ARIANNE

A storm was coming. Bearing down from the west this time, from out over the Sunset Sea perhaps; maybe even now mist was drifting through the Shield Islands and Highgarden, up over the Mander river towards Bitterbridge. Arianne sat ahorse at the top of the high hill which overlooked the encampment, staring out bleakly into the west.

Their company was large, but not huge: four thousand men, or thereabouts: mostly Second Sons, Windblown, and other sellswords; scant seven hundred of their men were not bought but sworn to their cause by honour. And if the wind should turn against us, they will not be enough to hold off the hirelings. It worried her to think that if Brown Ben Plumm and the Tattered Prince changed their minds – or were being unfaithful to begin with – then they would find themselves trapped here amid their worst enemies.

She heard footsteps behind her, and there was Varys, coming up on his palfrey. The niceties were observed, then: "It may not be wise for you to be out here in this storm, Your Grace," said the eunuch.

It was still strange to be called 'Your Grace'; she almost told him to call her 'princess' and no more, but then his suspicions might be roused in some way. No. She must play the faithful, distraught widow to Aegon. Even if it seemed unlikely that her deception would ever convince him permanently.

"Why would that not be wise?" asked Arianne.

"You are carrying the king's child, Your Grace. And out here you are vulnerable to the wind and the rain—"

"I will not be defeated by bad weather, Varys."

"Many armies have been. And, likewise, by archers from distant hills."

"You worry too much."

"Better worry too much than be sorry for not doing so."

"In Dorne we might argue otherwise. But… we are not in Dorne."

Varys smiled. "No indeed, Your Grace. I understand it may displease you, though. It is well within your rights to claim some measure of freedom, but we do not know who might be skulking about in the dark, wishing to harm you or your child."

"You are master of whisperers. I thought knowing that – and everything – was your job."

The eunuch's voice quivered. "If only. That might have been my prerogative in King's Landing, yes, but that was a place where I was established, with hundreds of little birds in my employ. But when the city burned, so did the tunnels where many of my beloved friends were encamped, and—" He hiccoughed, or feigned a hiccup. "—where many of them perished in the fires. And once the spider's web is destroyed, it takes time to rebuild it anew."

Arianne did not believe for one second that Varys's web had been entirely destroyed. And surely he would have known about the threats that existed in the tunnels under the city. But there was no point in being unsettled by the eunuch's secrets. She had enough worries without adding that to her plate.

Varys raised a hand, and pointed. "Look, Your Grace. It would seem we have guests to accommodate."

"Guests?" Arianne frowned. What kind of guests would come to a war camp? And then she answered her own question. Those wanting a war. They numbered maybe two score, or a little more, and behind them streamed the green-and-gold pennants of Highgarden and the red-and-orange of Sunspear. They were too far away to see the faces, though. The figures approached the command tent, near the middle of the encampment, and their leaders shared some words with Lord Willas's guardsmen. Then the ranks parted, the leaders dismounted, and they went into the tent.

"Allies," Varys summarised, "from Highgarden, no doubt. Shall we ride down to them?"

Something advised her against following the eunuch exactly, but her curiosity was too great. She assented, and they turned and rode down from the hill, through the camp, snaking between cookfires and tents that buckled and blew about under the duress of the wind. At the command tent they dismounted and Arianne led the way, one hand restive over her belly. She felt a little uncertain, and that made her a little ill in turn, but by now they were there, and she could not turn back.

Within she first saw Willas, at the head of the table, leaning on his cane as he surveyed a map held down at the corners by candle lanterns. Closest to him were Brown Ben Plumm of the Second Sons and the Tattered Prince, him of the ragged cloak, leader of the Windblown. But then, along the right-hand of the table, were more unexpected faces: she recognised one of the Redwyne twins, and there Ser Oswell Rowan, and there one of Lord Grandison's sons, and an Estermont. And across from them, the Dornish contingent, whom she knew more readily: Jeyne Fowler, Hubert Wyl, then some Godsgrace knight, and now – Tyene Sand.

"Arianne!" her cousin said, forgetting her current stoicness and embracing her. "It is good to see you."

"And you, cousin." It felt as though they had been apart for years. Her cousin drew her closer to whisper, "Arianne, you will have to convince your Lord Willas—"

"Would you care to share your conspiratorial whispering with us all, Tyene?" she heard Willas say, in a hard voice. "No? Tell me, was sending you here my foolish brother's prerogative as well."

