Thank you, peacock33, for your interest in the story.

Suns and Storms

… And Not So Young

In the beginning, Artos Ambrose had been unable to hear anything quieter than a roar of a bear, what with all this water running and splashing; now, four months into his stay in the Water Garden, his hearing had grown so keen that he heard the tiny footsteps even before the boy came into view.

He was quite surprised. As careless as Arianne was about the publicity of their affair, there were some things she wouldn't compromise with. He was to avoid the pools where the children played during the day. And since he was lodged in the high tower in the farthest corner of the princely residence, it was rarity that the little ones ventured here.

But here he was, a small slip of a boy, no more than four of five year old, black of hair and eye and dressed like… quite undressed, in fact. Artos envied him a little, for he, too, wished he could take his own clothes off and wander naked in the gardens. How did Dornishmen even function in this heat? And the Water Gardens was a cooler place compared to most of Dorne. Artos never wanted to see the Dornish desert.

"Well," he said. "Welcome."

The boy looked at him, smiling… wickedly? At the age of four of five?

"I have not been away," he corrected and Artos felt stupid. "So you cannot offer a welcome. And this isn't your home anyway."

"Are you studying to be a maester?" he asked, more sharply than he intended.

The boy shook his head. Water dripped from his hair and dried on his olive body. The heat was such that water had no time to form a pool at his feet.

"I came to see you," he announced, confusing Artos even more.

"You did?"

Now, the boy looked confused. "Aren't you the peacock who doesn't belong here and will go flying out the door the moment things calm down? I thought you were."

Anger burned in him, as furious as the sun above. "Who says this?"

"My brother," the little pester answered readily. "And he's very clever."

"I have no doubt that he is," Artos muttered and once again asked himself how he could have landed in such a mess.

It has all started with Lord Mace's task. The one his lord had given him, of course, not a one that he had undergone himself. He had come at Sunspear to coin the treaty that would give both the Reach and Dorne a better chance to survive the harsh war they were fighting against the pirates on the Stepstones. War was costly and unfortunately, those left behind felt the consequences, too, so a trade treaty should be signed. Despite his youth – he had seen only nineteen namedays – Artos had a good head for negotiating and taking care of financial matters, so he'd been proud when Lady Olenna… err, Lord Mace, had chosen him for this mission.

He had met her at Sunspear. Arianne Martell, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes upon, radiant in her green velvets and those dark eyes, like black pearls. He had been incredibly happy when she had shown interest in him, had accepted eagerly his chance to visit her bed. And here he was still, four months later when he should have returned home four fortnights ago. He wrote lame excuses and wondered whether anyone home believed him. He could hardly write the truth – that he was the Princess of Dorne's lover. Not that it was a great secret, now that he lived in the Water Gardens. True, Arianne came to him in the tower and he was never allowed to her chambers, let alone the bed she shared with her husband, but such things were always known. Everyone in the residence knew who he was and he could say that there weren't many of those who approved. Dornish people turned out to be a lot less licentious than they were given credit for! Most of the inhabitants here, although unfailingly polite, always left him with the feeling that they didn't approve of his relationship with Arianne. They were Alric Gargalen's people. And sometimes he vaguely felt that the relationship wasn't what it was supposed to be. Sure, Arianne liked being around him but she didn't seek him out during the day, even when she had time to spare. Nights seemed to be enough for her, although she was now cutting even those short, always busy with documents that she preferred reading in the evening. Every so often he woke up to her lying next to him, yet being somewhere far away, in a place where he could not follow. Yet he had never known passion as hot as hers, in no other woman. And he had never felt this way about another woman, either. He wanted to be her master and slave at the same time, cause her pain and crawl at her feet begging forgiveness, humiliate her and sacrifice himself for her. His common sense had left him. He had no idea what he should do.

And now he had to suffer this urchin repeating his brother's words of wisdom. Gods, how he hated it here! For a moment, he toyed with the idea of getting a hold of the boy and teach him respect. But reason won out. The mite was simply repeating another's words, without putting any meaning in them. Artos doubted he even knew what they meant. "And what else does your brother say?" he asked.

"That you'll leave soon," the boy said immediately. "On your own will, or when my father comes home and my mother sends you away, or when he arrives and kicks you out. If he doesn't kill you first, of course."

Now, his skin was completely dry. Quite annoyingly, there was no sweat on his brow when Artos was barely breathing, although the heat wasn't the only reason for this. The voice was the little boy's but the casually dismissive tone was the one he had encountered on each of the very few occasions that he had met Doran Martell, only a few years younger than him but already someone Arianne looked with great trust at.

"Your brother," he finally said, "isn't as smart as you think he is."

