Chapter 5

~Doran Martell~

"He'll need a lot of rest, but Prince Oberyn will survive."

Doran sagged in relief and fell backwards into his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mellario let out the breath she'd been holding as she, much more daintily, took a seat. Doran waved Caleotte away, letting the maester return to Oberyn's room to keep watch over him.

"I suppose we're fortunate that most of Torrhen's wights have been sent away," Mellario said once Caleotte closed the door to the solar, leaving the pair alone in the room. "This will be a bloody enough affair as it is, between Torrhen, his dragon, and Arthur. Mayhaps we can keep the other Northerners unaware till afterwards."

"Violence is not the best way to resolve this," Doran said.

"Torrhen attacked your brother and nearly killed him! He injured the entire crew of the ship when they tried to intervene. It's only by the grace of the gods that Ellaria wasn't hurt. How else do you presume to resolve this? Forgiveness?! I realize you're scared of his power but you're supposed to be the Prince of Dorne not a nursemaid!"

"Watch your tongue," Doran snapped. "At the moment, Torrhen is hiding in the dungeons. He is aware that he made a mistake. Rushing to a decision will only make things worse."

"A man trying to kill a member of your family was, in your eyes, simply. Making. A. Mistake," Mellario hissed. "Would you be saying the same if Torrhen had attacked Arianne instead? She certainly spends enough time around him for it to be a possibility."

While Mellario's words struck close to Doran's heart, he did not give any outward appearance of such. Being the ruler of Dorne meant putting the safety and needs of his people ahead of his own emotions, ahead of his family. Something his wife, born and raised in Norvos, was either unable or unwilling to understand.

If it was Arianne laying in her bed, unconscious from blood loss, I don't think I would be so restrained. My anger would rule me and I would seek to end Torrhen's life. Is that to my shame or my glory?

"Do not mistake my patience for forbearance. We have much to gain with this opportunity and I'll not throw away such large gains for short term vengeance."

"What could you possibly hope to gain from all this?"

Doran looked his wife in the eyes. "Magic. Torrhen has been very hesitant to explain his power and to avoid upsetting him, I haven't pushed the issue. But with this, I can make demands. Such as requiring he take an apprentice of my choosing."

Mellario held his gaze. "And what poor soul are you willing to risk dying? A dear friend or loyal retainer, someone you trust to hold such power? Or perhaps someone less close to your heart so it won't feel like it was ripped from your chest when they are lost to Torrhen's bloodlust?"

Doran looked away first. "I haven't decided yet. Possibly one of Oberyn's daughters."

"After Torrhen just attacked their father? They'll try to kill him, the only question is whether or not they have the patience to wait for him to lower his guard before they make the attempt."

"Even if I didn't plan to wait a few years for tempers to cool, I wouldn't send any of the girls immediately. With the exception of Obara, they aren't the proper age for it."

"She's only two and ten, not yet a woman," Mellario argued.

"Waiting until a person is a man or woman grown is too long to start an apprenticeship, you know this. Smallfolk children start learning their trade from their fathers before they are Arianne's age. Oberyn and I had both been in the sparring yard by our seventh name days."

"This isn't the same. You aren't talking about a boy learning how to become a blacksmith near his home. You're talking of sending a child across the entirety of Westeros to learn magic from a monster that drinks blood. We are just food to him."

"If Torrhen was just some hedgewizard or a traveling charlatan, I wouldn't be considering it but you've seen the dragon. His magic is real. Since Torrhen so far refuses to hear any marriage proposals, this is the best opportunity available to add his power to Dorne."

Doran knew his wife, he could tell she understood his argument, followed his logic, but he could also tell she didn't want to admit defeat just yet. Her emotions were running too hot, she was too scared of Torrhen, too worried for Oberyn, too angry at Doran.

"They say magic is a sword without a hilt."

Lacing his fingers together, Doran rested his chin on his hands. "That may be so, but look at what Torrhen can do. He's managed well enough, barely cut himself on the proverbial hiltless sword.'"

"I'm not sure I agree with that," Mellario argued. "He requires blood to survive, human blood. That's not a little cut, to continue the metaphor. Plus his aversion to the sun, it's unnatural."

"His magic has some drawbacks," Doran conceded, running a hand through his hair. "But nothing overtly surprising, most learned Westorosi have heard of the sorcerers in Qohor."

Mellario gave Doran a level stare from across his desk. "Speaking as an Essosi, I'm very well aware of Qohor, its reputation, and what goes on therein."

Doran managed to avoid outwardly wincing, but only just barely. Norvos was the closest Free City to Qohor, it would make sense Mellario would be better informed of what goes on in the city of the Black Goat better than a native of Dorne.

