Destiny of Man

Chapter 1: A Royal in Exile

"As a consequence of its scale, the North is vibrant with diverse cultures; more so than the other nine provinces of Westeros. From the marshes of the Neck with the Crannogmen said to be the descendants of the Children of the Forest, to the lands along the western shore heavily influenced by Ironborn colonists, the familial tribes just below the lands of the Gift, and the lands around White Harbour who have been brought to the light of the Seven by centuries of Andalic migration; the North had always been a hard land to rule. Little has changed since House Stark united all the North under the banner of the grey wolf for the Lords of Winter need to walk a fine line to keep their bannermen in check for each Northern lord is proud and prickly, more than willing to head straight to the axe when it comes to settling disputes no matter how petty. This independent mindset, lack of centralised power, unstable climate and sparse population has left the North the sick man of Westeros, among the weakest of provinces and second only to the Iron Isles."

Archmaester Bryen 'the Erudite' – The World of the Sunset Kingdoms

There were some days – not many but some – when I was alone with my thoughts that I reflected upon my old life. I knew I shouldn't. I knew it would only bring back bad memories I'd rather forget and pretend never existed. But despite my best wishes to the contrary, they occasionally sprouted up whenever I found myself alone with the chance to think. Such peace seldom happened which I was thankful for. The Water Gardens erected upon the coast of the Summer Sea were always full of children always yearning for my attention. Family mostly. But when I successfully hid or managed to free myself from their nagging and desires for me to join them in the latest games they'd invented, I found peace in the tiny library.

That was where the memories flared up once more.

There was no point dwelling on it. What would be the point? I had lost my family when I decided to end my own life. Unlike being hit by a truck, it was something I decided to do myself and could easily have been avoided. I hadn't thought hard about it before doing the deed. Why would I when criminals were coming to end me anyway? I'd made peace with what would happen, but it was after I appeared in this new world that I began regretting my actions.

My brothers and parents were the only ones I ever cared about. I didn't have friends and when I say that I mean true friends. Oh, I could form relations with people easily enough during education or work, but they were fleeting things and never deep. My relationships lasted only so long as I was there and vanished entirely once I left. I remembered one girl saying I could easily make friends if I wasn't so quiet. Had been easy for her to say. My aversion to speaking and selective mutism didn't lend well to school or much really. Because of that, I actively avoided being social, instead preferring to spend time alone in the library or somewhere similar. The fewer people involved, the better. Because of that fact, it wasn't the friendships as few as there were that I cared about. That had never really been a problem. Family though. That had been a bitter pill to swallow.

How had they reacted when they got the news? What would my deeply religious parents think of their youngest son ending his own life after gambling his life away in a get-rich-quick scheme? I didn't need to think hard about what they'd think happened. In their minds, I was cursed to eternal damnation in hell. Submerged in the pit of fire and being stabbed by trident-wielding demons. They wouldn't know I'd been reincarnated. Given a chance to start my life anew by a being that was impossible to describe.

Unlike my life before, this one practically started me off with a quest to fulfil. You're reincarnated as a prince destined to fight the might of House Lannister and Baratheon, avenge your father's death, and return House Targaryen to its rightful throne. Once that is done, you'll be fighting Ice Elves and turning back the Long Night. Or you will die. That was my life now as Prince Aegon Nymeros Targaryen, son of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell of Dorne. Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.

Twelve years I've been in this world. I hadn't been inserted like those fanfictions I used to read and barely now remember. When those characters died, barely a moment would pass before they were staring face to face with the characters from the stories, unsure of what was going on and left to fend for themselves. Maybe they woke up in bed and the first thing they saw was the ceiling and need to piece everything together. Maybe they died and suddenly found themselves in the middle of a road full of wagons instead of cars. Me? The first thing I remembered was being squeezed out of a hot wet tunnel, being manhandled by a younger – if still ancient – Pycelle and handed directly to Crown Prince Rhaegar whom I desired so much to spit in the face of. That would've been hilarious. That blurry but no doubt strikingly handsome face grinning wide at his Prince that was Promised, only for said prince to spit directly into his mouth.

But that never happened. Sadly.

I didn't have the physical ability for such a feat. I wasn't capable of much of anything. I couldn't even remember what he said, nor if he did – given my hearing and eyesight weren't properly developed then – but no doubt he was calling me the chosen one and whatnot.

Given that I was a babe in swaddling clothes, unable to move and left to the care of wetnurses, I did have time to reflect and get used to the world. That was when I wasn't panicking that Rob might go back on his word and have the Mountain burst through the door like the grimdark version of the Kool-Aid Man where the result would be my head bursting like a melon against the wall.

