Disclaimer:ASOIAF, GOT, whatevski, not all mine! I'm only borrowing characters and the world.
Summary:
AU. Part the first of a Trilogy(or maybe more stuffs, depending on how everything goes), telling the story of Cadenzsa, second of her name, of the House Forel, only child of Syrio Forel, First Sword of Braavos. Time has come for a change in Cadenzsa' life. Her mother, the Veiled Lady, also known as Vanessi Forel, has decided it's time for Cadenzsa to marry. Or so it would seem. Read on as we discover what happens when the Second Sword of Braavos clashes with the Westerosi world.
Thanks so much for making it this far, you guys. This will be the final chapter of the Second Sword of Braavos. Read, review, comment, share...thanks for coming on this journey with me!
Cadenzsa
"My Lady, a Raven for you."
Cadenzsa took it from the Maester's hands. "Did you read it?"
"You are not my lady, yet," he said, smiling.
Cadenzsa narrowed her gaze. "You're lying. You did."
"The Maester's duty is to remain neutral."
Lady Forel sighed. "You would not have said that had this raven not been of some great significance. Is it my father?" The Maester's eyes said 'no.' Cadenzsa frowned. "May I have some privacy for this, please?"
He gave a reserved smile. The Dornish Maester bowed his head. "May I say, my Lady, whatever-or whomever-you choose, I think you are a greater monarch than you believe yourself to be, and that to serve you would be a great honor."
The Bravosi wasn't sure what to say. It must have been a greatly important message for the maester to interrupt her Dancing practice. She had not yet recognized his steps, so she snapped her whip behind her at his feet to stop him. When she removed the blindfold and stood from her crouch, the maester did not look surprised. "Will you keep this to yourself?" she then asked. "If this is what I think it is, will you keep this slight to yourself?"
"Open it, my lady."
Cadenzsa let out a breath through her nose and opened the message. The air dissolved from her lungs. She looked up to the Maester with tilted brows, and then back to the letter. She had never seen Theon's hand before, but she would have known it had she not read the signature. It was a light hand. It was controlled, practiced, yet with a stylish flair that could only come from the hand of a Prince. She read aloud:
"'Cadenzsa, I'm sailing back to the Iron Islands. Stay in Dorne or don't. I'll find you either way. Theon.'" She folded her legs down and sat cross-legged on the floor.
"A chair, my lady?" The room she had claimed for her Dancing Hall was an empty room that had a few sand columns and was lined with mirrors at every wall. With every glance, she saw herself, all from a different angle. She stood up smoothly. There were no chairs in the room. None.
"He's going home," said Cadenzsa, more to herself than to the maester. "He's finally going home. One of us has our home..." She smiled. She didn't know the right words to say in the Commontongue. "Do you know any Bravosi, Maester?"
"The language? I fear I do not."
"There's a word in my mother-tongue that represents a kind of confusion, where your heart is joyous and yet reluctant, and your mind is racing with all the words and obligations and promises you have made. I think, translated, it means hot-cold-happy-sad. I do not know the word in the Commontongue."
"I don't think there is a word for that emotion, exactly, in the Commontongue."
"It's a shame. It is how I feel, and I cannot emote it." Cadenzsa gulped. "I don't know what to do," she said. "If this means what I think it means...then a war will be started between Houses Greyjoy and Martell. All over me."
"You are a woman worthy of a war, if I may say."
She smiled a toothy grin. "I thank you for that. But I am not a blushing maid of that sort. I was never the kind of woman to sit idly by while countries rose and fell for the sake of earning my favor. If I can prevent a war, I'd rather. Not that the Martells can ever know...they would crush the Greyjoys before Lord Balon could even blink. I cannot let that happen. The Greyjoys have earned my favor, for their extraordinary son." Her heart swelled, and belly tightened. "This is a sign," she said. "A sign from the Moon, who has heard my song. Or from the Great Shepherd. The Mother of Mountains. The Seven. I asked for a sign, or a hint, or something, and I did not care from whom it was."
"What will you do?"
She thought of her mother's words. The only thing that could break a spell was... "Well, what could I do? This is True Love. It doesn't happen every day." And she took the Maester's hand. "It has been an honor knowing you."
The Maester squeezed her hand. "Come. You'd better help your mother, then, if that's the way you feel." Cadenzsa scoffed in shock.
"And before even telling me! My but she's presumptuous...oh, well. Better sooner than later."
Without even changing to her Court clothes, she came down in her fine black boots, suede black trousers, and the island blue colored shirt of the Forel House. Her Dancing gloves were black, too, as well as the vested doublet, layered with thick boiled leather and fat-basted sheep's wool, all around that embroidered black linen. All the better that they judge me in this, perhaps, she thought. She wasn't a lady. She was a sword. A sword can wear a scabbard of silk or leather, depending on the bearer. She was a sword, her sword, Cadenzsa. That was her sword's name, 'Cadenzsa.' For as long as she remembered who she was, she would never fail. Cadenzsa rounded the corner, seeing a sea of red and orange and bright Southern colors, a fire all surrounding her mother, who was standing in the middle of the court, in the audience of the Prince of Dorne, Arianne and Quentyn at his side, along with their younger son.