Arianne's small son looked at him, his face lit up by a sudden grin that Artos did not like at all. "He is the smartest person I know," he proclaimed and without any more words turned around and ran back. Looking at him, Artos wondered whether this boy could walk at all – he was like a small ball of energy.

"Oberyn," Arianne said, "is Oberyn."

Her carelessness annoyed him more than her son's words, for Oberyn could be forgiven for the mere virtue of being a child.

"It isn't your younger son that troubles me," he said.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Really, should she deal with such a silly predicament right now? She had just received a report about another fire in the Red Mountains that had yet to be put under control. The war on the Stepstones was at its final stages… Alric's last letters had been infrequent and strangely impersonal…

"Doran will learn," she finally said. "There are some things he still doesn't know about human heart."

This confession had his breath quicken. This was the first time he heard from her that their relationship meant more to her than her earlier affairs. He reached out for her and she decided that the documents could wait. She would simply rise earlier tomorrow and take care of that.

Doran will learn, she thought once again. In a few years' time, he won't even think about three possibilities. Of course I'll send Artos away before Alric returns. Does he really think I'll risk my relationship with his father over such a matter? Doran is too young but one day, he'll realize that a man like Alric could never see a rival in the face of a pretty boy like Artos.

"Should we bring him here, my lord?"

"I thought he was on his way."

The steely note in Alric Gargalen's voice made the man head immediately downwards, shouting orders and herding others before him.

Followed by his commanders, Alric turned his sand steed and started climbing the hill to the burning pile of stones – all that remained of the greatest pirate den on the Grey Gallows. The magnificent animal walked slowly, as if he could feel his rider's discomfort and made anything in his power to not disturb him further.

Feeling someone's eyes on him, Alric looked on his right and noticed the concerned expression of his young page, Arel Dayne. Wonderful, he thought, disgusted. Even a nine year old can see what a wretch I am. He comforted himself that it was only because Arel was cleverer than a boy this age ought to be; but he knew the reality was far from his wishful thinking. The last year of constant war had wearied him more than all the battles he had taken part in before combined. With the transit period after King Jaehaerys' death, the pirate hordes had become bolder, attacking the Dornish coastline frequently and severely and leaving only corpses and burned lands behind. The Tyrell lands suffered the same raids. There was no way to leave those thrice damned villains to do whatever they pleased, so Dorne and the Reach had taken the unprecedented step to unite their efforts in getting rid of the filthy disease plaguing them. And as much as he hated to admit it, Alric knew that they had needed each and every man of the Reach they had. The pirates were not like any other enemy they had dealt with. And it was a war on a double front – smashing the dregs in their nest and resisting the attempts of the other dregs to come to their aid from the open sea.

Alric never wanted to see things like the ones he had witnessed in the last year. Those were not humans, they were beasts masquerading as people. But alas, they were clever beasts. Clever beasts who had been fighting for their survival.

On the horizon, a ship appeared. Alric recognized it and smiled. The Silver Lady had once been his own father's ship, before Maron Martell was able to gain recognition for his bastard son, before Alor Sand became Alor Gargalen and wed King Maekar's own daughter. Since then, she had sustained many repairs but she was still one of the most trustworthy ships in Dornish fleet. Now, she was commanded by Alric's own brother, Carral, a second in rank in the fleet – and one of those who had spent the last year circling through the pirate-infested waters to repel enemies, disrupt the supplies for the Stepstones, and provide supply lines for their own people. How they had waited the arrival of those supplies!

Standing a safe distance away from the burning stones – the so-called palace of Dagos the Good – so he would not be suffocated from the smoke, Alric looked around and smiled slightly at the sight of the young man, almost a boy, who now stopped his own stallion next to him. "We did it," he said.

The grey eyes glinted coldly. He'll go far, Alric thought. His initial distrust of the lad from the Reach whom Mace Tyrell had seen fit to give the command of his army to had soon developed into respect for the boy's abilities and courage – in this order. Many a man made good soldiers but few were those who made fine battle commanders. Alric was fairly sure Randyll Tarly would be one of them.

"We did," Tarly agreed and paused. "I heard they caught him alive."

"They did," Alric agreed.

"He tried to kill himself, men say."

Alric's bloodless lips curved into a smile. "Bad luck, then, that his hand went numb."

"Bad luck," Tarly agreed, giving him a long look. "Is that your brother over there?" he asked, pointing at the Silver Lady.