Fortunately, that never happened. Once we escaped the Red Keep, I prayed my thanks to Rob as if I were a religious fanatic, and even went so far as to promise to build a shrine in his image (though I doubt it would ever be possible to build anything in his likeness). Speaking of our escape from the Red Keep, it was indeed Archmaester Marwyn. With his help, we snuck out of the city and fled to Dorne where we remained, safe from the Usurpers after Uncle Doran did the dream of many a nationalist by sealing the borders and going full isolation mode. All so King Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters wouldn't be aware he was harbouring two claimants to the Iron Throne right under their noses.

How he managed to succeed in doing so I will never know. All I knew was that it worked like a charm and Robert Baratheon didn't suspect a thing. Or at least that was what I'd been told. Neither I nor Rhae had any chance to confirm our warden's words. We were forbidden to leave the walls of the Water Gardens so all information from their mouths to our ears was carefully curated by Dorne's most loyal. As far as I knew, Robert could be fully aware or at least suspecting and wasn't able to launch an attack should he suffer a similar fate as the Young Dragon. I doubted that was the case though. It was Robert 'Drop the Fucking Hammer' Baratheon. He was a man who'd happily face off a horde of Dothraki in an open field for no other reason than to smash some skulls. He was just looking for an excuse to flex his muscles. If he got so much as a rumour of me being below the Red Mountains, he was coming with a massive host to put my family's heads on spikes and turn Sunspear into a pile of rubble.

I concluded he didn't suspect a thing.

But other than periods of being depressed about what happened to my first family, life in Dorne wasn't half bad. It helped that I was much more privileged than ninety-nine per cent of the population in Westeros and the world. There were fresh clothes, soft bedding, safety, and a constant source of food. Delicious food by the way. There were all different kinds of fruits, so it wasn't hard to get plenty of vitamins, and Dornish cuisine was always rich with spices and flavour. Though some hated it for that very reason and disliked their mouths being burned, I personally adored it and put as many peppers in my food as possible. Spices were still expensive though and were worth more than their weight in gold or – in the Dornish interior – water.

Then there was the family I just couldn't get away from for good or ill. Glancing across the room, I smiled despite myself. As resilient as I was initially, I did soon find myself growing close to them. In the twelve years I'd been alive, they managed to worm their way into my brain and heart like an intrusive tapeworm and laid their eggs inside of me and from those eggs would sprout an incredible—alright, that might not be the best metaphor to use, and I doubted the Martells would be happy if I described our relationship in such a way. If I was foolish enough to do so, Rhae might find herself as an only child. And despite our moments, we had a good relationship. Considering I was already a fan of Dorne upon reading the books and House Martell in general, it had never been that hard. We were a closely knit family and very affectionate even if we weren't devoid of the feuds that commonly affected the great houses of Westeros despite my attempts at getting everyone to hold hands and sing kumbaya.

Arianne was still suspicious of Quentyn who, like in canon, had been sent off to ward at House Yronwood because Uncle Oberyn's still a womaniser all to repair relations between House Martell and its most powerful bannerman. That led to other complications like Aunty Mellario grabbing her bags and returning home to Norvos despite mother's own insistence she stay. That would only make the problem worse considering the Quentyn fiasco was just the icing of an already unhappy marriage originally born about love rather than politics.

At some point those problems would need to be rectified. Granted, some of the problems in the books were unlikely to happen now given the butterflies. While House Martell was without a doubt still gunning for the Iron Throne, they didn't hold the same hatred towards the Lannisters considering Elia and her two children were still breathing. Instead of bitter enemies who deserved their lines ended, House Martell simply viewed them as traitors in a similar manner as the Freys for picking sides towards the end and siding with the rebellion.

I will need to get Arianne and Quentyn in the same room at some point, though, else one might do something we all regret . . .

"You've got that look again," Sarella Sand politely informed me from across the room in the Rhoynish-Andalic tongue widespread across Dorne. Like most Dornish dialects, there was a very musical quality to it.

"Huh?" I asked suddenly, being dragged back to the present where I was sitting in the Water Garden library with a book of Princess Nymeria's conquest of Dorne open before me. "Uh . . . oh, sorry. Did I distract you?"

Sarella smiled. A gentle smile that was unlike her sisters whose own were always mischievous. Even Tyene's which, while innocent looking, still carried a roguish quality to it. "Not half as distracted as you looked yourself, cousin." Her voice was teasing and carried with it a soft Dornish drawl. Two years older than I, Sarella was slender and pretty with curly black hair and a widow's peak all House Martell shared. "Enjoy your little daydream?"

A blush coloured my cheeks despite myself. "I was just thinking, y'know." I smiled shyly and ran a hand through my silvery curls which was one of the better tics I've had.