"This insult is great," said Doran Martell, sitting atop his throne. Cadenzsa walked into the fire that was the court. All eyes were upon her mother, and Cadenzsa felt invisible. She wanted to step up next to her in the hearing, but she was told to remain in the background.
"I understand. But who can force love? You of all people know that marriage for love is important," said her mother, a short veil only over her eyes, allowing her lips to move and capture like they always did.
"Is that a jape?" said Prince Martell. "My wife, whom I loved, is away. Who knows if she'll ever return?"
"I understand your anger," said Lady Forel, then lifting her veil. The air seemed to vanish out of the room, as if all who were looking let out a breath all at once. Her mother was beautiful. So beautiful. Who could see Cadenzsa when Vanessi was in the room. It was said that her father was a Khal, who raped her mother, thus making her mother a bastard Princess, in a way. This would make Cadenzsa a Princess, too. Her mother had always said she was better than this. 'This', however, was interchangeable with 'anything.' "You are too good for this, you are better than this, you are better than that." And yet she was shamed for being entitled. If I am entitled, it isn't my fault. "But, my Lord, a war has come to Westeros. Cadenzsa's own father fights in King's Landing."
"A war against the Lannisters," scoffed Arianne. "May their swords break and their men fail them. May the Northerners be strong."
"We will stay neutral in that war," said Quentyn. "Will we not, father?"
"We have no desire to fight the Lannisters or the Northmen. This is a civil war between them, insult between two Great Houses. The Martells have no friends with the Lannisters, nor Starks."
"Exactly," said Vanessi. "And the Forels are great friends with the Starks. If we cannot fight at their side, then what are we? We Forels are not Fair-weather friends." Her mother was a real mummer, that could not be contested. This farce would convince anyone. Except Cadenzsa, who knew her mother's disdain for her father's House. "We must forge alliances in this war against the Lannisters and free the North, the Starks, from the yoke of the South. In times of great war, we must act and stand strong."
"You tell us you are breaking our alliance over this war, because we refuse to get involved?" asked Lord Martell, fingering the ruby on his hand.
"In combination with other things," said Vanessi. "If you recall, our arrangement was for our children to meet, and they only would marry if they get on. It would seem that our children have not got on." Cadenzsa looked up at Quentyn, who gave her a pained expression when he noticed her. His eyebrows raised. A question? She didn't know.
"And you plan on fighting. Taking all of that coin and fighting."
"We do. We must. The Iron Bank will have its due, and when we call, the Lannisters will haven't a copper for their grandmothers."
"Why?" asked Lord Martell after a long time.
A beat. Vanessi, Maisi, Mother gulped. "They have slain my husband."
Gasps and talking errupted in the court. Cadenzsa's knees went weak. Her heart burst inside her chest. A lie! She thought. It must be! The First Sword of Braavos is not dead...impossible. Impossible.
"Have you proof of this?" Doran Martell nearly stood in his chair in shock.
"He was with Lord Stark, and Lord Stark's head has been taken. Along with all of his attendants. His daughters are hostage in the Red Keep. The Forels will not take this insult lying down."
"What if we were to take a stance in the war with you?" asked Quentyn suddenly.
Cadenzsa, out of courage or madness, stepped forward. All eyes were on her. She felt naked. But she couldn't slink away now. "I will not rest until my blade tastes the blood of every Lannister's heart." Her anger flared. She wasn't sure if she was falling for her mother's lies or not. Her mother. The spider. "My father will be avenged. Be he alive or be he dead, I will not yield."
"You'll be at the front?" Arianne then asked.
Cadenzsa's belly felt tight. The eyes of the red-colored court of the Martells felt like a thousand needles pressing into her skin. "My father felt a war within my mother's womb. So he raised me to fight." Cadenzsa was about to faint. She felt her heart tense, and her throat close, and her palms begin to sweat. "I know that you loathe the Lannisters for what they have done to House Martell. I know the history. If you will not fight with the Forels, then I can only ask that you let us go with your blessing."
"Your father," said Prince Doran, "was a good man. Will you ask us to fight with you?"
It was directed at Cadenzsa. All eyes were on her. All eyes. She could hear the beating of her own heart. "No," she then said, and whispers erupted all around her, waves in the swirling sea. "You have been gracious, wonderful hosts. I can only ask of you to think no ill of me, my mother, or my House, and that we part friends."
"Your father," then said Quentyn, "asked to have us take you into our House through marriage."
"And?" said Cadenzsa, visibly annoyed.
