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Aboard the King Robert's Warhammer…
Night time on the ocean was considered by some as calm, relaxing… to others, it was perceived as a bad omen—yet each scenario depended on the weather conditions of their lands and the durability of the ship.
Sailing down the Narrow Sea, a lone vessel sailed down the eastern coast—the royal flagship King Robert's Warhammer. The distance by sea from King's Landing to Sunspear or the Dornish port Planky Town was 1,615 miles and it would take some time for the party even with a 35 knots—a favorable gale considering the region Daveth and his small group was in. Sailors on the main deck were adjusting the sales: main, topsails, force sail, and jibs; down below the oarsmen accelerated the war galley's steering through the Narrow Sea.
Daveth had walked down below the deck—holding a book in hand—and looked out through the wooden openings to observe the full moon shining down from above. King Robert's Warhammer might be the largest ship of the Royal Fleet, but the Young Stag knew his way around the war galley enough to recognize each room. Even if it's just one ship, the flagship was more than capable of deterring pirates and enduring the oceanic waves bashing against it.
His squire, Olyvar Frey, held a lit candle and found the King.
"All is set, Your Grace. We should be arriving at Dorne within the next two or three weeks."
Daveth nodded. "Good. And the men up above remain at their post?"
"Yes."
"What is the status of my son and daughter?"
"Both Prince Lyonel and Princess Cassana are sound asleep in their room," Olyvar answered. "Ariyana, Ser Lucius and Ser Jaime are standing guard over them just in case."
"Hmm. And the Queen?"
Olyvar pointed to the seventh door down the main hall. "In that room over there, Your Grace."
"I see," he observed. "That'll be all for now, Olyvar. Be sure to get some rest now. It's getting late."
"Shouldn't I be saying that to you, Your Grace?" the Frey joked.
The Young Stag rolled his eyes. "Careful now, lad," he smiled coldly. "I enjoy you, but be careful."
Olyvar chuckled, yet felt a strange chill crawl up and down his spine when Daveth said that. He shook his head and made for his chambers, yearning for some sleep. Daveth, meanwhile, set out to approach the room—to find his wife, Queen Sansa Stark. Arriving at the seventh door, the Young Stag pushed the door open—the hinges squeaking slightly and entered the cabin.
Sansa had donned on a long, sleeveless white nightgown; she was tired and getting ready for bed. She sat on a small wooden chair, staring into a mirror whilst brushing her hair. Shae and Brella had been sent to their own rooms—the closest ones to her children in case they ever woke up in the middle of the night again. Candles in the room were lit to illuminate enough light for them to see in the dark.
"Sansa…" he quietly called out.
The faintest sound calling her name, it was enough to cause Sansa to blink awake. She turned to see her husband sidling up to her after he had closed the door behind them.
"Mmph. You know I hate it when you sneak up on me like that," Sansa mumbled.
"Hate me for it if you must, my Queen, but you love it regardless."
Daveth wrapped his arms around her neck and held her close, planting his chin on his wife's shoulder. Sansa wearily held her hands on his arm, patting them before she briefly pushed back so she could stand up. With each step the Wolf Queen took, the more awake she grew. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sansa rubbed her eyes as Daveth tossed off his black velvet attire and readied himself for sleep as well, holding in his hands a plain shirt before tossing it aside. The faintest scars on his body were light—healed from old wounds sustained at the Battle of Blackwater Bay and during the Second Greyjoy Rebellion, but still visible; the scars across his cheek and eye were light as well, though the one on his cheek remained a slightly tad darker.
Sansa eyed Daveth up and down, admiring his physique. Lately he was getting stronger, probably from an exercise routine done mostly by carrying and/or lifting his late father's lumbering war hammer around the Red Keep; all of which had made his pecs, abs and biceps more visible—not surprising given the expectations of powerful Baratheon men.
"See something you like, Your Grace?" Daveth teased.
Sansa blushed and shook her head amusingly. "You're insufferable, dearest."
"I know."
Daveth eventually joined Sansa on the bed, both of them curled up against each other. Sansa looked over and noticed the book her husband was holding.
"New book?" she asked.
The Young Stag shook his head. "In a way; Maester Jurne got me this last year. But never mind that for a moment. If you'd please, look out the window," he pointed.