Sarella Sand wasn't averse to finding herself lost in her thoughts either. We were both sitting in the small room and Sarella had carved out her own space in the corner which included building herself a wall of books. She regularly retreated to that space whenever her sisters grew too rowdy. I could perfectly understand in all honesty. The Dornish tended to be passionate, and games could easily spiral out of control. So, was it any wonder someone might want to find peace in the cool indoors that was seldom used other than for lessons?

"Yea? What about?" The girl I'd no doubt would later become Alleras leaned closer, that inquisitive glint once more in her eyes.

What could I say to her? That I died once, met an eldritch abomination that offered me to go into a piece of fiction with three boons and if not, we wouldn't be having this discussion and House Martell would have fewer members? That I wasn't native to this world and the one I came from was different in enough ways to be completely alien? Hah. Good luck with me telling her that. I didn't want to be labelled as being one of the crazed Targaryens.

Instead, I said, "Y'know. Just stuff. Nothing that important."

My cousin's face was an open book in telling me how much she disagreed with those words. I knew it wasn't a good answer, but at least it'd give me a few much-needed seconds to think of a proper lie.

"Yea? Just stuff, Egg? Nothing important? Then I'm sure you have no reason not to tell me. No reason at all. What were you thinking about?"

That was Sarella. All the Sand Snakes inherited at least something from their princely father and Sarella inherited his love for books and learning more than most. She was also the nosiest, and that was saying something. Her second home was the library and once she was freed she would be heading straight to Oldtown, and the Citadel, and I'd give her a few months before she's read everything there. This cousin of mine was a fast reader and didn't have my propensity of finding herself lost in thought.

"Well, seeing as you're asking so politely, sweet coz, I will just have to tell you." Think of something. Think of something. Yes! That's it!

"Egg, you're leaving me in suspense. Out with it. I demand you. Else I'll throw this book at you."

"Demanding something from a prince and threatening his very life? Your future king at that?" I made an exaggerated sigh and slowly shook my head before clicking my tongue. "You disappoint me, Sarella. I thought you were learning to be a proper lady."

"I am learning. From books. Learning to be a lady, and from you? Nah."

"You hurt my heart, sweet cousin. How will this void ever close between us?"

"I'm seriously close to throwing Maester Theomore's masterwork at you, Aegon. If you don't want to answer, just say so. Don't draw this out."

I laughed. "I wasn't thinking of much, to be honest. Just letting my mind go yonder across this and that. About what might happen once our uncle decides it's time to retake the Seven Kingdoms and he finally lets me leave this place."

"The Water Gardens?" Her eyes narrowed. "Do you hate it here?"

"Hate's too strong a word. Wrong word as well." I leaned back in my chair as I was wont to do, slowly rocking back and forth and putting myself at risk of hitting my head on the cold stone floor. "I like it here. Love it even. How can I not? It's just that there's a whole world out there. The only time I've not been surrounded by the Water Garden's walls was when I was a babe as mother was carrying me from King's Landing. I wouldn't say I had much of an opportunity to explore then. No more than I do now. Twelve years and I haven't visited Sunspear or the rest of Dorne. Your youth was spent with your mother on the Feathered Kiss and no doubt you explored a lot during that time stopping at docks around the world. Even now Oberyn takes you outside with your sisters. The only experiences I have of Dorne are through those who enter the gates and these very pages. I can read about the Orphans of the Greenblood with their brightly coloured ships as they sail up and down the river, but I haven't seen them despite being a couple days' ride away. I haven't seen the deserts, the Red Mountains, or the Marches. I haven't seen the Sandship or the mountain holdfast of Starfall."

I then pouted in a way that truly reflected my age. There was truth to my words. As much as I loved the Water Gardens with its lush orchards and pink marble pools that were a blessing after a hot day of exercise, I was finding myself growing restless. It also didn't help that when any of my family returned, they would always come with stories of where they went during this procession or ride or whatever. All the while the Water Gardens were getting smaller as I grew older, and many of the things that brought me childish joy had grown stale through sheer repetition.

My cousin looked at me quizzically before returning to her book. "You're not the only one, Egg. Rhaenys feels the same way you do, though she keeps it quiet because she needs to be the dutiful daughter. The perfect princess desired by all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms."

That sounded like her. I might have had more experience, but she acted even older than I did. Always there to provide support and take care of the family as the eldest. To appear as the princess the Seven Kingdoms would accept. I felt bad for her.

"What about you? If you could go somewhere else, anywhere in the world, would you?"

There was some hesitation in her voice when she said, "I do." Sarella looked at me once more. "I'm guessing you already know where I'll be going."

"Oldtown." She smiled wistfully and I quickly added, "I can understand, and I hope you do go there . . . before Obara burns it down."

That quickly turned her smile upside down. "My sweet sister."

"Your sweet sister hates Oldtown as much as you seem to love it."

