All: Thanks, and yes, Lady Toland is a badass. There's a reason she's nicknamed the "Dragon" after all.

oneiron: Lord Uller being the number one conspirator, Doran wants him very much deceased.

Kuman: Well, yes and no. GRRM created Gerold because he fucked up the timelines, yes, but he didn't create him to replace Edric. He created him so that we're going to be able to know more about House Dayne and their role in the Long Night through the Areo POVs of his hunt for him (if he ever finishes TWOW ofc), since there's a pretty low chance we get Edric POVs since nothing of note is happening to him. Also "yeah he tried to murder an innocent child but he's not that bad of a person...", I mean, that's a bit more than being "not a pleasant fellow".

ATP: Dornishmen don't accept poison otherwise Oberyn would've had no problems after his duel against Edgar Yronwood.

Guest Not really interested in Northern fics, I think half the fandom would do a better northern fic than me. Same goes for the Iron Islands. Dorne and the Reach are the areas I know best, and there's already a lot of really good Reach fics out there. Dorne gets little to no love, and when it is, it's to be either the monstrosity that the show created, or a pure caricature (with a few exceptions). I wanted to do either an Arianne or a Quentyn SI or time-travel fic to rectify the cliches people have on Dorne, and add a layer of worldbuilding on probably the lesser-known and most butchered of the kingdoms.

Arianne

Arianne brought a glass of wine to her lips as she sunk into her seat.

She would need it for what was about to come.

The days she had spent in the Water Gardens recently hadn't been as joyful as the ones she'd spent there as a child, that was for sure.

Between her feeling more like a prisoner there than she'd ever been in Sunspear, and Tyene's presence not being able to lift her spirits.

The good news though, was that she felt like she was improving. She was gaining knowledge about Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms that she'd never learnt of before. And with every lesson, she felt like she was inching closer to a distant dream of maybe reclaiming her place as heir.

It was a fickle hope, she knew, but one nonetheless.

No man was perfect, and one day Quentyn was bound to make a mistake. He had already done so in the past. As had she. It was that mistake that united them, the famous Martell hot blood.

Her father's hot blood had made him defy his mother and marry the woman that he loved, while her uncle's rashness nearly caused a civil war in Dorne. Gods only knew what her aunt Elia had done as well.

And that hot-bloodedness manifested itself in a Martell again on that day.

She continued to slowly drink from the cup, enjoying the taste of the Dornish red to the last drop, and placed the now empty container on a small table next to her.

She then thought about when she'd heard the news. That her brother had been the target of an assassination.

Her heart had sunk then, but a little piece of her was glad, and the fickle hope sparked once more.

She hated it when that part of her was brought to the surface, and did her best to push it down to the darkest depths of her being.

Quentyn, though, was as tough as their father, and lived. Thank the gods. What had broken her, though, was the revelation that the men who ordered the assassination had done it for her.

She couldn't believe it. How could Garin, Gerold and Drey think that getting rid of Quentyn, her brother, would help in any way? Actually, had they planned to tell her at all?

She had no news of the plot, and told both her father and uncle as much.

Tyene though…she'd been aware.

Well, slightly, anyways. After the attempt on Quentyn's life, Tyene had confessed that Drey and Garin had talked to her about getting rid of Quentyn, but she did not take it seriously. And Quentyn nearly died because of it.

The only thing that stopped her from being with the accused was her uncle's protection, and manoeuvring to ensure that it wouldn't happen.

Her father had been furious, and as had she. Furious at her friends for having gone through with killing her brother. Furious at Tyene for not telling her of that mad plan. And finally mad at Quentyn for condemning himself to death.

Her brother had escaped death twice already. Once by Daemon's blade, and the second from an assassin's. Now he would die to the third.

Why?

Why did Quentyn's pride have to take over? Oberyn held the accusation, and Quentyn could've let either him or Ser Archibald Yronwood deal with Darkstar. It would have been quick.

But no.

Instead, he had to speak up and try and get personal revenge.