"Regardless," Mellario said when he didn't respond. "I can tell I'm not going to convince you, you've made up your mind, my concerns be damned."

This time Doran did wince. While she was conceding the argument, he did not consider this a win. Clearly his throat, Doran asked, "Putting age and the attack on their father aside, do you think one of the Sand Snakes would be a good apprentice to Torrhen? Or do you know of someone else that would be a better fit?"

Mellario sighed and leaned back in her chair, staring blankly at a seemingly random spot on the wall behind Doran. As the silence stretched and Doran began to wonder if she was refusing to talk to him, his wife finally spoke, "Obara would be a bad choice. She has the temperament of a warrior. With a weapon, she can see the small gains each day as she improves, I doubt that is the case when it comes to magic."

Doran had no idea what was involved in learning magic, so he accepted Mellario's words. "What of the others?"

"Sarella is only three, and while she is my niece, I don't know enough about her personality to say if she'd be a good match or not."

"So that leaves Nymeria and Tyene."

"Either one would be a good student, I think. Would simply depend on which one you think would behave themselves better."

"I shall have to think on this. Thank you for the advice," Doran said as he began thinking of the attributes of each girl. Tyene is quite close with Arianne so. . . wait. "How has Arianne taken the news of Oberyn's injury?"

"I was wondering when you were going to put aside your political maneuvering and remember our daughter," Mellario replied in an emotionless tone. "She is quite upset. You know she looks up to Oberyn as what all men should strive to be, and she was quite smitten with the tales of Torrhen's actions."

Doran stood from his chair. "Then I shall go talk with her."

Though he wasn't doing this to appease his wife, he treasured her smile at his words just the same.

~Eddard Stark~

Don't throw up, we're almost there. Don't throw up, we're almost there.

Eddard repeated the mantra over and over. He had puked several times during the storm, there wasn't anything left in his stomach to throw up, yet his body still wanted to purge itself.

I realize travel for a newborn can be risky but the waters were so calm until the storm hit, if we had left Sunspear earlier, we'd have arrived at King's Landing before the storm even formed. We didn't need to wait a fortnight just to let Jon grow. It would have been smooth sailing the entire trip.

But if they had left that early, as Eddard was now wishing, then he never would have found the time to talk to Ashara. The woman he loved, the mother of his stillborn daughter.

Damn Aerys, damn Harrenhal, damn my own family for our inability to just. . . stop and think. Damn it all.

His stomach rolled as the ship crested a wave.

Urrghh. When we get to King's Landing, I am not taking a ship to White Harbor. I don't care what anyone says or how long it takes, we're taking horses back to the North.

"So that's Tarth. Lives up to its nickname, that is a very picturesque island."

Eddard groaned as he rested his forehead against the wooden railing. "Torrhen, please. Don't make me talk."

The sounds of footsteps on the deck indicated to Eddard that his brother had walked up to stand next to him. Eddard didn't bother looking up though he did manage to open his eyes and look down at the water against the ship's hull.

"You don't have to talk, just listen to me yammer on for a while. Oberyn's really good at guilting me into spending time with him and Ellaria, while I enjoy their company, I'm aware that in between the attempts at wooing they are digging for information. Only response I've been able to come up with to get away, that doesn't make me feel like a complete dick anyway, is checking in on my poor ole brother whose health concerns me."

Wooing? Has my brother become a sword swallower? Why - oh no, urrrrrrgh. . . fuck that wave. Don't throw up, we're almost there.

"That was quite the storm though. I can see why they call it Shipbreaker Bay. Captain says the repairs should only take a couple of days at Tarth. Apparently the harbor master is married to his niece so we should get preferential treatment."

Eddard took a deep breath before responding. "Good."

I'm not hot but I'm drenched with sweat. Gods be good, I pray that we reach that dock quickly.

"I'm probably going to see what's available in the market while we wait. If I'm going to meet the king I should dress better than these robes. Not really sure what look I should go for though."

"I have-" Eddard leaned forward but while his stomach was twisting in knots, it didn't clench enough to expel anything. "I have no advice."

"Understandable, you're not in a thinking mood, " Torrhen responded in a voice filled with the kind of mocking cheer only family could get away with. "Plus, I was always the smart twin anyway."

"Bastard."

"Ned, I am shocked, shocked I tell you, that you'd result to such name calling when I'm going through a serious crisis right now. You're friends with Robert, you can get away with dressing like a Northern savage. I am a foriegn sellsword looking to get rewarded for my services, I need to look the part."