"I don't love it. I've never been. How can I love something I don't know? I do want to visit. You're not wrong about that. Father went to the Citadel to forge himself six links of a maester's chain even if he didn't become a maester himself." Sarella smiled wistfully. "Can you imagine him as one of them?" That caused her to giggle, and she did have an adorable giggle. "If father wasn't going to leave himself they would've thrown him out! It was, fortunately, the former else blood would've been spilt."

"For the best then. I can't imagine what would've happened afterwards."

She smiled. "He told me stories and I want to visit. The oldest city in Westeros. Built by the First Men thousands of years before the coming of the Andals. Once the seat of the Faith in the Starry Sept before King Baelor replaced the seat with his own in King's Landing. Then there's the Citadel, built by Prince Peremore the Twisted whose thirst for knowledge stands head and shoulder above everyone else before and since."

"That I very much doubt," I grinned playfully at her. "You're giving him a run for his money."

My sweet cousin shook her head as if what I said was silly. "I wouldn't say so. He was born sickly with a withered arm and twisted back, bedridden all his life and could do little more than read. Being unable to travel the world himself, he invited wise men, teachers and priests, healers, and singers as well as wizards, alchemists and sorcerers who not only told him what they knew, but the prince had it all written down so future generations would know what would otherwise be forgotten."

"And what's happened to these books? Have they been copied and distributed across the Seven Kingdoms, or have they been locked at the bottom of the Citadel under lock and key? Forbidden because they carry knowledge that may threaten the safety of the Seven Kingdoms?" I deepened my voice to make it ominous and Sarella clearly wasn't impressed for she picked up a quill and threw it at my head. Seldom do feathers travel that far so it landed between us on the floor, drifting downwards mesmerizingly slowly. I smiled cockily at her, and I swear her cheeks blushed slightly. Embarrassment, I wagered. If she hit me she'd be gloating.

"That would have been millennia ago. If the books still exist they're little more than dust. The tomes will crumble as soon as you look at them. Besides, that was only what laid the groundwork for the Citadel. When Peremore died, his brother King Urrigon gifted a large tract of land beside the Honeywine to what he called Peremore's pets, and they established what would become the Citadel and the Order of the Maesters. They've been collecting knowledge since then. Can you imagine how many books they have there? All the shelves stacked full of ancient lore only the maesters are aware of?" Her voice grew giddy. "Father even tells me they have glass candles. Glass candles. One is green in colour, and the other three are black. Before an acolyte says his vows he spends the night in the Citadel's vaults. Many try to light a candle, but none succeed."

"Do you plan to be the first?" I flashed her another grin. "That'd be sweet."

I was certain magic would return provided the train that was canon continued down its track should it not be disrupted by like, say, a silver-haired princeling doing something unexpected. But what was the chance of that happening? I already changed the canon by my little wishes. Illyrio might not gift Dany her eggs or Viserys might catch wind of us and decide to sail to Dorne with his little sister in tow. And without those eggs hatching, what were the chances of magic returning without those winged lizards not giving it the boost it needed?

"I wouldn't mind that. I won't be able to. I'm not a boy. You need a cock to enter the Citadel. Queen Alysanne tried to get the maesters to accept girls and they said they'd think about it. They clearly didn't." Sarella pouted with a huff and folded her arms.

That didn't sound like it was going to stop her though. She was Oberyn's daughter and if they said a girl wasn't allowed in their wrinkled old boys' club she'd only want to go all the more. "You could always cut your hair," I suggested as if that was all she needed to do.

"What wondrous wisdom," she drawled. "A girl trying to sneak into the Citadel. No doubt they'd be unprepared for such a thing. Has never happened before, I'd wager. So long as my hair is as short as a boy's they'll ignore my teats and lack of a cock."

"To be fair your teats aren't that large, and I doubt they'd ask you to pull down your breaches and check." She glared and I smiled boyishly in reply. "It's only a suggestion but seeing as I'm the one suggesting it, it might not even be worth considering."

"In that, we can agree." Sarella's body deflated. "We'll have to see what the future foretells."

"That can be said for all of us. I know what our kin will say on the matter."

"Uncle Doran will say it's not a woman's place to sneak inside the Citadel disguised as a boy. Father will give me a knife and tell me to cut my hair; that if something is stopping us from doing something, it needs to be removed. That nothing can tell a viper no."

Nothing can tell a viper no. I smiled at those words. "I like how we speak of this and neither of us mentions that mayhaps when I'm king I might just force the Citadel's hand. That I can use my authority to tell them they should let you in without you pretending to be a boy with the chance of them throwing you out on your arse."