Sansa looked out the only open window in the cabin in the direction her husband was pointing to, observing on the southeastern coast north of Durran's Point stood a formidable fortress overlooking Shipbreaker Bay. Rocky and frequented by storms, the King Robert's Warhammer sailed outside the danger area at the King's behest.
"That's Shipbreaker Bay," Sansa recognized from her earlier studies as a girl.
Daveth nodded. "And above it?"
"Storm's End."
"Correct, Sansa. That's Storm's End, ancestral seat of House Baratheon once held by the Storm Kings of House Durrandon. I figured that one day I'd teach our children everything I know about the Baratheons."
Sansa rested her head wearily upon Daveth's chest, listening to his heartbeat. "Well, if that's what you'd like to do someday, I think it'd be fair that I teach them everything I know about the North, about Winterfell… and the history of my family House Stark. I could even send a raven to Robb and my mother and introduce them to Lyonel and Cassana."
Daveth rested his head on the pillow, wrapping one arm around Sansa and brushed his fingers across her back. "I suppose that's fair. Our children are of Baratheon and Stark descent. Makes sense for them to know their origins."
"Glad to know we're in an agreement then, dearest. Mother would swoon over her royal grandchildren if she were present right now."
'Knowing Cat, I'm sure she would spoil them rotten…' the Young Stag thought.
The sky outside the window was beginning to darken when the moon disappeared behind a dozen clouds. Daveth laid down beside Sansa, listening to her give a quiet yawn, watching her snuggling against him. The Young Stag nuzzled Sansa's hair, detecting a faint scent of lemon and honey. His hand still massaged her back, feeling the touch of her skin through the fabric of her nightgown.
"I love you," Sansa murmured, looking up to give Daveth a sleepy smile. "You know that right?"
Daveth kissed Sansa's forehead. "And I you, Sansa. More than you know."
Cupping her chin with his left hand, Daveth leaned down and claimed Sansa's lips against his own, who responded with a happy moan. The Young Stag massaged the young woman's back before lowering his hand past her waist and cupped her butt. Softly at first, hardly touching, feeling the warmth of it beneath his palm, the skin as smooth as satin. He gave it a gentle squeeze, causing Sansa to gasp in surprise against her husband's mouth during their passionate kiss.
Pulling away to catch her breath, Sansa found herself crawling on top of Daveth—her cheeks blushing red. Her face was inches away from his, sensation sizzled across her body, up and down her spine. The King and Queen hadn't had sex in over a year due to the Queen's pregnancy, and more than a month to allow her body to properly heal after giving birth to their twin offspring just to be on the safe side.
"Do I have your consent?" Daveth asks.
Sansa, a nose tip away from her husband's, nodded. "Do what you will, my King. I'm yours," she answered.
Once understanding that she had given her approval, Daveth and Sansa resumed their make out session. While Sansa's hands explored Daveth's muscles, the Young Stag slid his left hand under Sansa's nightgown to fondle a breast. Sansa moaned again, feeling Daveth's thumb running lightly across her nipple, back and forth and back and forth until she felt it stiffen. Ripples of pleasure ran over her body.
"Does that feel good?" he asked.
"Yes," panted Sansa as she pulled away from the kiss.
"And this?" Daveth pinched the nipple now, gently twisting it between his fingers.
The Wolf Queen gasped and bit her trembling lower lip as her red hair fell in front of her face. "O-ooh, Gods…" she shook at the sensitivity.
Daveth took his time to allow Sansa's pleasure to build before moving onto the next phase, always ensuring she was as comfortable as possible. Sansa loved that about Daveth when he took her maidenhead during their wedding night; how attentive and caring he was towards her. She wanted to return the favor. Sansa slid her right hand down to Daveth's groin and felt an increasing bulge in his trousers. She unzipped his pants and slid her hand inside to grip her husband's growing erection, moving her hand up and down at an agonizing pace. Daveth's face scrunched and hissed at Sansa's teasing, the same thing she had done before.
Not wanting to be outdone, Daveth released his grip on Sansa's butt and slipped his fingers between her thighs, causing her entire body to jerk. He realized that the more he intimately touched her, the more she grew wet and aroused. The Young Stag slipped a finger into that northern swamp, then a second and a third, moving them in and out.