Finally losing the battle, Eddard proceeded to puke over the side of the ship. There was very little for him to throw up, so it was mostly just bile. He counted to ten when he seemed to be finished heaving, just in case his body decided to expel more, before standing back up. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Eddard mumbled out, "Don't wanna lie."

"I know you don't," Torrhen said as he patted Eddard on the back. "Eww, you've got some in your hair. On your left side. Your other left. Anyway, I know you don't wanna lie but it'll be easier to avoid attention if I'm some wacky Essosi that doesn't understand your strange Westerosi ways than if I'm the brother of a Lord Paramount. Just don't mention my magic and don't mention that I'm me, and you'll do fine."

Eddard grumbled in lieu of a proper response and tried to focus on his breathing. He looked out over the water, focusing on a cloud just above the horizon.

In, out. In, out. In, oh look at the size of that bird, out. In, out.

Eddard continued this routine until they arrived at the docks. He wasn't sure how long it had taken, could have been ten minutes or it could have been an hour, but by ignoring everything and everyone around him, he was able to avoid puking another time.

"Thank the Gods, old and new," Eddard said as he hurried down the gangplank and promptly stumbled as soon as he stepped onto the dock. "What is going on?"

Torrhen's deep laughter, as well as some of that of the crew, echoed behind him. "You got your sea legs, Lord Stark," someone called out. "We'll make a sailor of you yet."

"Wolves are not meant for the ocean," Eddard said to himself as he tried to walk forward, somewhat succeeding.

"You're not a wolf, you're a person," Torrhen said, walking up along beside Eddard with seemingly no difficulty. Others take the lucky bastard. We're twins, if I can't walk straight he shouldn't be able to either. "Just because the Stark symbol is a wolf doesn't change basic biology. It's not like the Umbers- okay, bad example. It's not like the Karstarks are sunbursts."

"Torrhen. . . shut up."

He chuckled but thankfully ceased talking, allowing Eddard to focus on figuring out how to walk now that he was on solid ground. It took a while, longer than Eddard expected, for his legs to behave. They had walked from the dock into town and just outside the market square by the time he thought himself back to normal.

"Hmm, a leatherworker is probably going to be nearby, but not too close to, the tanners and they're gonna be on the outskirts of town. Maybe I should just check out a seamstress first," Torrhen said to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Now where would one be?"

Despite the fact that his brother hadn't been asking him, Eddard looked around. While the war had not yet officially ended, it didn't look as if it had ever really reached the island to begin with. Merchants still sold their wares, mothers attempted to corral their children as they shopped, laborers pushed carts of materials through the streets.

It's so. . . normal. Though that might be because the Redwyne Fleet has so effectively controlled Shipbreaker Bay throughout the course of the war. With no rebel ships capable of reaching or leaving Tarth, the loyalists probably saw little reason to waste time and troops with the island.

The most common thing for sale was definitely food, there were rows of stalls displaying all manner of freshly caught fish. Despite the large number of options available, Eddard had no doubt that by the end of the day most of those fish would be bought and taken home, there were that many people wandering through the market. Besides the food stalls, there was a wide variety of other merchants. The brothers walked past by a cobbler with some surprisingly high quality boots on display and right next to him was a garment maker selling thick wool shirts and trousers that, while likely effective at keeping the wearer warm, were clearly only purchased and worn by smallfolk.

Eddard paused in his thoughts as he saw one of his companions haggling with a man at a jewelry stand. Of the six loyal men that had accompanied Eddard to Dorne, four were taking the land route home while the other two had joined Eddard on the boat. All six had wanted to stay with their lord, but their horses would not have fit on the ship so they had decided to draw lots. William Dustin and Howland Reed had won. What was surprising was that William had somehow gotten to the market before Eddard and Torrhen, despite Eddard being one of the first people off the boat.

"Will! What are you doing?" Eddard called out as he and his brother approached his friend.

"I thought my lady wife might appreciate some spoils from the war. While I would enjoy a good sword or a new set or armor, I think she'd prefer something more. . ." William trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Womanly?" Eddard provided.

"Yes, womanly! Thank you. So I'm looking to see what jewelry the island has. So far, I have to say I'm disappointed." The man behind the counter made to protest but William cut him off as soon as he opened his mouth. "Tarth is known as the Sapphire Isle. And yet you haven't shown me ANY! By the Gods man, use your head. What kind of merchant are you?"

"Tarth is known as the Sapphire Isle because of the blue water of the surrounding ocean, not because of any prevalence of gems," Torrhen said. "Though you're not the only person to make that mistake so don't feel bad."

"Wait, really?"

Torrhen nodded.