She shook her head. Quentyn had inherited his father's lack of emotion, and probably his brains, but something he lacked was tact and diplomacy. While she would always be soft-spoken and indirect, her brother was blunt and to-the-point. It was a quality in some cases, but hardly one here.

She knew Gerold, and she knew her brother. Quentyn didn't stand a chance.

The Darkstar was a dangerous man. That was what had attracted her to him in the first place. His eyes, and his silver hair. She often wondered if their children would've been as fair as dragonlords, or more recently, if that was what Viserys Targaryen looked like.

In any case, she tried to push these memories away. He had tried to kill her brother, and he now had the opportunity to finish the job.

"Hello, cousin." A voice came from behind her.

"Nym." She nodded, putting the glass back down. "You seem rather joyful. What's the matter?"

"Well, a traitor is about to die today." She shrugged as she took the seat to Arianne's left.

"Quentyn is as good as dead." She shrugged. "Gerold will not give him a chance. Not when his life is on the line."

Nymeria chuckled.

"You think that, don't you?" she smiled slightly. "Need I remind that my lovers have defeated yours every time?"

"It happened twice." She rolled her eyes. "And try giving the Fowlers a sword and see how this one goes."

"That's still every time." She smirked. "And you might be surprised with the results."

Arianne scoffed.

"It doesn't change the fact that Gerold is talented with a blade, and that these are not the same situations as Sunspear's tourney." She frowned.

"I know Quentyn." Nymeria leaned in. "More than you do. He will not take a risk like this if he wasn't completely sure to come out on top."

"I wish I could share your optimism." Arianne shook her head. "I doubt that there is a single man in Dorne that could prepare Quentyn for what is about to come."

"How about me?" Uncle Oberyn's voice came from her right.

"Father and I have trained Quentyn for this trial." Nymeria nodded. "He will not lose. I am sure of it."

"Did he beat you, uncle?" she asked, hope filling her once more.

"Not once." Oberyn shrugged, as Arianne fell back into her seat. "But do not fret, niece. This trial is not fair. Consider it a glorified execution."

Arianne raised an eyebrow at that, and looked to the other side of the makeshift fighting pit, where Quentyn's friends were looking on with worry in their eyes.

"Quentyn's friends do not seem to share your optimism." She pointed out.

"That's because they don't know what we know." Oberyn winked at her daughter, who returned it. "Although, tell me, niece. Do you feel pity for the men that will die tonight?"

Arianne nodded.

"As much as I hate them for going after Quentyn." She sighed. "They did it for me. For my inheritance. And now they are fighting for their lives because they decided to fight for me. It's hard not to feel anything for men like these."

Oberyn, to her surprise, nodded.

"True." He said, sitting down besides her. "But what you have to ask yourself is: what do these men gain by supporting your claim? Did your supposed friends do this out of the kindness of their hearts, or did they plan on getting something in return?"

She could see Nymeria grinning besides her.

"Who would've been the first to ask for your hand?" she asked nonchalantly.

"I would never have given them anything if I learnt that they'd killed my brother!" she hissed.

"Maybe they didn't have to tell you that." Oberyn shrugged. "Only a man could've taken the fall. And then your hand would have been a prize to obtain."

Arianne washed away these thoughts immediately.

"I wouldn't." she shook her head. "And you uncle? Do you feel pity for Lord Uller?"

Oberyn clenched his fists.

"I respected him once, you know." He growled. "I thought he was a great man. Good warrior. Decent father. He knew my pain, and I knew his. Lord Harmen was almost like a second father to me, especially after your grandfather died."

Oberyn quickly filled himself a cup of wine and drank it all immediately.

"And then he went after my blood." He said, wiping his lips clean. "And now I care naught if he dies like a man, or like a dog."

Arianne nodded.

Maybe she should feel that way towards her friends. But she had known Quentyn for so little, and her friends for so long. How could she just forget what they'd lived through together?

Luckily, she did not have to dwell on it for long, as her father and the septon of Sunspear took the stand, while Quentyn and Gerold headed to the centre of the fighting pit.

The septon said a few words to make the trial official, while her father also said the usual formalities.