"Ngh! G-Gods, Daveth…"
Daveth interpreted Sansa's gasps as an approval and sped up the pace of his fingers; the Wolf Queen rocked her hips against the digits sliding in and out of her.
"W-wait, dearest. Wait!"
The Young Stag ceased his movements, wondering what might have caused his wife to ask him to stop. "What is it?" he asked.
Sansa's body shook, her pants hollow as she steadied herself above Daveth using only her elbow. She was so close from having an orgasm yet denied herself that release. Even in the heat of the moment, Sansa was still aware she had to keep her voice lowered to a minimum so as to not wake up her children. Once she recomposed, she looked at him.
"I… I'd like to undress, if it pleases you," Sansa explained between breaths.
Daveth nodded and withdrew his fingers. Still straddling her husband, Sansa lifted her nightgown over her head before tossing it to the floor, freeing her breasts. The Young Stag took in the sight of his wife's body before pulling her back down to kiss her, but Sansa placed a finger on her husband's lips to stop him.
"You've done much for me, my sweet King," she told him. "I don't want you to think I'm merely doing this simply because you want to claim your rights, but… But rather I'm doing this because I love you."
In moments, Daveth watched as Sansa freed his erect manhood from his trousers and drew a sharp breath when his Queen began stroking the shaft up and down. It was her turn to pleasure her husband.
"Ahhh, fuck…" Daveth groaned.
Sansa was still not used to listening to such vulgarity, but felt her husband must've been enjoying what she was doing so far. "Does… does it feel good, my love?" she asked.
"Uh-huh." The Young Stag instinctively moved his hips in time with her strokes, making love to her hand.
Noticing how lost in pure ecstasy Daveth looked, Sansa leaned her face forward—anxious and nervous. Now they've made love before, but this favor was new to her. She pressed her lips and kissed the very tip of Daveth's manhood, immediately followed by him briefly shuddering.
'It's so salty. Am I… doing this right?' she wondered.
The Wolf Queen continued planting kisses along the side of the Young Stag's manhood before protruding her tongue and licked along the veined ridge of the base to the very tip; her ears still picking up the sound of Daveth shivering at the sensation—something he never expected Sansa to do for him.
"S-Sansa…!" he groaned.
She looked up at him and stopped at once upon seeing the look on his face. "Am I hurting you?"
Daveth shook his head. "N-no. No, you're not. That mouth of yours is driving me crazy."
Reassured that all is well, Sansa lowered her lips to Daveth's erection and took it into her hot, wet mouth and slowly started bobbing her head up and down, her red hair brushing over his legs. The Young Stag said nothing but felt as if his eyes were rolling to the back of his head; Seven hells this was a new one, perhaps one of the best, the suction, the tongue, the gentle scrape of her teeth. Looking up at him, Sansa brushed a few stray bangs from her eyes as she sucked softly, then harder.
"Aaaaah, Sansa…"
"Mmmmm," she hummed.
After a few minutes, Daveth groaned through clenched teeth and felt his balls began to tighten. His climax was threatening to arrive at any moment; until he placed his hand on her head.
"Wait, stop!"
Sansa pulled away and took Daveth's still-firm manhood out of her mouth, her hand still gripping him. She looked concerned. "What's wrong?"
"N-nothing. Seven hells, Sansa, that was too good," he shuddered. "But I want you. Now."
'Still such a pervert,' Sansa felt his erection twitch in her hand and shook her head amusingly in response; she had given him her consent and laid down on her back next to him.
Daveth climbed on top of Sansa and spread her legs apart, revealing her wet cunt. Rubbing his manhood teasingly across her opening, he watched her squirm beneath him. Her tissues there were swollen and sensitive.
"D-Don't, stop it. Not again," Sansa mewled. "Y-you said you wanted me right? If you have any affection for me, please put it in me."
"As you command, Your Grace," he acknowledged.
Taking hold of his manhood, Daveth traced the head over Sansa's wet entrance before pushing it inside of her.
"Oooh. Oh my Gods," Sansa moaned, her body twitched, her eyes glued to the sight of Daveth's manhood slowly sliding inside. "Oh, Daveth, make love to me." As she arched up to receive him a wave of orgasm hit her hard. She hadn't felt so full in a long time.