"I hope he makes it in time to have a little fun," Alric said and sat on a nearby rock. It was unpleasantly warm but not hot enough to burn him. A wound in the shoulder that he had sustained weeks ago was still bothering him by not healing and giving him a fever and since their ranks had thinned away quite regularly, he had helped loading the catapults. Too few men on too heavy rocks, too often. He suspected that the constant overexerting of the last months had made his abdominal organs move lower than they should be, so now he felt a constant heaviness in the belly. When it wasn't a breathtaking pain, that was it. Sleep deprivation wasn't helping either. All he wanted was a place away from the world, a place where he could collapse and just rest. Soon, he thought. Soon, he'd be with Arianne and the children. He had never longed for her more than he had in the nightmare of the last few months. She was not only a passionate bedmate, she was the one he felt most comfortable with. Just being near her would be enough… and in truth, he doubted that for a while, he'd be able to do anything but sleep in their bed.

Dagos the Good arrived before Carral did. There was nothing good about him. But he was a courageous sort, this one, Alric would give him this. All grey – grey beard, grey clothes, grey lips that now opened to spat a curse upon the two man that he was pushed to fell to his knees before.

Alric gave him a cool look. Even with his hands tied, the pirate was an impressive sight, and strangely fitting for the smouldering ruins of his dead kingdom. Alric and Randyll Tarly had been in full agreement: there would not be a stone upon stone left on those islands, so now the men, sweating in the afternoon heat, were meticulously ruining hovels, houses, the small sept. Alric hadn't even known there was such a thing as a sept here. A long line of captives trailed towards the ships. Women and children only: none of the men would be spared.

"You fucking poisoner," the old pirate spat at Alric without a trace of fear. "What you did to me?! What was the foul mix you had slipped in my goblet, so my hands would refuse to cooperate? I'll have your manhood for that, I swear!"

Milk of snake, Alric thought. And milk of poppy. He returned the level look. "I thought you would be pleased to have the same choice you gave to your own victims," he said. "Poison, or being alive while you're having them quartered, am I right?"

Dagos the Good spat at him. Alric didn't move but the spittle didn't reach him anyway. He smiled again. "Losing your accuracy, eh? I hope your tongue isn't affected, or else you'll experience both the poison and the quartering. I do know potions that will paralyze your body, yet leave it entirely capable to feel what is being done to it…"

He waved a hand and the pirate king was led away, not cowered at all. Still spatting curses and threats. Alric slowly turned to the young man of the Reach who was looking at him so intently that Alric had the feeling he would happily grab a parchment and quill and start taking notes.

Carral arrived a few minutes later. The two brothers hadn't seen each other in over five months and in Carral's eyes, Alric saw the confirmation of how terribly he truly looked, although Carral concealed his shock almost immediately. I suppose I look more like his father than a brother, Alric thought. Indeed, he felt that the years separating them were not eight but eighteen. At least this many.

"Well," he said easily after they embraced. "That's the end of it. We are going home. Finally."

And then, he wondered what he had just seen flickering in Carral's eyes. It reminded very much of… fear.

I swear, I'll give this woman a beating she'll never forget, Carral thought for maybe a tenth time as they rode in the sweltering heat. Or at least, I'll cut her tongue out – after having her sticking it out voluntarily!

He'd do no such thing, of course, and he knew it. Ranna was not to blame. He should have known that after evading Alric's questions, his brother would focus on someone who was more likely to give him answers. Very few people had the strength to resist when he landed the sheer force of his will upon them, and Carral's wife was not one of them. Besides, she had been against hiding the truth from Alric from the very beginning. Don't you think he'd want to know that she's brought the lad to their home, she had insisted. He'd want to know that she's humiliating him, wouldn't he?

Yes, to the seven hells, Alric would. But the timing had been terrible. This war had been not the moment to appraise him. The problem was, the end of it had not been the moment either. Carral had never seen his brother in such a state. He had been sharing the difficulties of his men-at-arms – and had been burdened with more responsibilities than any of them. Carral had seen no good way to get out of this – but the Seven help him, Ranna's way had been a terrible one!

Alric rode silently – as much as out of anger with him as sensible effort to save his strength, Carral suspected. Gods, he needed a good rest himself! But of course, he could not let Alric go there alone – or with companions who wouldn't dare interfere between him and Arianne. In this moment, Alric was capable of killing her upon the spot if he saw that Ranna's words were true. Unfortunately, they were.

Carral was almost sorry for not sending a raven to the Water Gardens to warn Arianne of what was going on. But if he did, his brother would never forgive him. Now that he hadn't…

"She wouldn't," Alric suddenly said. "Not bedding him, of course, I have no doubt that she is. But she would not flaunt him before Sunspear. She wouldn't take him to the Water Gardens."

He sounds like he's trying to convince himself, the young man thought.

Finally, the great gates of the princely residence appeared before them and Carral urged his sand steed forward, for he was afraid that the guards would not know Alric, so changed he was.

"Open up!" he yelled and immediately wished that they wouldn't.

His wish was not granted, just like he knew. The gates slowly opened and their party moved forward.