"Oh." William turned back to the merchant. "My apologies. My ignorance has besmirched your intelligence and your profession, now I must buy something from you. Do you have anything that goes with yellow and brown?"

Leaving William behind as he discussed options with the jeweler, Eddard and Torrhen continued their walk through the market. It was pleasant, moving about with his twin beside him. It reminded Eddard of when they were younger and would wander around Wintertown (under the watchful eye of a few guards). Things were simpler back then, all the family was still alive and the only thing Eddard really worried about was how long he'd last sparring against Brandon.

Torrhen never worried about sparring though. He walked in knowing and accepting that he was going to lose. Though I wonder if that attitude meant he was never capable of winning? He certainly never put in any effort to improving, much to Father's displeasure. I think Torrhen spent as much time with a book in his hand as Brandon did with a sword in his.

"Who's that?" Torrhen asked, drawing Eddard from his thoughts. Looking around, he saw that his twin was pointing at a noblewoman. She was leading two children, a boy of about eight and a girl who couldn't be more than three. Trailing behind the trio was a retinue of guardsmen in Tarth livery.

"She's wearing a rose colored dress with yellow highlights. The children are dressed in blue and white. They're surrounded by guards. It is pretty clear they are members of House Tarth," Eddard replied, his tone conveying how obvious he found it to be.

Torrhen chuckled. "I admit that was a stupid question. I was more asking about the son."

"The boy? What about him?"

"I thought Lord Tarth only had Bri-a daughter. Wasn't aware there was a son." Torrhen made a motion to scratch his chin but stopped when his hand touched the hood covering his face. "Good for them, truly."

Eddard looked at his brother in surprise. "Really? Granted, I was unaware of any of Lord Tarth's family but you knew about the young daughter but not the son and heir?" Torrhen shrugged but said nothing. Eddard rolled his eyes. "Fine then, keep your secrets."

"Anyway, as a Lord Paramount visiting her land you might want to go introduce yourself to the Lady," Torrhen said. "I'm sure Oberyn will at some point as well."

"Just me? What will you be doing?"

"I am just a sellsword, remember? I could accompany you but I'm not important. Actually, we should definitely do this, will be good practice for you to act like I'm not your brother."

"I really don't feel comfortable with all this lying you want to do. I'm still not sure why you want to do it, they say three men can keep a secret if two are dead. And quite more than three people know about you."

"Hey, I let you talk me into not saying Lyanna died on the birthing bed."

"That's because it was a stupid idea! How can you expect me to say she's dead when you want to eventually send her to Winterfell? Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms would quickly find out about the lie."

"You don't need to repeat the argument, Ned. I agree that it was not a well thought out idea."

"But you're still adamant about not being a Stark?" Eddard asked, the pain in his voice obvious. While Torrhen had given his reasoning back in Sunspear, all Eddard had heard was that his brother, his twin, didn't want to be part of their family anymore. That was an ancestry that stretched all the way back to the Age of Heroes, one that had survived the Long Night, survived the Andals, survived Aegon the Conqueror, and Torrhen was willing to throw it aside. For what?

"I'm adamant about being left alone. The best way to accomplish that, in my opinion, is to not be the brother of a Lord Paramount. Instead, I'm just some Essosi sellsword that came across the Narrow Sea to make some money and got incredibly lucky with my timing."

"I'm not sure I can justify giving the Dreadfort to a sellsword though. . ."

"Of course you can and you know it," Torrhen said. His voice got a lot quieter as he continued, "It was ravaged by the grey plague after all. Place could be cursed with how many people died there. This way if the plague is still there, you aren't losing a loyal vassal but some rando from across the sea."

"That's. . . Torrhen. Look at me." Eddard sofly placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You know I'll love you no matter what, so please, talk to me. What happened at the Dreadfort?"

Eddard could see the pain and sadness in Torrhen's eyes as the two looked at each other. Just as it seemed he was finally going to open up, Torrhen's gaze flicked to the side and he straightened up. "There's Oberyn, I'm going to make myself scarce. I'll head back to the ship, check on Jon and Morgana, see if she needs anything. Go say hello to Lady Tarth before Oberyn outs you and you look rude."

"Torrhen wait-" But he was already hurrying off. "Damnation."

Was he responsible? Eddard wondered as he looked after his brother with a frown. Did he attack the Boltons like he did Oberyn? Is an entire castle dead at his hands?

"And look there, I see one of my travelling companions! Lord Stark!"

Calming his expression, Eddard turned around to where Oberyn was grinning at him. Tarth is a major house sworn to Storm's End, it's my duty as a Stark to make a good impression. Let's hope I can do this without Oberyn making a fool of me.