It was almost too much to bear. Daveth held his wife close as Sansa embraced him back when he was hilt-deep inside of her, savoring the hot, tightening sensation gripping him. Her breasts pressed against his chest, making her squirm more. Firmly gripping Sansa's hips, Daveth started thrusting into her. Flesh slapping against each other filled the room; her breasts bounced up and down.
"Ah! Huh! Oooh! Ah! Nngh!"
As they moved, a fire of sensations passed between them. Sansa wrapped her legs around Daveth's waist and it didn't take long for him to thrust deeper and harder into her. His lips met hers, their tongues battling for dominance; and both of them were moaning and gasping out endearments as Daveth suckled on one of Sansa's breasts, circling his tongue around her nipple.
"M-more," she whimpered. "Please; deeper, harder."
Sansa felt one orgasm after another washing over her, her maidenhood clenching tight around Daveth's manhood as she climaxed again. Daveth continued to pound into his wife, dropping his head down again against Sansa's shoulder. He pumped in and out of his northern wife once more, stopping momentarily for Sansa to collect herself. With each thrust, Sansa moved her hips back and sunk her fingernails deep into Daveth's back. Sweat covered both their bodies from the effort.
After nearly 45 minutes of love making, Sansa felt Daveth's manhood starting to swell and twitch inside her as he quickened his pace. She knew what that meant.
"Ngh, Sansa, I'm—!"
Sansa pushed back for more. "Fill me up, ahh!"
Daveth groaned and thrusted hard into Sansa before emptied himself deep into her womb. He barely heard Sansa's whimper under him and arching her back, his manhood twitching as it continued to spurt. When he was done, Daveth withdrew from Sansa and rolled over, placing a hand on her thigh. The Wolf Queen was breathless from her last orgasm as she felt her husband's seed dripping out from between her legs.
They sat there for a while, harsh breathing in the quiet moment until the wind from outside blew into the room—extinguishing all candles in the room—causing both Daveth and Sansa to shiver and covered themselves. After their recent lovemaking, Sansa was now officially tired. Feeling her husband wrapping his arms around her, Sansa felt safe and loved. And given what Daveth had done, she was certain that they'd have more children; even if not now, if Sansa wanted more children, Daveth would give her such.
"Whew!" she wiped her brow. "Wow… You… you were amazing…"
Daveth, now tired himself, held his wife close. "So were you. Seven hells, it's been… a long time since we… did this."
Silence filled the cabin for a while.
"Do you think we woke the kids?" he asked.
Sansa listened closely, but thankfully heard nothing. "No, I don't think so. But if we did wake Lyonel and Cassana by doing… this, then I'm blaming you."
"Very funny," the Young Stag rolled his eyes. "But need I point out that you were enjoying it yourself?"
Sansa playfully smacked Daveth's chest. "You are such a pervert!" she scolded him. "I love you, but you're such a pervert."
Daveth shook his head. "Only because I'm married to the most beautiful woman in the world," his facial feature turned warm, "and is the mother of my children. As far as I'm concerned, this is all I need."
Sansa snuggled against Daveth's neck. "And you and our children are all I'll ever need. Sleep well, dearest."
The Young Stag pecked his wife's head, listening to her quiet breathing; knowing that the Wolf Queen had fallen asleep, Daveth felt his eyelids growing heavy and it wasn't long before sleep took him too.
At the Water Gardens…
Within the palace a short distance away from Sunspear, the Water Gardens served as a private residence to House Martell. Located on the coast next to the Summer Sea a short distance down the road from the Dornish capital city, pale pink marble paved the gardens and courtyard; terraces overlooked the numerous pools and fountains, shaded by blood orange trees with a triple archway leading to certain mazes. Described as pleasant in autumn, hot days and cool nights, the salt breeze blew in from the sea and the fountains and pools are described as admirable, a relaxing if not beautiful sight to behold.
One of the Dornish traditions still retained to this day since Princess Daenerys Targaryen married Prince Maron Martell in 201 AC was allowing men and women from all stations—highborn nobles to servants, guards and their children—to swim in the pools, beaches and fountains.