She couldn't help but notice that both fighters had eerily similar attire. Gerold was dressed in Dayne purple, and held a longsword and shield. He was lightly armoured, though he kept a large plate and helmet.

Quentyn on the other hand, held shorter weapons. A bastard sword and a shield engraved with the banner of house Martell, along with a suit of armour much lighter than Gerold was wearing. If not for the Dornish helmet, she'd wondered if Quentyn had worn any armour at all.

Oberyn stood from his seat, and went into the pit with two cloths, while Arianne looked at Nym expectantly.

"Is Quentyn crazy?" she asked. "He's wearing almost no armour!"

"Speed is Quent's best ally." Nym replied. "He has almost limitless endurance. The goal is to make Darkstar run, and while Darkstar tries to pin him, to take endless jabs at him. Whenever Quent was close to defeating father, it was by exhausting him, and making him drop his guard."

Arianne nodded as she noticed that her uncle had now taken the two cloths to the centre of the field, and showed them to the audience.

As a boo started to echo through the crowd, she knew what had happened.

The cloths had been swept over each blade, and would have revealed any trace of poison.

Gerold, like the arrogant idiot that he was, had of course poisoned his, with his cloth showing a dark green colour.

The audience and the judges were not amused, and he was allowed to take a second blade.

There would be no third chances.

This time, Arianne looked carefully as Oberyn brought the cloths, one in each hand, wiped each blade, and brought them back to the centre of the pit.

As he did so, two vultures flew over the Gardens. She hoped it wasn't a bad omen.

Looking back at her uncle, she noticed that he was showing her and the audience the cloths of both contestants.

This time, both cloths were completely clean.

Her uncle made her way back to her right, and sat down, smiling at her.

Arianne was trembling with every fibre of her body, and she hadn't noticed that her hand was now squeezing her uncle's.

Oberyn just smiled and placed his hand above hers, trying to reassure her that everything would be alright, just like her father had done when she'd had nightmares when she was a child.

A horn was blown. The fight was on.

As expected, both fighters circled around each other for what seemed like an eternity.

Gerold, of course, took this opportunity to taunt Quentyn.

"I never had a chance to thank you, traitor, for this opportunity. I had thought that I had failed the first time, and that I'd have to fight a better man than you." He laughed. "It turns out you decided to come out here and die instead."

"There's only one traitor here, Nightman." Quentyn shouted back.

Gerold scowled.

"It's Darkstar, you disfigured fool." Gerold replied as the two continued circling. "I am of the night, and I shall be your end."

"Ah yes." Quentyn laughed. "An arrogant name, for an arrogant cunt. Then again, my sister always told me that you were compensating for something."

The crowd laughed at that, and with it, she felt that Gerold was losing patience at a rapid pace.

A quick look to her uncle made her realize what Quentyn was doing. He was forcing Gerold to attack in anger, and make a mistake.

He was right. Gerold struck first.

Unfortunately for him, uncle Oberyn was right, her brother was too fast.

With the speed of a shadowcat, Quentyn dodged the blow, and positioned himself in a defensive stance, waiting for the next strike.

He didn't have to wait long. Gerold continued with two lashes, but her brother parried both, before attacking and striking Gerold in the elbow before quickly retreating back to his initial position.

The blow barely scratched Gerold, but it was enough for Quentyn to draw blood, fuelling the Dayne's rage.

As the knight of High Hermitage continued to try and force a mistake out of Quentyn, her brother had continued doing the exact same thing he'd done since the beginning of the fight. Dodge Gerold's strike, run around, tire him out, and then strike when Gerold was either in no position to parry or too slow to react from the angle her brother was hitting him from.

And it worked wonders.

However, Gerold wasn't a complete fool. He saw through Quentyn's game, and refused to partake in it any longer, instead camping on his initial position and waiting for her brother to come to him.

It was a game of who would break first, and even if Gerold had been smart in his judgement of Quentyn's strategy, she also knew her brother had all the time in the world.

Finally, Gerold had had enough and lunged forward with astonishing speed.

This time, Quentyn was caught of guard.