Tyene turned slowly. "My lord, I cannot claim to understand Ser Garlan's decision."

"Neither can I."

Arianne was lost. "What is this?"

Her cousin commenced a reply, but Willas cut over her. "My brother, it would seem, has seen fit to disobey my commands almost exactly. He has left Highgarden in the hands of our cousin Garth the Gross, and, it would appear, he is marching to meet us as we speak."

"For what reason?" That was Varys, sounding most aggrieved.

"I had hoped that you might answer that, my lord," said Willas. "According to Lady Tyene, Garlan received orders to do so. But unless I wrote them in my sleep, I do not recall such a thing—"

"And you suppose I might?" said Varys.

"You are the master of whisperers, are you not?"

"It is not only that," Tyene interrupted. "The message was… unclear, I admit. But once Garlan had gotten into his head even the slightest notion that you might need help, he could not be dissuaded."

"And I am sure you tried very hard to do just that," said Willas scathingly.

There was quiet for a while. Then Jeyne Fowler said, "But, my lord, you cannot send us away now."

"You are right," he replied. "I cannot. But I do not have to host you as my guests either. You are more intruders than anything else. So be thankful that I will allow you stay within the bounds of the encampment at all, never mind—"

"Ser Garlan had hoped we might make you more amenable to this news," offered Ser Oswell Rowan.

"In that," said Willas, "I am afraid you have failed miserably. Though it is through no fault of your own, Ser Oswell. I daresay no man could have tried harder." He turned back to the table, and gave it a withering look. "I am done for the day." And then he went out.

The others were a little stunned by the violence of his outburst. But Arianne recovered the quickest. It is not surprising, she thought, remembering Willas in the tent on the night of Aegon's death, pleading that his brother spare himself, and return home safe. This situation contravened all his efforts.

Tyene moved to her side. "You need to talk with him," she said out of the corner of her mouth. "Convince him."

"You say that as if it will be easy."

"It will be far easier for you than for anyone else."

She was right about that. Though he would never admit it, Willas was still reliant on her for some things; comforts that only she could understand – though she was never sure that she actually did.

She went to his tent; he did not resist her entrance, merely acknowledged it with a haggard look, as if it were inevitable. "What?" he said sharply.

"I came to check on you."

"No, you didn't. You came because they told you to." His mouth became a thin line. "Damn Garlan and his bloody stubborn heroism! What is the point of it, I ask you? So he can see my face a week earlier, is that it?"

"It might very well be," said Arianne quietly.

"What a very romantic notion on his part. A bloody romantic folly." He paced angrily across the tent, back and forth. "I suppose you're going to tell me that I should be grateful for his devotion?"

"No. I'm not naïve enough to think that would quell you." She stepped forwards and put her hands on his shoulders. Willas was taller than her, but only by a few inches, and not enough to make the idea of her comforting him seem ridiculous. "And I know why you're angry."

"Do you? And when was this time when your brother rushed to your side out of stupid goodwill?"

"I don't know what that's like. But I know the opposite, and that is equally frustrating. I know what it's like to want someone's help, but to have them refuse to come to you, no matter how loudly you beg." That was perhaps cruel; her father's gout, which prevented him from leaving the Water Gardens, was genuine. "Sometimes we just have to accept that the people who love us don't always love us the same way we love them."

Willas gave her a sour, sideways look. "That's very hopeful of you."

"Yes," she said, stepping in closer, leaning up to put her hands around his neck. "But nowadays, hope is something we might have to rely on." He seemed to stiffen; his lips thinned. "You don't like that."

"I don't like believing in something I can't see. I don't like blind faith."

"All faith is blind, Willas."

He refused that. "Not mine."

Time to change tactics. "It doesn't matter. I'm not talking about blind faith. I'm talking about your brother. And I know you have faith in him, otherwise you wouldn't have sent him back to Highgarden to act as lord in your absence."

"I have faith in Garlan, aye. But not in his judgement, and not at a time like these. You weren't there at the battle of Oldtown. I told him to leave the walls, and leave me. But he came back, and that was how he injured himself, and damn near killed the rest of our army as well. And it was all unnecessary and dangerous. And don't you go telling me it was chivalrous."