At the center of the gardens, Princess Myrcella Baratheon—now almost 19 years old—spent the day with her betrothed Prince Trystane Martell, eldest son and heir to Prince Doran Martell. During her stay in Dorne, Myrcella came to see Dorne as her new home and adapted to the Dornish lifestyle so quickly, but she had actually fallen in love with Trystane; a rare thing in arranged marriages. The inner layer of her halter dress was pink in color and made of lightweight, hand dyed cotton organdy with the cups lightly lined; the outer layer of her dress is goldish-yellow in color and also made from a lightweight with garments and embroidery of a floral nature, hand dyed cotton organdy with a lace up closure in back.
Not only has she matured greatly and became somewhat independent of her family, but Myrcella noticeably grew up to be a lovely young woman—inheriting all of her mother Cersei Lannister's beauty but none of her cruel nature.
She remained still, watching Prince Trystane placing a flower in her hair.
"I'm going to ask him tomorrow," he tells her.
Myrcella, however, looked uncertain. "What if he says no?"
"He won't. You've waited long enough; we've waited long enough. I want you to be my wife now." Trystane noticed Myrcella looking away from him for a bit. "What's wrong?" he asked, somewhat concerned.
"Do you want to marry me because our families arranged it?" she asked him. "Or, do you—"
Myrcella's words were silenced when Prince Trystane cupped her cheek and kissed her. His action affirmed that he did indeed have true affections for her. Though she was caught off-guard, Myrcella did not protest nor did she pull away. She did, however, reciprocated Trystane's feelings, though for a brief moment she actually did pull away—albeit her cheeks were rather flushed.
"We-we can't," she shook her head. "Not yet."
"Why not?"
"You know why not. Someone will see. Your father, Ser Arys Oakheart…"
"And your brother?"
Myrcella froze. 'Daveth…' She hadn't seen her eldest brother in almost four years since he sent her away to Dorne.
And though she made him promise to write letters, they were relatively few. Initially Myrcella believed Daveth had forgotten the promise he made her, but it was only until she learned about the siege at King's Landing during Renly Baratheon's rebellion and again of the Second Greyjoy Rebellion did Myrcella come to understand why the letters sent to her had been relatively few. She did, however, receive ravens from her sister-in-law Queen Sansa Stark at King's Landing and it was from her that Myrcella worried about her brother's state of mind. She believed he was under a lot of stress and repeatedly asked for inquiries about him.
She often wondered what Daveth must've looked like by now. Considering the last raven Myrcella received entailed the birth of the new royal heirs, she advocated to her betrothed's father, Prince Doran Martell—ruler of Dorne, to request Daveth's presence.
"I…"
Trystane replied, "You are going to be my wife. And I am going to be your husband."
'Fate preserve me, but you are so stubborn sometimes Trystane,' Myrcella thought. But then again, it was Trystane's nature that drew her to him in the first place. Attentive and affectionate, but rather impatient. She loved that about him.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Trystane took her arm in his.
"Come. We are allowed to walk through the gardens together. Shall we?" he said with a hint of Dornish charm.
Walking through the Water Gardens side-by-side, Myrcella looked at Trystane. "How many other girls have you walked through these gardens?" she asked.
Trystane smirked with amusement. "I like the way your eyes go squinty when you're jealous."
Puffing her cheeks, Myrcella shook her head. "They do not go squinty," she pouted, "and you didn't answer the question."
Observing the pair from the Water Gardens' balcony was none other than Prince Doran Martell, Lord of Sunspear and ruler of Dorne. The oldest of three, his siblings were the late Princess Elia and Prince Oberyn the Red Viper. Unlike Oberyn, who was known for his hot-headed and aggressive passion, Doran was pensive, calculating and patient, always waiting and observing before making his move. Whilst Oberyn was free to indulge in the wayward Dornish lifestyle, Doran was raised to be more responsible despite suffering severe gout which confined him to a wheelchair. On the outside, Doran appeared to be stern and strict, sometimes cold. But the Dornish knew that their Prince actually cared about his people and his family; even Myrcella thought of him fondly as a surrogate father.
Beside him stood his personal bodyguard and captain of the Martell guard, Areo Hotah. Originally from Norvos, one of the northern Free Cities, he joined Prince Doran's service along with Doran's Norovoshi wife Lady Mellario (even after her departure) and has remained a trusted servant of the Martells for many years and is renowned for his skill with his halberd.
