Chapter 13: Arianne

They arrived in the throne room with little in the way of pomp and grandeur.

Arianne stood at the helm of the party. Behind her was Ser Arys Oakheart, resplendent in his thrice-damned white cloak. It was honestly a relief, now, that her attempts to seduce him had been stymied so quickly. Arianne didn't know how she would have tolerated a man who seemed so foreign to the concept of wit. Still, Arianne could not deny he cut a dashing figure.

She knew the King had requested that Trystane attend his wedding alongside Ser Arys, and she watched as his eyes flicked over their party, a flash of irritation crossing his features when Trystane could not be found.

Even here, Arianne mused, I am unwanted.

And that had been the plan, originally, to send Trystane. But Oberyn had interceded with a letter, and specified that it would be better if she came instead. Her father, wanting her out of the way, readily concurred. When they had departed their ship, only the Imp and her Uncle and his paramour stood to greet them, escorting them to the Keep and the King.

And what a King he was!

Arianne, hearing word of him from afar, had expected to be disappointed. The picture in her mind was of a small child, pudgy and naive, more boy than man, and certainly no King. She had expected a ridiculous spectacle, an immature babe sitting in a monstrosity of steel and iron.

Arianne was disappointed, to be sure, but not in the way she had expected.

There was no denying the King's youth. His features were young, his frame small, so much so that Arianne suspected he was no taller than herself. But he was also no suckling babe. The roundness of his cheeks was slight, the baby fat in the process of melting away to reveal sharp and regal cheekbones. His expression was impassive, his gaze penetrating and powerful. Around him, his councillors appeared to either cower, or to pay rapt attention to his every movement. His form, from what Arianne could discern behind his tunic and coat, looked lean and strong, at least for his age.

Were he any other man, Arianne found herself thinking, and I a little younger, I would have him abed.

That was not to say that all was well with the new King, of course. Whilst he was growing nicely for his age, he appeared to have traded away his youthful vigour. His movements were slow and deliberate, and a certain indescribable world-weariness marked his demeanour, of the kind her own father had in his bearing. There were small, dark circles under his eyes.

The King knows more than he says, Uncle Oberyn had warned. Be wary of him. He is not the boy you think he is.

Looking at his eyes, Arianne did not doubt her Uncle. I know, they seemed to say, I know everything.

Those eyes dragged across the party, starting with Ser Arys, making it's way to her cousins, and then finally landing on her. Arianne suppressed a shudder, and plastered a pleasant expression on her face. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft ringlets, shimmering and smooth. Her dress exposed more than it covered, Arianne knew, and sought to arouse. The curve of her breasts was on full display, though her nipples remained mercifully hidden. The yellow fabric was thin and flowing, and in a certain light seemed to disappear entirely. Thin golden chains hung loosely off her form, the glittering adornments only highlighting her features.

The King, again, surprised her. His eyes flicked once across her body, and then landed upon her face, half-lidded from a mix of boredom and curiosity. He seemed utterly unaffected by her manner of dress.

After a long moment of silence, Oberyn proudly declared, "My family, King Tommen!"

"Charmed," the Boy King said, seemingly disappointed by the absence of his sister. "You must be Princess Arianne, yes?"

Arianne curtsied, "I am, Your Grace."

"And the lovely ladies behind you, I assume they are some of the famous Sand Snakes?"

Oberyn smiled and nodded, "Two of my eldest daughters, Nymeria on the right and Tyene on the left."

The King offered an impatient smile as her cousins both curtsied, "Welcome to the capital. If you don't mind, Prince Oberyn, I would ask that your family stand to the side till the regular business of court concludes. Unless there is a more urgent matter they have to present, I will greet them more appropriately on my terrace."

Oberyn seemed unaffected by the insult, though Arianne felt her cousins grow hot with silent anger behind her. They all filed to one side of the throne room as the business of court resumed. A trail of people, smallfolk and hedge-knights and even some minor lords formed a small huddle in one corner, the men emerging from the huddle to greet the King.

The men, though they had clearly made some effort, reeked and appeared in dull brown roughspun. They kneeled down and appeared to tremble before the throne as they begged for justice. Arianne, utterly uninterested in such affairs, looked around. Sat across from her, some few seats away was a hard-nosed, balding old man with a bristling beard and a bowman as his sigil. Lord Tarly, Arianne guessed. Her Uncle had told her he had arrived not a few days ago, only to find himself with a seat on the Small Council.