Arianne stared at him. "Would you be able to stand by and let your brother die like that?"

"Better one of us than both of us," said Willas. He sounded cold, but she did not think he really meant it. But better me than him. He has his wife to live for, and his children. What do I have?"

"I hope I don't have to answer that." She moved closer up against him, embracing him, and letting him embrace her.

"We shouldn't," Willas said.

"There's no harm in it. We already have."

"Varys."

"Fuck Varys," she said. It seemed absurd that he did not already know.

"No." Willas stepped away from her. "How far along are you?" he said, pointing to her belly.

"Three moons."

"Three." He nodded. "You should go back to your tent, Arianne." His voice was tired, wordly-tired. Ultimately she went, though she did not think it would do either of them any good.

Back in her tent she found Tyene sitting crosslegged on her bed. "A fine palace you've got here," her cousin said flippantly. "Proper blankets and coverlets and all."

"It's not for me," said Arianne. "It's for the baby." She knew that was really what Varys and all the others wanted. "If they could kill me and keep the baby, then they might."

"Are you sure it's his?"

Arianne was taken aback. "I – Aegon?"

"Well, I would hope so." Tyene smiled. "I know what's happening. Fortunately for you, I am your cousin, and I will not betray you. And also fortunately for you, I am your cousin, and know you better than most. I know the signs, from our early days. The same ticks you used to get when you spoke of Ser Daemon."

Ser Daemon. Gods, that had been so long ago. And gods, she had not thought of Ser Daemon in… what: weeks? Months? Not since leaving King's Landing, for certain. Not since the battle, more like. And there had been a time when he had meant a great deal to her, in his way. The same for her uncle Oberyn, and her other cousins, Nym and Obara, and the other Sand Snakes.

This truly was a different time, and it still left her unsteady on her feet. Still. I am a newborn child in this world, yet I am no innocent.

The next morning was drab and grey, though the storm had receded somewhat. "It will be back soon, have no doubt," said Brown Ben Plumm of the Second Sons, mounting up close to Arianne. The sellsword captains now rode in close proximity with the lords and knights.

The tensions between Willas and his newly arrived allies seemed to have calmed. He had not spoken to her this morning, so she could not be sure, but the interactions he shared with his cousins and his bannermen seemed calm, from a distance.

Arianne turned to Brown Ben. "Let us make the best of the weather before it turns ill, then."

"It is not the weather that is likely to doom us," said the sellsword. "You know that as well as I do."

Yes, thought Arianne. And I also know that if the worst should come to the worst, we will probably not have you to stand by our side. Sellswords were half of their army, maybe more. Without them, they were even more futile a force than they were already. And unlike the last children of the Reach, the hirelings did not have to stand with them.

It was ten miles to Ser Garlan's camp. The weather, mercifully, did not betray them, and by noon they were on the outskirts of his camp, down on the banks of the Mander river. The army gathered there was modest, about eight thousand or so by Arianne's count, though what remained from the King's Landing campaign was mostly the green and the lame. But it heartened her nonetheless.

She would have been present for the reunion of Willas and his brother, but as they reached the top of the ridge, she felt cramps grab hold of her belly, and her breath shortened from the pain of it. She tried to hide it with grimaces, but Varys saw, and the eunuch was never one to take unnecessary risks like these, and especially not with King Aegon's heir. The next she knew, men were nearly dragging her down from her horse, supporting her as she walked shakily through river mud. They were quite rough, but then Tyene appeared and shoved them aside, and took charge of Arianne's arm herself. Gently she steered her into a tent, and into the company of a goodwife. The men and Varys still remained, but Tyene told them to avert their eyes, and shut the tent flaps, and it was just the three of them alone.

The goodwife was aging, with some blue kohl around her eyes. Dornish, Arianne ascertained. That was good. Dornish women were discreet. If there was anything untoward about things, she might be sworn to secrecy.

"It is nothing ill," the goodwife said eventually, after listening awhile with a strange, large-mouthed instrument. "The travel may bring undue stress, that is all. And when you are tired, the babe knows it too."

Arianne nodded. "It will not harm him, will it?"

The goodwife shrugged. "Him, you say?"

"Do you know otherwise?" It was said that some wise women could ascertain the child's sex from their kicking.