"And when will that come to pass? I know Father wants to strike Robert Baratheon now. That we should call the spears and march straight to King's Landing and damn be the consequences. Uncle Doran wants to wait as he usually does and will only act when all of Westeros is under several feet of snow. Father says he seldom talks about it, but I know Father knows of our uncle's plans and I know he plans. What else has he been doing the last couple of years?"

"What do you think he's doing?" I already knew and that was because of a little cheating that was called canon and the Dornish Master Plan. He wasn't so much into revenge, but he still wanted his nephew as king and speaking on behalf of Dornish interests rather than a Baratheon who had no cause to care about a bunch of people far to the south.

Sarella looked behind me as if the door was open and someone was listening in. Then her voice softened to a hush. "I know he's planning something. The Young Dragon claimed Dorne has fifty-thousand spears and it's still said that's the case. I don't believe so. We lack the strength to rise against the might of the Iron Throne so unless we get some other houses to join with us via marriage to you and Rhae . . . I think he's going to try and weaken the alliance that put Robert Baratheon in power."

"Cause them to go to war against one another?"

The girl shrugged. Though she was only two years older than me, Sarella was the wisest of her sisters even though the oldest was nine years older. She was smart and it wasn't only relating to books. "I don't know about that. But to take the Iron Throne it'll go one of two ways. Either one side gets powerful enough to overshadow the ruling dynasty and bring it down through force of arms, or you weaken House Baratheon by stripping them of their powerbase and leaving them vulnerable to, say, a Dornish invasion with a silver-haired Egg at the helm."

Like getting them to fight each other in a civil war where they'll waste much-needed resources and manpower against themselves. When they're sufficiently weakened we come streaming up the Red Mountains with fresh forces that we'd been building since the beginning. With them too weak to respond, it'll be a cakewalk. Or that was the idea at least. I could see Prince Doran working behind the scenes to weaken House Lannister and Baratheon, but I didn't know how far he'd go. There was no doubt Doran was meticulous and extremely intelligent, but Doran was perhaps a little too meticulous. He was cautious to a fault and in the brotherly dynamic between him and Oberyn, I could see the latter being the one to push things into action. Elia meanwhile served as the face of their little trio, and the mediator between both brothers. The middle ground having the best of both worlds.

"You might be onto something," I smiled at her. "Seems you're getting smarter in the ways of politics."

All the oldest of the Sand Snakes were politically active in their own ways. The difference between Sarella and her three older sisters was that her knowledge extended outside Dorne itself while Obara, Nymeria and Tyene cared little for what happened beyond the principality's borders therefore making Sarella the one I'd prefer to discuss it with. She was also less hot-blooded than her siblings but that wasn't all that difficult all things considered.

"Do I have the dragon prince's approval now that I've got his praise?" She smiled a little too wide to be sincere.

"Continue trying to earn my approval and you might just get it," I emphasised my words with a finger. That made Sarella roll her eyes. Looking down at the book, I realised I hadn't managed to read the first few pages before getting side-tracked. She might think I'm turning into Arianne. I was too restless currently. This was a boy's body full of pent-up energy it needed to spend. It might take me the whole day as well. I sighed to myself. "It's been fun talking to you, Sarella, and no doubt you're eager to return to Maester Tomman—"

"Maester Theomore," she corrected without a beat. "You're leaving? I hope you no longer tire of my presence, my prince."

"More like I hope you haven't grown annoyed with mine." I put my book of Nymeria back on the shelf and smiled once more at her. I was working hard to perfect my princely smile. I wanted the girls of the Seven Kingdom's legs to turn to jelly. "I hope you enjoy that book, and I'll leave you to some peace and quiet."

"I hope you'll begin then." Her face was once again deep in her stories.

I chuckled, gave her an extravagant salute, and took my leave.

Exiting the small library, I stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the Water Garden's main courtyard. It was beautiful and appeared as a mishmash of Indian, Arabic and Spanish architecture. It was customary in Dorne, I heard, to decorate palaces with open spaces and sprawling gardens dominated by fragrant flowers, fountains, canals, and ponds with brightly scaled fish and lilies. The Water Gardens were no exception to that and expanded multiple compounds made of pink marble, terraces overlooking multiple pools and fountains. Then there were the orchards providing natural shade and sustenance to nobles and commoners alike. It was decreed by the Princes and Princesses of Dorne that everyone, regardless of their birth, should be permitted to partake in their bounty.

I leaned on the stone baluster and took in the smell. The sharp sweet smell of blood oranges filled my nostrils every time I took a breath, and beneath that were lemons and apples and all sorts of other fruit. They were Dorne's most popular export to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and Essos. While Dorne might not be as fertile as the Reach and Riverlands or have the precious metals of the Westerlands, Dorne was predominately an export-based economy when it came to luxury goods, and it wasn't only fruit. Dornish sandsilks were popular as a cheaper alternative to the high-quality silks of Lys and Myr. Dorne also served as a gateway into the Seven Kingdoms for Essosi merchants thanks to its lower tariffs, and that wasn't to mention having closer ties to its merchant classes. It wasn't unknown for the children of merchants to come to the Water Gardens, splash in the pools and play with nobles and smallfolk alike.