Also observing Trystane and Myrcella from the balcony was Prince Oberyn Martell, who after returning from Dorne, was still missing several teeth and his lower jaw was yet slightly aligned more to the right due to the injury sustained from Ser Gregor "the Mountain" Clegane. Eating food or drinking fluids was rather difficult for him and Oberyn did have occasional discomfort once and a while. But the prize in the end was worth it as Oberyn returned a hero to the Dornish with the Mountain's head and announced the justice for the murder Elia Martell and her children was meted out.
"Last time I saw her here, she was swimming with two of my girls. Laughing in the sun," Oberyn told his brother.
Doran did not budge. "I know. Tyene and Sarella often speak of Myrcella as a sister, bound in blood if not by blood."
"Never thought I'd see the day when a Lannister and a Martell would make a lovely couple."
Ellaria Sand, Oberyn's paramour, wrapped herself around the Red Viper. "Yet a Lannister almost cost you your life."
"I did say I was going to kill that, and I did."
Doran looked at Oberyn. "With help, yes, but your hot-heated nature almost got you killed. If it wasn't for one of our own implanted in the Kingsguard, you would have met our sister again and her children. And Dorne would have lost another Martell."
"Your brother—" Ellaria looked furious, perceiving it as an insult.
"You don't have to remind me," Doran cut her off. "Oberyn is my brother long before he was anything to you."
"The whole country would have gone to war—"
Oberyn silenced Ellaria with a kiss, albeit a sloppy one due to his aligned jaw. "It's all right, my love. Dorne loves its people, and our daughters do too. We avenged our family together."
"And we're also lucky the whole country does not decide whether or not we go to war," his brother finalized. "Justice and vengeance often become intertwined in serious cases, most often to the point where it's hard to tell one from the other."
Despite their differences, Doran and Oberyn remain close as ever—even if Ellaria has a difficult time with her paramour's eldest brother sometimes. Dorne had been crying out for justice, some even advocated with going to war… yet Oberyn assured them that all was well after announcing his triumphant victory over the Mountain.
Ellaria sighed with resignation. "If you're content with this Lannister girl eating our food, breathing our air… Then I suppose I'll give her a chance."
"As you should."
"But only because my Oberyn still lives."
Approaching the trio, Maester Caleotte handed a raven scroll. "Prince Doran, a raven came from King's Landing days ago," he excused himself.
Doran unraveled the piece of paper, and read it. Both Oberyn and Ellaria leaned over, with the Red Viper recognizing the familiar handwriting.
"Well, well, well! Now this is getting interesting," Oberyn surprisingly exclaimed. "The unexpected Lannister, the Imp, named the new King's Hand! Rather unexpected!"
Ellaria looked taken aback as well. "Well? What does he say?"
"It says the Oathkeeper has decided to accept our invitation," Doran told them, "and is currently on his way here with his family."
Areo Hotah stood tall, his right hand still gripping his halberd. "They'll most likely arrive at Dorne's only main port. Planky Town."
Oberyn observed this. "Then I suppose we should get ready for preparing to welcome our royal guests. No Baratheon ever stepped foot in Dorne before… except for the Oathkeeper's ancestor Orys during the First Dornish War."
"And what is your take on the Usurper's son?" Doran asked. "What are we to expect from Daveth Baratheon when he arrives?"
"Hmmm. Not quite what you would expect from a lad his age."
"Meaning?"
"He might well have the blood of the lion and stag running through his veins, but… One thing I noticed about him when I was Master of Laws was his commitment, what he calls his 'desire' to usher in a 'new golden age'. What's more is that there are most in Westeros who believe he could actually pull it off, considering how quickly he gets results. But the one thing I admire most about him was the promise he kept to Dorne. Apparently the phrase 'you have my word' has a whole new meaning whenever Daveth says it."
"So he's never reneged on his word?" Doran asked skeptically.
"Not once. Not yet anyway."
"Hmm. We'll see when the time comes. See to it that preparations are made."
Oberyn acknowledged his older brother's request and set off with Ellaria Sand, intending to gather the rest of their daughters in the Sand Snakes. No doubt word will spread quickly, with Myrcella being the first to hear word of Daveth's impending arrival. Doran and Areo watched from the balcony as Oberyn spoke with Trystane and Myrcella. Not surprisingly even in the slightest, Doran noticed Myrcella's posture shifted from courteous to nearly bouncing with excitement.