Her heart sank as Quentyn was forced to parry with his shield, which absorbed most of the blow. It didn't matter, Gerold had now closed the distance, and her brother was now at a great disadvantage.

He would have to fight Darkstar off.

Her heartbeats increased at a drastic pace as her brother was fending off Gerold with increasing difficulty. To his credit, though, he was holding his own, and had not let Darkstar so much as scratch him.

She knew Gerold was running out of patience, and what she dreaded would happen occurred.

The knight of High Hermitage pushed himself forward with his shield, trying to knock her brother to the ground. Despite his strength, Quentyn stood his ground, but his opponent had gained more ground.

With a sweep of his feet, Gerold tried to knock Quentyn off balance.

Arianne didn't dare look.

However, after a couple heart beats, her brother was still standing.

"What happened?" she asked her uncle.

"Quentyn was expecting Gerold to not play by the rules." He explained. "When Gerold moved to strike him off balance, your brother countered by pushing him back with his shield, forcing Gerold to either give up his position or abandon his strike."

It seemed to have worked well enough. Quentyn had not been knocked down, but neither had Gerold, and the both of them were now firmly locked into position. This time, though, Quentyn had the initiative, and pressed it fully.

With astonishing speed, he pushed his sword forwards into Gerold's shield. The force of impact was massive, and forced Darkstar to either give up his position or risk losing his shield. Gerold took the former.

Once again, they waited, but Quentyn, instead of waiting, rushed his opponent in a flurry of quick strikes.

Gerold, on the other hand, was slow to respond. He'd been struck twice already, while Quentyn only had received a few bruises, and was yet to leak blood. Quentyn's fast strikes seemed to be coming from every corner, and soon enough Gerold had been hit twice once more, unable to react.

Arianne didn't understand. How was Gerold so tired already? The fight hadn't been going on for long, and yet it seemed that Darkstar was drawing deep breaths and sweating profusely.

"How…" she mumbled. "Quentyn has barely run around him."

Her uncle's smirk grew bigger.

"Look." He said, gesturing her to look under the wooden palisade separating them from the pit. In his hands were the two cloths that he'd presented to the audience, both as white as a kingsguard's cloak.

"I don't understand." She frowned.

"This is Quentyn's actual cloth." He whispered, taking out a cloak from his shirt.

Arianne's eyes grew wide.

The cloth was completely blue.

"How?" she managed to mumble.

"I swapped them while walking to the centre of the pit." Her uncle continued, whispering so as not to draw the attention of anyone around. "Simple Essosi trick. Replace one by the other. It only takes a moment, and a distraction."

The Vultures…Arianne connected the dots. Of course…

"Quentyn poisoned his blade?" she asked in the lightest tone that she could managed, baffled as to how her brother had done such a thing.

"Not really." Oberyn shrugged. "I did."

"You really think we'd let Gerold a chance?" Nym whispered to her left. "One cut is all that Quent needed."

Indeed, Gerold had now been forced back as Quentyn held the advantage firmly in his grasp. It seems that the poison had tired him out.

Now firmly in control, Quentyn sought to finish him off. Unluckily, Gerold had been waiting for this.

Seemingly having exaggerated his tiredness, her brother's opponent waited for Quentyn to strike in order to counter with even more power.

Quentyn was still very much lucid, and held his shield to parry the blow.

To her horror, the shield shattered in two.

Quentyn looked in shock as he held up half a shield, while Gerold was likely smirking behind his helmet.

Her brother, though, did something unexpected.

Instead of throwing his shield to the side, Quentyn launched it with tremendous force onto his opponent.

Tired and having thought that he'd successfully gotten rid of his opponent's defensive tool, with the poison slowly making his reactions slower, Gerold was unable to dodge the projectile, which hit him square in the face.

Rattled, the Dayne knight, dropped his own shield, holding his helmet.

"It's like all the bells of Norvos started ringing at once under his helm." Oberyn pointed out.

"Come on, Quent, finish him…" Nym whispered.

And finished him he tried.

Quentyn knew that his opponent was down and now was the time to strike the final blow. With one quick strike, her brother's blade found Gerold's unprotected left arm, while Gerold was unable to react.