"And you will dishonor his last wish for you?"
A fire grew from Cadenzsa's eyes. "If your idea of the First Sword of Braavos was to raise a daughter to be obedient in times of crisis, then you are sorely mistaken," she snarled. "My father's only wish for me was to be happy. And the Second Sword of Braavos will not be happy while the Lannisters breathe. There are no doors I cannot open, no binds which can hold me, no traps I cannot evade, and I am coming for them. Should you be so concerned, send them a raven saying 'pleasant dreams.'"
"You'll fight without an army?"
"I have an army," she said. "Islands' worth, in truth." They thought that she was talking about the hundred little islands that made up Braavos, and the Dancing Masters which would come to her aid if called. But she was talking about the Iron Islands, and the people, Theon's people, that would soon be hers to command. "I will lead them. And they'll follow me, for I am fierce. They'll follow me to King's Landing, and with my Dance, the lions will fall. I will cast them down and take all they hold dear."
"Father," said Quentyn, looking to Prince Doran. "Can we truly break this alliance without insult?"
"Are you insulted?" said Arianne, crossing her arms.
"I am."
"Then fight me." All eyes went to Cadenzsa. "Fight me for my hand. Best me with the sword, and you'll have a willing maiden in your arms for the rest of your days. But if I win, you'll take a knee to me and wish me the best, for whatever it is I wish to seek in life. You'll wish my mother and me only the greatest of happiness, and bear no ill will for my House."
She didn't hear, but she could read lips, so she knew that Arianne was saying to Quentyn 'you can't best her at the sword.' But Quentyn's arrogance got the better of them. His serious face remained stoic as he came down to the floor with her. She heard the voices of the Knights, of his father, the Prince, telling him not to. And Cadenzsa's mother brought her arm around hers.
"Lamb, this is not wise," whispered her mother.
"Neither am I," she said.
"I accept." Quentyn said. Cadenzsa drew her sword.
"Mother, stand back. Once this blade is drawn," she said, "it must taste blood."
"I am a Martell of Dorne. I have the Targaryen blood running through my veins, the blood of the Dragon."
She didn't know what that meant, so she said "I don't care, but bully for you!"
Quentyn's squire brought his sword and shield. Cadenzsa assumed the water-stance, delicately gripping Cadenzsa in her left hand. Cadenzsa was not left-handed, but since she was seventeen she had started every fight with her left hand. Otherwise, the fight was over too quickly, and it was no fun for her. No challenge. Cadenzsa feared nothing with her sword. Quentyn was stocky and clumsy. Swing went his sword, perhaps, but she quickly swatted it out of his hand. She kicked the sword towards him.
He swung at her, which she dodged very easily. A quick swipe, too quick to see, came across Quentyn's face, a slit on his left cheek. Blood trailed down his face. He swung-two-three and missed. Cadenzsa nipped at his hand again, and pierced the tender flesh on the inside of his thigh. Quentyn was like any Knight in Westeros; slow, hacking, hammering with that sword that was really some clumsy battleaxe in disguise. His anger was getting the better of him, and blood was now flooding from tiny pricks all over his body. She told him to yield with her eyes, but he did not. He rushed her, and she spun. A scream, and the court's breath was brought in and out all at once. A soft flop came on the sandstone floor, like a steak dropping off the table and onto the kitchen's stone. When Cadenzsa looked, Quentyn was shaking on his knees, clutching the side of his head, blood flooding down the side of his face and trickling down his thick neck. She could hear the shaking screams behind his clenched teeth, and Prince Doran stood up and shouted: "Enough!" For Cadenzsa had taken Quentyn Martell's ear clean off, with a good portion of his thick hair, too.
She turned and drug her sword's tip at Quentyn's throat. "Say it," she said softly, too softly for everyone to hear.
"I..." he breathed shakily. "I yield."
"Louder," she commanded.
"I yield," he said audibly.
"Once more, so everyone can hear you."
"I yield!" shouted Quentyn. "Go fight your war! And may you have no luck with it!"
Cadenzsa sheathed her sword, turned to Prince Doran, Princess Arianne, and all the Martell court, who were dead silent. She did not smile. She bowed, her eyes locked with the Prince's. She couldn't say for sure, but she thought she saw Arianne smile. "It was very nice to meet you all," she said. "I wish you luck." And she turned on her heel and walked past Quentyn, her mother walking behind her this time, as the court parted like an ocean yielding to the will of a Goddess.
"Today," said her mother once they were out of earshot and halfway up the stairs to pack their things. "You truly are a Queen."
So.
This is the end of "The Second Sword of Braavos." Thanks so much for this incredible ride with me. I really love you guys. Stay tuned for "The Grey Lady" updates, and "The Stallion Who Will Mount the World" will come once that one is done. This has been a great ride! Questions are welcome in the comment box, or in private messages. Thanks, guys!
Degz.