Such playtime helped foster closer relations between the classes as it happened. Most of the young nobility of Dorne found themselves at the Water Gardens at some point and, unlike the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, they wouldn't be isolated from the lower classes. Dorne also had the closest thing to a social welfare system Westeros provided. It wasn't advanced by any means. Under Dornish law, lords were obligated to provide free mead and bread to the masses during times of famine, as well as shelter and feed those who lost their limbs in war. Not much, but still better than nothing. That was one of only several reasons the Principality of Dorne was almost like a modern country compared to the rest. Another reason being—

"Aegon!" came a series of shouts from below.

I looked down at where a group of naked and semi-clothed children had stopped their frolicking in the water and were now staring up at me. Numbering their group were three Sand Snakes in the form of Elia, Obella and Dorea Sand. Seven, five, and three, respectively. I was surprised there weren't any older Sand Snakes around but mayhaps they were doing their own thing. I could see Obara practising with her spear, indulging in wine, riding a horse or a man. Tyene was likely around Shandystone where Prince Oberyn showed her the best way to milk a snake's venom, and Nym was with Arianne in Sunspear.

"What do you want!" I shouted back at them.

"Do you want to play?" asked the loud Elia Sand, folding her arms and pouting as if I'd already denied her. "We're going to joust, and I need a proper mount."

I felt my lips curl into a stupid grin. "And you think you can win with me? Is that it?"

It was a common game we played. Mimicking jousting but with neither horse nor lance. In water jousting we formed two teams of two. Smaller children would climb atop the shoulders of their larger partners and try to shove their rival into the pool. Sometimes it was more than four people and that got especially chaotic. The rest of the children would crowd around to cheer and laugh when one found themselves swallowing a load of water. It was a popular game and one with a long history. Prince Doran played it when he was little, as had Oberyn – as does Oberyn. My uncle still played with his youngest as their mount of choice, though he was nowhere as rough as when he was younger. Uncle Oberyn was known as the Terror of the Water Gardens and could easily trounce much larger kids with his speed which he used to topple them down. Mother never played though. She'd been too delicate for such a rough sport. Instead, she reserved herself as a spectator and referee. Most times she indulged herself in books, music, and poetry instead.

"Of course!" was her blunt reply and I didn't expect anything less from her. She was a child and Elia Sand seldom danced around a subject when she could just charge straight down the middle. "I want to win, and you're taller than most!"

That was true but I couldn't see how that would help her. I not only inherited my father's eyes and hair but also his height to hear mother tell it. Prince Rhaegar had been tall and that was even before experiencing a massive growth spurt I hadn't yet started. It was a certainty I'd sprout past my mother before I was fourteen. But that was counteracted by the fact I was slender as a willow with little in the way of body fat and bulk. Instead, I had the skinny body of a dancer even if it felt like I had two left feet. If anything, you'll want someone with a low centre-of-body mass and great balance. But my little cousin wouldn't know that, and no doubt thought because I'd been decent as the rider I'd be just as good as the mount.

Looking at the possible rivals, I agreed. Some were older than me but no more than a couple years by the looks of it. I also found I hadn't the ability to say no to my cousins and those puppy eyes of theirs. Not when their father was the Red Viper of Dorne to which I owed a lot in getting me out of the slump that was my early childhood.

Breaking out into a run, I swiftly joined them for their game. Around me, the older children were still wearing clothes in the form of short trousers for the boys and simple shifts for the girls. I was quick to remove my linen tunic and throw it to the side and the sun was quick to burn hot against my exposed back. Thanks to a childhood in Dorne, my pale-olive skin had darkened and turned brown. It was hot but it was a dry heat and I enjoyed it. Maybe it was the Targaryen in me, but I didn't sweat all that much if at all. There was also the appeal of getting soaked in water even if we did get pushed.

"Who's going first?" I asked, clapping my hands together eagerly. I studied each of my possible challengers and grinned wide. A few had grown reluctant and shied away. I had built a bit of a reputation like that of Oberyn all because I needed to stand a chance against my older cousins who ruled the waters before they grew too old. I wasn't.

There wasn't the slightest bit of hesitation when Els stepped forward with the largest grin on her face. Her hair had been tied back in a braid but that hadn't been enough for all the stubborn strands that were keen to escape. It was also soddened from where she'd been thrown in already. There was a haughty look in her eyes. Clearly, there was someone who'd humiliated her, and she wanted vengeance against that person.

"What? No one? Does no one want to ride with me? What about you, Obella? Have you ever played?"