It seems that the pain of her brother's blade sheathing itself deep into his left elbow had woken Darkstar up from his trance, however.

With a cry, he stood straight, and brought his blade up, forcing Quentyn to parry.

It was a lost cause. Quentyn hadn't let his guard down.

With a slash, her brother quickly disarmed the poor fool, and pinned him to the ground.

She could not make out what any of them were saying, but it mattered little. Quentyn drew his sword and brought it down hard into Gerold's chest.

The crowd cheered, and she felt a tremendous sense of both relief and sadness as it seemed the fight was finally done, but to her surprise, it still wasn't over.

In a last act of defiance, Gerold had found the strength to reach for a dagger that he'd held at his side, and thrust it into Quentyn's exposed chest.

The crowd went silent, and she felt her heart drop back down into her stomach.

Quentyn looked surprised, and instead of backing off, brought his free hand onto Gerold's wrist, ensuring the dagger stayed in place.

She had no time to think as to why.

Her brother swiftly knelt over Gerold, bringing his foot to block Darkstar's other hand, removed the sword stuck in Gerold's chest, and in a swift motion, cut off the arm holding the dagger.

Gerold howled in pain, before going silent.

Whether he was unconscious or dead, she could not tell, as she felt dizziness at the sight of a limb running on its own, with a pool of blood dripping on the sand under them.

What she did see though, was that Quentyn had taken out the dagger from his own chest, and, to end it once and for all, had slit Gerold's throat with it.

He slowly rose, a few drops of blood dripping from where the dagger had once lodged itself, and removed his helmet, throwing it on the ground, revealing his face once more.

The crowd cheered as he rose his sword to the skies in victory, and father was none to happy to rise from his seat.

"The gods have spoken." He proclaimed loudly. "Lord Harmen Uller, Lord Mors Gargalen and Ser Andrey Dalt, you have been found guilty by the gods and shall be executed on the morrow. Ser Garin, prepare to take the black or join them tomorrow on the block."

The crowd cheered again, as she saw the faces of the accused, chained in a corner of the pit, completely devoid of any emotion. It seems they knew the fight was lost long ago.

And with that, three more of the people she called friends were now gone.

"What now?" she asked her uncle in a desperate voice.

"Your father will call the now Lady Lina Uller, Lord Tremond Gargalen, Lady Elinor Dayne and Ser Deziel Dalt to swear fealty to Quentyn and himself in person. He will likely take coin and hostages from all of these houses, and the Orphans." He answered. "Lord Mors was an old man, and I am surprised he lived this long, and no doubt Lord Tremond will be much more reasonable."

"Elinor is married to Gerris Drinkwater." She mused. "And Deziel was disgusted with Drey."

"These I worry not about their loyalty." Oberyn pointed out. "The only one I would worry about is Lady Lina. The Ullers have shown to be unpredictable in the past, and seven know what she would now do. Her and Harmen's brother Ulwyck. It seems that I may have to go to the Hellholt in person."

As the crowd cleared around them, Arianne felt more and more alone.

During the past weeks, she'd hoped that her friends could've guided her through these darker times. But now? Well, they were gone. Daemon was in Norvos, Garin would end up at the Wall, Drey and Gerold were dead or would soon be.

Who was left? Tyene? After what she kept from her, she'd need time to trust her again.

Deziel? He was likely to lay low in Lemonwood for a while.

Elinor? She was married with Gerris Drinkwater, and would soon have no time for her either.

"Pensive, cousin?" Nym asked, as Arianne tried to complete the list in her head.

"Just thinking about how many friends I've lost." She replied truthfully.

"There will soon be more men that will seek your favor, worry not." Nym tried reassuring her "And you still have your family. Quent, Tryst, Obara, Tyene, the girls and me."

Arianne chuckled slightly as they made their way into a more private part of the gardens with uncle Oberyn.

"You?" she laughed. "I thought you hated me."

"Just because you called me a whore once doesn't mean we're not family. Families have fights. It happens." She shrugged. "Just, please stay out of what I and Quent do behind closed doors, if you will."