"No, princess," said the goodwife. "I always find it curious, that is all. Men and women alike, they always want a son. Yet to me it seems that all sons do is fight, and fight some more, and die fighting. Theirs are the hands that spill all the blood. And we the ones that have to deal with their dust."

"That may be true," said Arianne. "But a son would make a better heir. A better ruler."

"You do not know that," the woman said.

"Westeros has had two queens: Rhaenyra and now Daenerys. Neither of them succeeded in bringing about peace."

"Perhaps that is because neither of them had the chance."

"Careful," said Tyene. "That is perilous close to treason, woman."

But Arianne was more willing to hear it. "You may be right," she said. "But again, it is not to be. We will never know."

"We may," said the woman. "When you are princess of Dorne."

"I will never be princess of Dorne. When I wed Aegon I gave up my claim. Even now that he is dead, my brother Quentyn comes first."

The woman stared at her. Her eyes went huge for a moment, and hurriedly, she stepped back. "You may go, princess," she said.

Arianne would have done just that, but Tyene stepped in. "What do you mean 'when she is princess'? You said that, just now. When Arianne told you Quentyn would come first, you looked at us strangely."

The goodwife retreated yet further. "It is not my place to say, my princess. Forgive me."

"No," said Tyene. "You will tell us. Has something happened to Quentyn?"

The goodwife looked at her with tight lips, then at Tyene, then back to her. But just as the woman was about to speak, the tent opened again, and the swarthy face of Ser Bronn of the Blackwater looked in. "You finished yet, princess?" he asked, in an oddly solemn voice.

In the brief silence, the goodwife took up her instrument, stepped round Tyene and evacuated the tent, muttering back courtesies. Ser Bronn watched her strangely as she went. Then he turned back to look at Arianne. "Princess, I have been asked to escort you to Lord Tyrell's tent. He wishes to speak with you."

"About what?"

"He didn't say."

She looked towards Tyene. "I'm headed after that woman," her cousin said. "You go with… Ser Bronn, is it?"

Ser Bronn made a mocking bow as Tyene left, and then offered his services to Arianne. They walked out into the overcast day together. "Were you with Lord Willas when he and Ser Garlan met?"

"No." Ser Bronn spat in the grass. "A lowly reprobate like me isn't permitted to bear witness to the meetings of better men."

"You say that like you're bothered. But I don't think I really care."

He shrugged. "Believe me, I don't."

"You know," said Arianne. "I never told you, did I?"

"Told me what?"

"That I was grateful. For your rescuing Willas."

Ser Bronn snorted. "Your eunuch didn't leave me much choice. Put a knife to the boy's throat."

"The boy?" said Arianne. "Your… son?"

That drew a mirthless laugh. "Son? Ha. No. Sometimes I'm not sure he's even a boy. Womanish, like. But that's what you expect from a—" He broke off suddenly. "Look. He's not my son. And that's all you need to know."

"But you protected him nonetheless," she said. But she realised that she had gone too far, and prying would only anger him. And he was a sellsword once, too; he is no true friend of ours.

They had come to Willas's tent now. Ser Bronn made the first exploration, then ushered Arianne inside. Willas was sitting at his desk, much as he had been the night before, deep in thought. "Arianne," he said, and his voice was throaty. Not princess or my lady, just Arianne.

Ser Bronn had left them now. Arianne walked towards him. "So," she said. "You met your brother."

"I did."

"And how was he?"

Willas did not reply, and at once his lack of a reaction – of pleasure, of anger, of anything – told her something was wrong. "Arianne," he said. "Sit down."

"No." She did not know why she said it. "I'll stand."

He looked too tired to argue. "Very well. I – there is no easy way to say it. Your brother is – dead."

For one mad moment she thought he meant Trystane. But then she remembered the goodwife, who had surely known – when you are princess of Dorne – and it was Quentyn whose face flooded her mind. She said his name, very faintly.

Willas came to her swiftly, not embracing her, but offering firm support. "I'm sorry. Him – and Loras – and Margaery a prisoner at Casterly Rock."

She was numb. The feeling would come later. For now, it was just numbness.

He was still talking. "Garlan – he's here. I thought he might be riding to King's Landing to fight her – Daenerys. I thought he was being foolish, putting himself and our men in this danger. But really, he just came because he couldn't afford to lose me, too."