In the corner of my eyes, I could see a fire alight inside young Elia. Despite being named after my mother, the two were complete opposites. While mother was the perfect Westerosi lady who did no wrong by performing her duties and always remained calm and collected, Els was as hot-blooded as her father and seldom could ignore a slight even if it was a slight told in jest. I pretended to look around at the crescent who'd gone silent in fear of the seven-year-old girl.

I did another survey around the group before looking down and did a mock jump of shock. "Wow! Hah, sorry, Els. Didn't see you there. Would you like to have a joust?"

Els glared daggers and looked ready to wail at me with her little fists. Instead, she bit her bottom lip like she was about to curse me. She didn't though. If she did I would drop the playful act and scold her for swearing in front of her younger sisters. Knowing that, the Sand Snake let out a hiss that finished with calling me stupid beneath her breath. I only smiled, knelt so she could climb onto my shoulders, and rose. Elia found purchase by grabbing my hair like a rein and I felt the urge to swat her off but that'll be unseemly. We were on the same team. Poor sportsmanship and all that.

After a moment of consideration, some pushing and shoving and shaking of their heads, fighting me and my cousin was a pair roughly similar age to us give or take a year. Both were boys and the older one who served as a mount was named Timeon. His father was a wealthy merchant who sold limes and oranges and spices up and down the Greenblood. The younger boy, Deziel, was the son of one of the gardeners and only a year younger than El. So, the round was going to be two commoners versus a prince and a bastard daughter of the Red Viper. This was going to be an interesting bout.

To my little cousin's disappointment, this game didn't use proper lances but instead relied upon the use of her hands to push the other child off with maybe a little aid from me with some clever footwork. It was unfortunate for us that Timeon's father had decently close ties to House Martell and his son regularly came over. Because of that, he was decently good at the game. He was also larger than me, and stronger. Mayhaps two years my senior, the boy had broad shoulders from helping his father loft inventory on and off the boats. He was also shorter but was wider at the base.

Should he and I come to a pushing match, there was no doubt who would win. I'd needed to play smart and hope Els wasn't going to be foolish.

I wasn't so lucky.

For the handful of seconds we strategized, it was decided we should strike fast and strike hard. With Timeon's greater strength we could ill afford this to become a pushing match, and Derziel's shorter arms would give Els the distance advantage. I lurched forward and opened the match up with a push to help unbalance the broader boy. While he had strength on his side I had speed, and momentum was always important for these kinds of games. But to my luck or, lack thereof, he managed to brace himself on the slippery marble flooring. How? I had no idea. All I knew was that we lunged in, opened ourselves up in a risky gamble, and they remained standing.

At least Els got a good push in and struck her opponent on both shoulders with her palms. I thought that was going to be a win for us. It wasn't. The boy wavered and fell backwards but Timeon had a firm hold of the boy's legs and, throwing his mass forward, allowed his rider to regain purchase by gripping his mount's hair which he used to yank himself up.

In the moment I thought the boy was going to fall off, I stayed my hand. Failing to take advantage of the moment. Once our rivals got back up they retaliated with a vengeance and got in close. I tried to back away but there was only a limited amount of space in the pool where the waters were waist height and slowed down my greatest advantage as well. Letting go of Elia's legs, I tried to use my hands but trying to topple an older boy made of muscle was harder than you'd think. He somehow braced his legs and refused to budge. All the while Derziel pushed and shoved Els and slapped her hands away when she tried to do the same. Her thighs squeezed around my neck, and she was hissing like a serpent.

With a firm push, my cousin found herself reeling back and because I hadn't been holding her legs in place as Timeon had done, she slipped off.

There was a splash, a cry, and I spun around to see the seven-year-old climbing back up with black hair hanging down her face like a curtain. The other kids around us laughed from where they'd been cheering as we fought. She wasn't happy.

"You lost!" jeered Derziel as the older boy lowered himself so he could jump off. He almost slipped into the pool himself but managed to catch himself at the last moment but that smile never left his face. "You should know that—"

The son of a gardener didn't finish his sentence when Elia strode towards him, gave a hard shove, and Derziel fell backwards into the water to even more laughter. "That will teach you, stupid!"

Elia looked about to wail at him before I grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the pool. The crowd around us opened without a word. "That is bad sportsmanship," I growled at her when we were out of earshot. I had pushed her behind a pillar green with ivy. "When you have a competition with someone you don't strike them after the game's finished. Nor do you push them because you lost. No matter how much they gloat." Elia glared daggers at me. Five years my junior, the child had a revenge streak a mile wide. She is her father's daughter, I had to remind myself. Prince Oberyn would do the same. My dear uncle hadn't in him to take a slight and mother had stories that when he lost Oberyn would spend the rest of the day seething in rage.

