest. In the end, Xho, Yronwood, Tyrell, his advisors, and both Redwyne and Selmy formed the innermost ring. Drinkwater had notably stood at Quentyn's side and joked with Trystane, drawing a laugh from the young man.
"Let me say how thankful I am for this opportunity my lord-"
Redwyne spoke until Yronwood grunted and interrupted him.
"Prince."
Garlan Tyrell gave his father's vassal a significant look and the man dipped his head.
"My prince."
Doran inclined his head.
"You are most welcome. Now, to cut through the suspense and the pretension. We are going to scour the Stepstones." His lips curled up at the suddenly shrewd look in every single man's eye. "And we are going to colonize them, annexing them into Dorne. Then, as repayment for the Prince Jalabhar Xho's aid, we will restore him to his throne in the Summer Islands."
Muttering broke out.
This plan seemed almost mundane compared to what they expected. After all, Dorne scoured the Stepstones every so often and attempts had been made to either raise them as an eighth kingdom or to occupy them or other things. And the prince let them continue plotting for a moment longer.
"And we shall make the Summer Islands the eighth kingdom of Westeros and through all of this, a final solution to the eternal problem of slavery will be in our grasp."
That got him the response he wanted. Xho was bombarded by questions and he answered them smoothly and blithely. As one of the few men who actually knew all of this plan… or at least the greater portion, he knew that this wasn't even the full extent of it. But he fielded the curious words of the others easily enough as the prince himself contented himself with once more watching his vassals. He did not speak again until he placed his fingers on a particular chart.
"Our plan is simple, with a singular goal and overall command will be in my son's hand. Quentyn will explain it now."
"Yes Father." His voice was strong and there was only a flicker of hesitation in him as he stepped forward. "As you can see, we've acquired shipping, tidal, and star charts for the area. The major pirate camps have been identified here, here, and here-" Each time he pointed to a different sketch - not a one of which was drawn to the same scale. "There are a total of forty pirate crews in the area, with a force of maybe two thousand ships to their claim."
That got unpleasant murmurs from the group and Quentyn flinched. Doran waited a moment, about to put his hand on his eldest son's shoulder when the boy rallied and cut through the noise.
"Of those, only a hundred are of the size of our ships, with the rest being mostly longships and raiding vessels. However, directly engaging them on the open sea is not to our advantage. Even with the Redwyne fleet, the lords of the Stormlands, and the sellsails recruited, we can only muster a bit over six hundred war ships. So, instead, we shall prosecute a land campaign."
"And how do you propose to do that, boy."
Yronwood's words were low and firm, but not cruel. A mild challenge, though only one of many Doran knew his son would have to face.
"By the element of surprise, my lord." Pulling out several other reports, he began to pass them around and continued explaining things. "As of right now, with all wages and fees paid, we have a war chest of some three hundred thousand dragons. With that, we wish to fund a series of strikes against the major pirates bases through the use of beached merchant vessels. Their cargoes of warriors will secure beachheads and allow us to land the rest of our ground troops. At that point, we will advance on the fortified locations on each island and lay siege to them, though we would strongly prefer to storm those locations before the pirates can rally to them. "
Passing around more sketches, both depicting the ships and the plans in action, Quentyn paused when the Cripple Prince put a hand on his shoulder.
"Before, the pirates have always used early warning systems to flee and hide when we attacked. But I have engaged Master Dantalos to modify… boarding ramps." The engineer in question stepped forward at Doran's gesture. "A number of retired ships have been refurbished. Each will hold a contingent of knights and sell swords and will beach themselves on the sands of the various island's natural harbors. By this manner, what seems to be a suicidal flight will catch the pirates off guard. We shall ensure rumors are leaked to them that the cargo of these ships is my niece's silk and gold intended to win my lady wife back to my side." Here he chuckled. "Behind them will be our squadron of warships who will prevent any vessels from escaping. And, while the main assaults are happening, the sell sails will be carrying out raids against the other, smaller groups."
Patting his son on the shoulder again, he let the lad take over once more.
"Our initial plan is to crush the pirate ships. We don't want them to be able to escape to return another day. So the conquest of the actual islands themselves can wait until our coalition can exert total dominance over the seas." Pulling out the sketches of the various pirate lords, he passed them around as well. "These are the men we must kill or capture, preferably the latter so we might try and hang them, and our other secondary objectives include the rescue of captives, the freeing of slaves, the seizing of their plunder, and the capture of as many quality ships as possible."
Garlan spoke, voicing the planned concern.
"And if we do face battle?" And then he continued. "Or if a storm strikes us? Or there is disease or plague or the pirates prove stronger than anticipated?"
His son frowned, but they had prepared for this so he simply responded.
"Our squadrons will only move in force. Any direct combat will only be a threat if they can trap us or pick us off. For the former, we have hired sell sails that both have scoured the Stepstones before and for the later a tight command will be maintained." Here he shrugged. "Only the Gods know if they wish to smite us. But, if that does happen, rally points have been established in the Stormlands with Lord Renly's approval and in Essos too."
At that, Dantalos snorted and Lorsenyo stepped forward.
"The Iron Bank has a vested interest in the recovery of certain debts amongst some of the pirates and slavers. We are supporting this expedition in hopes of recouping losses."
"And of driving Dorne to gilded slavery."
The murmur came from the back of the room and Doran didn't waste his time responding. After all, the banker was probably the most powerful man in this room no matter how much it galled the lords. Still, he finally squeezed his son's shoulder and gave him a nod.
Quentyn took over again, explaining their logistics chains, and plans for supply. He mentioned how their support fleet was gathering now and how and where they would rally.
Pay masters and squadron leaders were decided, with the Crippled Prince only interceding when the debates grew heated. Summoning servants, tables, and chairs, food and drink was provided. Ultimately, Doran had to wonder which of the men here were in league with the pirates. He held no illusions that at least half of them would send ravens to their own circles, cliques, and patrons within the week. But that wouldn't be… too dangerous. Not so long as his actual guards, not the ceremonial warrior's he'd dressed up to catch attention, managed to capture the ones that truly were a threat.
Mostly.
If nothing else, he could have them watched. Monitor their mail. Maybe have a few seized and tortured. Doran had little interest in playing the Game. He aimed to sweep the pieces off the board unless they were under his control.