It was said that the new King valued his martial prowess greatly, and had made him his Master of War within the week. For what purpose, it was not known. The King was an extremely secretive person. Arianne observed him with interest, only to be taken away by a nudge from her Uncle, sat beside her. "Pay attention," he whispered. "You'll learn much more watching the King than you will watching him."

When the smallfolk had finished his plea, the King crooked his finger beckoning for his Great-Uncle, the Lord Kevan, to approach. The Old Lion's lapdog. The King and his Master of Laws shared a few whispers and then the Master of Laws shook his head and withdrew. Whatever words they had shared, the King made the final decision. His rulings were the law.

"Goodman," The King said at last, "I have heard your tale, and I agree that you have been wronged. Your livestock was given to your neighbour for better breeding and safekeeping during a time of war, and have survived even if your crops have been destroyed, yet your fellow has taken the choicest and returned to you only the sickly and valueless. There exist those in this court that think this a small matter - not fit for the King to address. They are wrong. Honour compels me to bring justice to all those who rest under my protection. Men like you feed the realm, and it is not just that you should be thrown out a living when you are able to work and are still a loyal subject of the crown."

"I am," the farmer insisted. "Yer Grace."

"My sentence is this - you are to intermingle the entirety of your flock with his, and from thence divide your flock into three groupings of any size you desire. Your neighbour - though he has not acted very neighbourly - shall firstly claim one of these three groups as his own, and you shall claim the other two."

The King nodded, and his Master of Laws declared, "In the name of the Seven, by the authority of the Crown this judgement is rendered, and the matter hereby settled."

Arianne shifted in her seat, whispering to her Uncle, "An unusual judgement," she muttered to him. "I don't believe I've heard a ruling like this before."

"The King is a master of unusual solutions," her Uncle murmured back. "He calls it his 'third way'."

Arianne sighed, "Why did you ask me here?" she asked at last. "What use is this to me?" Went unsaid were the words when I am fighting for my birthright.

"... It's been far too long, Arianne. I've missed my niece."

"And I my uncle." She observed Oberyn's profile, "But that doesn't answer my question."

Her father had been sparing with the details when he had sent on her way. Be careful, was all he had said. Kings Landing is a pit of snakes.

She had only laughed at that. Why, Father, I love snakes.

Oberyn turned to look at her, a wry grin on his features, "The King is a queer lad, I've learned. Strange, but not in a bad way. I would wager he could teach you a lot, niece," he waggled his eyebrows, "and I would wager you could teach him just as much in turn."

Arianne furrowed her brow, whispering, "Is he not to be wed?" though that would not have stopped her if she truly desired him. Still, she could not deny that the thought appealed to her. I could be a Queen. The King, for all his youth, was not an unattractive man, though he lacked the rugged wildness that she usually went in for. And all the better if it would sow chaos amongst the lions.

Oberyn seemed to concur with her thoughts, "To a Tyrell, yes. But they are our ancient enemies, are they not?" He smirked, "Now be quiet, and pay attention."

Arianne, at the behest of her uncle, did precisely that. Disputes and petitions came to the attention of the court, and were all promptly and efficiently settled in that same swift manner. The King is a harsh taskmaster, Oberyn had told her, harsh but fair. It spoke highly of him that her Uncle refused to call him Usurper, and Arianne suspected his victory over the Mountain had sated his lust for vengeance somewhat.

When news of his victory arrived, impromptu celebrations had broken out all across Sunspear. The tale of the Valyrian Steel dagger that ended his life, and of it's origins, soon spread far and wide, and men told drunken tales of the blade that killed the Mountain to each other in inns and taverns. The attitude among the smallfolk towards the Iron Throne, whilst still broadly negative, improved significantly once details of the fight, and the meeting that preceded it, started to emerge. The Lannisters, on the other hand, remained much reviled across all of Dorne.

At least that monster admitted to his crimes before he died. We got that much justice, at least.

Court wound down to a close not long after, and all the King's attendants filed dejectedly out of the throne room, exhausted. Arianne followed her Uncle from the throne room through the winding halls and passages of the Keep to the terrace at which the King would meet them and spend the rest of the evening.