"You heard him!" she shouted. "You saw his face! He was mocking me!"

"And does that give you the excuse to push him into the water, Elia Sand?" I didn't blink and despite her attempt at appearing strong, my harsh gaze was forcing her down. Soon she blinked and averted her eyes from mine. Elia bit her lip as she did when she was nervous. A slight tic of hers, but I knew her enough to notice. "Does it?"

"You're being stupid!"

Is that your response? Alright, Arya. I shook my head in a similar manner as I had seen Ellaria do a few times and that seemed to strike something inside of her. Oh yes, don't even need to mention your mother and you shut your mouth. Not that I could expect that differently. Ellaria Sand might be kind and soft-spoken and a good mother to her daughters and stepdaughters, but you were a fool to believe goodness equals weakness. It was unwise to provoke her. "Elia, I will tell you this once. You will go over to him and apologise and tell him how well he's played. He will accept your apology and you will continue playing the game. Can you do that?"

She pouted as only a little girl could but averted her eyes to stare at my bare feet and nodded grudgingly. "I will. For you. Not him."

That was good enough for me. Clapping my hands together, I led her back to the pool where four other children were currently jousting. Els wasn't happy to say sorry and, like a child, tried to avert her fate by dragging her feet. The occasional push was enough to hasten her step. She did as I'd asked and although she said the correct words, she clearly informed them it was a grudging apology. That she'd been forced to say it, and that she regretted nothing.

A true Sand Snake.

"What is going on here?" came a familiar-sounding voice. I almost jumped out of my skin at the melodious voice from behind. I span around to see Rhaenys smiling at me, cocking her head to the side inquisitively.

"Just playing a game," was my response, "our little cousin got a little too competitive." I returned the smile. I seldom could do much else around my sister. While I took after our father, Rhae took after our mother in every way except her eyes. They were our father's eyes and a dark indigo you could lose yourself in. They could easily rival Ashara's own in their beauty.

"She is her father's daughter," Rhae agreed, sharing with me a little grin that hinted she'd have done differently in my place. "Did you win?" she asked the little snake.

El's response was to avert her eyes with a huff, my words already forgotten.

"You didn't? Is this true? Who were you riding with?"

"With Eggon!" cried little Obella.

"Egg! I'm shocked!" Rhaenys put a hand to her chest and looked at me aghast. "What has she done for you to treat her so?"

"I didn't do anything!" Els cried aloud, shooting me a reproachful look.

"It's not my fault Els fell and got soaked. Frankly, I'm horrified you would even accuse me of doing something nefarious, sweet sister of my heart. You know how much I love my family."

"Your heart is full to bursting I have no doubt." Rhae looked at the younger children who were silenced by her presence. I couldn't blame them. She was a princess and a very beloved one as well. Not to mention beautiful. It was Rhae's fate to be sold into marriage with a powerful family for grain and soldiers for when I retook my throne. To win a continent we needed every man we could get and Rhae, ever the faithful and good daughter, remained silent on the subject. She was a prize and any man in their right mind would be happy to have her. "Might I poach my brother from your games, sweetlings? Unlike some of you, we do have lessons and Archmaester Marwyn has never been the most patient of maesters."

Which was no doubt the side effect of having to teach Oberyn's daughters. I didn't envy him for that.

"With you saying it like that how can I refuse?" I asked aloud. Giving the children a slight nod and an apology for leaving, I took my leave and let Rhaenys lead the way. Lessons, lessons, and more lessons. Just another day for a royal in exile.

A/N: When I began writing this fic three years ago, this was little more than a writing exercise where I had a bunch of ideas I decided to smash together and see if I could create anything out of it, and if said thing would be any good from a writing standpoint. Originally I wanted to see if I could write a harem story with slice-of-life elements, and something more wholesome than what I usually write. So if you're the kind of person who wants a dark protagonist this sadly isn't the story for you.

One of the ideas was uplifting and not the kind of uplifting where a self-insert character might simply introduce modern-day ideas and/or gunpowder but instead bring the concept to its most extreme conclusion. We can already see what the effects of things like automation and AI are having currently, so what would be the effects on a medieval society like that of Westeros? From the prologue, I'm sure some of you might question the appearance of a "ROB" character in the story (as I know isn't that popular of a concept due to its handwavy nature), the prologue served as little more than a vehicle that justifies what I wanted to happen later on in the story in-universe, as well as informing readers who weren't into that sort of thing about it on the onset rather than reading a dozen or so chapters before springing the sci-fi elements on them unexpectedly. Add to that some surreality and my "cringe" sense of humour, and I can understand why it's not for everyone. A niche of a niche you could say.

But, anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I plan to release future chapters on a weekly, biweekly basis for the foreseeable future.