The Stormlands were nothing that Robert had always boasted of.
"I can't see beyond arm's length in this infernal rain," Martyn complained, and Dara was of a mind to agree with him - they'd travelled down along the coast from Sharp Point, but every mile led them deeper into torrential downpours and driving winds. Travelling at any speed was next to impossible, and it was driving her mad to think that they were being kept from Lya by the gods themselves.
No, she reminded herself, by the Seven, mayhaps as punishment for keeping our gods and not honouring them.
Buckets had taken to riding between Dara and the wind, using himself as a shield to save her from the worst of it, and she was grateful to him for that, just as she was grateful that the rain and wind meant she had an excuse to call for more frequent stops, and a supply of fresh water whenever it was called for - travelling was not making her bleeding worse or better, but it was simply more awkward for having to hide it from a troupe of men who seemed to fly into a panic if she was out of their sight for more than half a moment.
She wished more of their panicked fretting was directed at Lya, though - Dara had her own ways of looking after herself, but Lya was a child still, and a child in the clutches of a madman at that.
But still, it was nice to be looked after for once - Dara was so used to looking after others, Bran and Lya and Ben and Father, Robert and Lord Jon and Elbert, and it was so odd to be the one being cared for.
"Lady Dara," Ethan called - oh, Bran had all but beaten respect of his sisters into his squire, Dara didn't think she'd ever teach Ethan to call her just by her name as the rest of their company did now - as he galloped towards their rudimentary shelter among the trees, wiping rain from his eyes as he swung to the ground. "Lady Dara, I bring grave news - there is no way we might pass by Storm's End."
"What in the world do you mean, Ethan?" she asked, confused. "Did you not present my letter to Lord Stannis?"
"I could not," Ethan said. "Storm's End is being held to siege, my lady, by the Tyrells - I did not dare venture closer to identify more banners, but it seemed as if there were enough different ones for the whole of the Reach to be there, my lady."
"We will need to divert inland," Martyn said, looking even graver than he had while cursing the rain. "If they hold the land around Storm's End, doubtless they're using the Redwyne fleet to hold the seas - we have no way of getting around them without going miles out of our way."
"We will have to go to Dorne by well-travelled ways," Buckets said, crouching low and staring into the fire. "I did not want to go by the main roads, but if we are driven far enough inland we will have no choice, we won't."
Dara sighed, pressing her face into her hands for a moment before straightening up and drawing her knife.
"The Prince's Pass then," she said, watching the firelight gleam on the blade. "We will enter Dorne that way."
Larra Blackmont's arrival was not a surprise, but Asric still half wished that she had not come to Starfall. That meant having to shield Lyria even more, meant having to either take Father, in his illness, into their confidence, or treat him as a fool and leave him ignorant.
"Do walk with me, Asric," she said one morning, some three days after her arrival. "I wish to reminisce of times past, and to badmouth that scoundrel who calls himself a prince."
The peach orchard was lovely, as always, and Asric was unsurprised when Larra came to a halt right at the furthest point from the castle.
"I have spoken to Allem," she said, "and he agrees that we cannot act without knowing more about this… Situation."
"Such a delicate term for such indelicate circumstances," he said wryly. "My brother is aiding a rapist and holding an innocent woman hostage. You may as well call him for the bastard he has proven himself to be, Larra."
She seemed shocked by his anger, but she said nothing of it.
"We - that is, Allem and I, we feel that it would be best if you were the one to investigate the goings on at the tower."
"You and he would be missed," Asric agreed. "And Arthur is more likely to believe that I have come to check on his well-being than he would Allem."
"Precisely," Larra said, reaching over to take his hands. "I know that this must hurt you, Asric, and Allem as well, but the tower where they are keeping the Stark girl is on my lands, if only barely, and I know not who else to trust in this - please. You are my oldest friend, save Oberyn, and I can hardly go to him about this, can I?"
"Twas a viper," Buckets said ominously, gently shutting Mark's dull eyes. "That does be a bad omen, Eddara Stark, and you had best recognise that."
Dorne, mayhaps especially after the driving rains of the Stormlands, was unbearably hot, even with her hair shorn short and particularly with the heavy bindings pressing her breasts back to her chest to make her less identifiably a woman, and Dara blamed that for her temper as much as she did sweet Mark's death.
"I cannot afford to recognise that, my friend," Dara said shortly, pulling Mark's blanket over his face. "We still have my sister to find - we will not be able to dig this ground, so find enough stones to build a cairn. We will… Build a cairn, please. I…"
Mark had asked for her hand just the day before the snake bit him, through the wool of his breeches right above his boot, and Dara was so confused about her feelings for him just now that she did not even think she could grieve. It would not have been terrible to be his wife, for he was sweet and kind, once he had overcome his initial fascination with her and realised that she had a mind, not just a pair of teats.
She had just wanted to find Lya. She had not expected friends and would-be lovers. She had just wanted to find what was left of her and Ben's family and go home.
But life had not been so simple as that since Harrenhall, and she wished that they had never visited that cursed place at all so as to be spared its ills.
It had taken near to a fortnight to reach the tower where Arthur and the rest were holding Lady Lyanna, because by necessity Asric had made a great production of visiting Blackmont with Larra and so had been forced to detour by boat along the Torentine before he could turn east for his final destination.
Larra packed him off with a fine horse and provisions enough for a full moon's turn, and he had set of heavy-hearted to find what sort of evils his brother, his Arthur, was preserving.
Asric had lain with many women, some of whom he should not have pursued, but he would never have pressed his suit with any woman who was unwilling, and would have - indeed, had - defended a woman who was the object of unwanted attentions. To think that Arthur was, by his very presence and silence, condoning such a thing…
Asric had always loathed the very existence of Ghaston Grey, but he could understand it now. To think of Rhaegar, who behaved as though he were more than just a man, raping and abusing a woman with Eddara Stark's soft eyes… It was unthinkable. He would not think of it.
He set up camp not far from the tower, prolonging the torture of not knowing and yet unwilling to know, and slept fitfully in the cool of the night with the crickets chirping.
The morning was bright and hot, and the sunshine glimmered on pale armour and a pale sword and shone on dark hair spilling from a high-up window.
When Asric crept as close as he dared, he could pick out only five people - Arthur, gleaming white in the harsh sun, old Gerold and sharp Oswell, the little midwife, and the Lady Lyanna, who never left her room, never mind the tower.
Rhaegar was gone, likely to finally partake in this war he had caused, and Asric was terrified by the sudden realisation that he hoped Rhaegar would die. He deserved to die for what he had done to the poor child in the tower, and for what he had made of good men like Arthur and Gerold and Oswell.