"They make a lovely couple," he told his bodyguard. "A Lannister and a Martell. They have no idea how dangerous that is. Even if things have indeed calmed down in Dorne, such a royal gathering will no doubt bring about unwanted attention. My son, Princess Myrcella… we must still protect them."
"Yes, my Prince," Areo nodded.
Doran looked up at him. "You have not had to use that axe of yours in a very long time. I hope you remember how."
Areo grinned, eager to flex his muscles. "I remember how," he answered with confidence.
Doran nodded and looked across the distance of the Water Gardens. If war has taught him anything in times of peace, it's to always keep his guard up and expect the unexpected. What he was not expecting, however, was that he would eventually be proven right.
Further north, a small ship departing from White Harbor had just set sail with its destination in sight…
Chapter End
Author's Note: A bit steamy in the first half, but towards the end we're finally introduced to Prince Doran Martell and his bodyguard Areo Hotah. Doran expects trouble at some point and has made the first move to prevent such a thing from possibly derailing the negotiations between Dorne and the Iron Throne. For the last bit, a ship departed from White Harbor. Think it's Locke and Ramsay's dogs? Also, making her return is none other than Princess Myrcella Baratheon—now a full grown young woman! Thoughts? Let me know.
Guest #1: Locke and his men come, seeing Areo Hotah with his longaxe will be quite the show. So looking forward to it. Update soon, please.
C.E.W: Here's an idea, first day or two in Dorne of the royal family and Martells getting to know each other. Little time in the Water Gardens, some sparing, riding along the sands and a little beach time. Then come the peace talks, and then Locke and his men show to attack and take Myrcella or kill her. Although I don't think they knew the royal family would be there. So Daveth, his Kingsguard fight with the Sand Snakes and Dornish guard, helping and saving each other. Surely it will help build up trust between the Dorne and the Crown. If a man gets captured alive or Locke himself, I'm sure the Martells can get him to talk. They find out Ramsay Snow ordered the attack, Daveth will seek justice as well the Martells as Locke attacked their home on Ramsay's orders.
—I'll look into it.
Austin: Hey man I love your story here it's amazing love of Daveth being a badass.
Though Ramsay is coming as well with his gang and I'm worried for mycella hope she is well protected by her family both Martell and her brother.
Though since daveth is slowly but surely learning how to fight with his father's warhammer will it be possible in the future for daveth to wield both warhammer and sword in each hand like a fucking a man of war he is because I can honestly see that happening.
And what of daenarys once she arrives with her army and dragons. Will daveth have to kill her and her dragons or in last case scenario will he have to marry daenarys as well?
Another question will there be another game of thrones story once oathkeeper is finished whether crossover or not.
Good luck on the next chapter and hope it comes soon.
—(1) It might take some time for Daveth to utilize two weapons at once-considering one's a incredibly sharp blade light in weight and has a long reach while the other is a very heavy bludgeoning yet powerful weapon; (2) He's already married and has no intention of setting his wife aside, as for the inevitable confrontation with Daenerys we'll be expecting some interaction between the two monarchs; and (3) I'll think about it.
Morgan: Aww Myrcella 3 I hope all goes well for them. She deserves happiness after all
Zurver: Wise decision in making Tyrion as the Hand. To me it was heartwarming, because no one ever put trust this much on Tyrion as what Daveth is doing
The Three Stoogies: porn pure porn well written porn but porn none the less keep up the great work can't wait to read the meeting between daveth and doran
mpowers045: Those bastards better not be here to ruined a family visit!
Fury074: Women can't and shouldn't renew their bedroom habits, if you will, until they have fully recovered from child birth, which is usually six weeks.
—Between 4 to 6 weeks, yes I agree. But here a month has passed. Even so, still had to be more careful before resuming bed activities.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
—Thanks.
10868letsgo: Love it!
—Thanks.
The Last Kenpachi: This might get messy. If the king is negotiating in Dorne and gets attacked by assassins, people are going to blame the Martells... which is probably what Ramsay would want.
Hear My Fury: Well I don't know if it's appropriate but um, *bow chicka bow wow*. I think another Stag/Wolf baby was created. In any case Locke and his men are royally screwed now.
LunaEvanna Longbottom: Marcella and Tommen were always my favorite Lannisters after Tyrion mostly because they were uncomplicated.