"Don't worry, I don't plan to find out." She smiled, hugging her cousin close.

"And besides." Her uncle added as he took a seat in the shade of a palm tree behind them. "You still have Sylva. I convinced your uncle not to send her back to Spottswood. She will act as your handmaiden. As for the others…maybe this will finally convince you to take charge of things yourself without relying on them to do the deed for you."

"I will need a sworn shield."

"Areo should be enough, but I can still get you Obara." Oberyn smiled.

"Is this negotiable?" she teased.

"Everything has a price." He replied. "But your father will not spare every expense."

Before she had time to say anything, they were interrupted by Quentyn, who had finally recovered from the fight with Gerold.

"Brother!" she exclaimed, rushing to hug him. "What were you thinking?"

"Well, I won, didn't I?" he chuckled, hugging her back.

"Poison, though? That's not your style." She frowned, breaking the hug.

"You don't know me very well then." He replied with a sheepish smile. "I knew Gerold was a better swordsman than I. I needed the poison to help me win, no more, no less. He tried to have me killed. I was not in a very conciliatory mood, and even less in a mood to give him a fair fight."

"And he needed us to do that." Nym smiled as she slowly walked towards him, cupping his cheeks.

What followed was a soft and gentle kiss between the two, that did last more than a mere moment.

Arianne was used to public displays of affection, but seeing Quentyn with his cousin seemed...off.

"I wouldn't have succeeded without you." He smiled back.

"Well, you didn't listen to our lessons very well." Nym punched his shoulder. "We told you about the possibility of him having a dagger on his person."

"I didn't expect him to still have the strength to grab it." Quentyn tried to argue. "But it seems that he was running on pure middle finger energy."

"How is the wound?" Oberyn asked, coughing as he made his presence known.

"It sunk deep but it doesn't hurt, and little blood came out." Quentyn replied. "A small bandage did the trick. Nothing worrying."

"Good." Oberyn nodded. "You fought decently well. You should rest."

"I actually haven't felt more alive than right now. It seems…"

"I agree with father, you need to rest." Nym cut in with a sly smile. "I'll walk you to some rooms where you'll be able to fully recover."

"But I'm…"

Nym cut him off with another kiss, and whispered something into his ear that made Quent blush slightly.

"I see." Quentyn coughed. "Well, it seems that Nym is right, I must go take a rest. I shall see you on the morrow."

"On the morrow?" Arianne teased. "It's barely past midday."

"Trust me, Ari." He replied. "I'll need every moment."

"I have no doubt." She chuckled. "Enjoy your rest."

Arianne shook her head as both of them left, and turned to her uncle.

"You approve of this?" she asked, surprised. "You know they're well...laying together, right?"

"They're young and without a care in the world." He replied simply. "I was young once. I know these things. As long as they both keep it as discreet as possible…"

She could feel her uncle's smile turn to a frown.

"Something wrong?" she asked, confused. "You just told me that you didn't care about it."

"It's not that which I am worried about."

"What worries you, then?" she asked with some curiosity.

"He loves her." Her uncle almost whispered.

"Love?" she laughed. "Quentyn loves nothing. Not me, not you, not anyone. He's cold and calculating, like father."

"He isn't like this when he's with her." Oberyn shook his head. "Quentyn is like your father. And like your father he likes women that are daring, strong, smart and dangerous. Your mother was much like Nym, you know, only without the talent with a spear. But she made that back with her brains."

"Then let him love her." Arianne waved him off. "And let him be disappointed when Nym will have enough of him and turn to another."

"I think you fail to understand, niece, that Nym isn't like you." He replied. "No offence meant, but if Nym had had enough of your brother, she'd have spent a night or two with him and left it at that. She doesn't use people. She has little to gain from it."

Arianne wanted to scream at her uncle. To tell him that she didn't use who she spent time with. But deep down, she knew that was a lie, and thus kept silent. Arianne had always expected something out of the people she stayed close with. Nym had nothing to gain.

"Their dance is a dangerous thing." Her uncle continued. "And I fear that it one day might very well end in tears."