Arianne settled herself at a table, nursing a cup of wine that a serving-maid had deigned to pour. The Tyrells, alongside several Lannisters, joined not long after. Cakes and cheeses were carted out for their consumption as they awaited the arrival of the King.

The Queen appeared, polluting the air with her presence. The false smile behind which she hid her malice was so thin as to be almost transparent. She was a great beauty, to be sure, but her smiles were superficial and did not stretch to her eyes. Speaking with her was a game of trading hidden barbs and meaningless platitudes, and thankfully the Queen quickly grew bored with her and moved away from her table.

The Tyrell girl, Margaery, was a far more pleasant sort. Ever the pretty and delicate flower. I might well take her to my bed, Arianne thought. She could certainly benefit from the experience. She was a lively sort, and seemed amused when Arianne announced her intent to tease her betrothed.

Finally, the King arrived.

He had changed, and appeared refreshed. His demeanour, impassive and domineering in court, had flipped completely. He walked with a youthful spring in his step, offering smiles and greetings freely. He approached their table, secluded in a quiet corner of the terrace, and pulled out a chair, "I must apologise, Princess, for my brusqueness in court. I could tell it offended you and your cousins. I assure you, no insult was intended. It is merely an unfortunate necessity, I have found."

Arianne raised an eyebrow seductively, "Oh?"

The King nodded, seemingly completely oblivious to the suggestiveness of her tone, "Yes. There is much work to be done, now that the bulk of the fighting is over and done with. We may have won the war, but we have yet to win the peace, and that is a task that demands my total attention. I am wed to my duty, in this respect."

Arianne looked at the King, his apology ringing hollow to her ears. She flicked her hair back defiantly, and decided to test this new King, "That poxy bitch?" she snorted. "I know her. Dry as dust between the legs, and her kisses will leave you bleeding. You can let duty sleep for once, and stay with me tonight."

Margaery looked stunned by her audaciousness, though not as offended as Arianne had thought she would be. The delicate rose is less delicate than she looks, Arianne thought to herself, bemused. The King looked at her flatly, unimpressed with her blatant proposition, "What can I say?" he said jokingly. "I'm a masochist."

"I can play the bitch, if it excites you. My uncle tells me you are yet a maiden. No man should be a maiden before his wedding night. You need a woman, Your Grace, and I would please you well."

The King calmly sipped his drink. Water, not wine, she noted. A careful one, this King. He observed her skeptically, a touch surprised by her boldness, though he rebuffed her advances regardless with his tone, if not with his words, "I appreciate the offer, Princess. If ever I am in need of such... assistance, you will be the first to know."

She pointed to the table where Nymeria and Tyene were sat, talking with her Uncle, "And my cousins would as well. They are beautiful, wouldn't you say? More so than me, and I assure you they would be just as eager as I if you decided to take them abed. None of us have had a King, and we are all eager to try. We'd teach you how to please the Lady Margaery properly."

"Two Oberyns, with teats," the King laughed. "Now there's a thought."

"The Princess was just telling me about your sister, Your Grace," Margaery said, hurriedly changing the subject, blushing something fierce as she did so. "Apparently, she has taken well to Dorne."

The King kept his eyes on her, brow furrowed with suspicion, "So I have heard. Cella seems to have taken a liking to cyvasse. She wins consistently against Prince Trystane now, or so I am told, though some suspect that the Prince is letting her win as a way to gain her favour."

Arianne knew the King corresponded regularly with his sister, and that he likely had spies as well, but the depth of his knowledge was nonetheless surprising, "That she has, Your Grace. The Princess Myrcella sends her apologies, that she could not leave to attend your wedding."

"It is good that she is settling in," Margaery said. "I hear the Water Gardens are quite the sight to behold. I should like to visit, one day."

"You are more than welcome." Arianne looked around the terrace and gardens growing atop it, "Though I must say, it is quite pleasant here as well."

"Why are you here?" the King abruptly questioned. "Not that I mind, of course, but it seems strange for Doran to send his heir to the capital when his brother already represents Dornish interests on the Small Council."

"Because I will not be staying much longer," Oberyn cut in, approaching their table. "Ellaria longs to see her children, and I will admit that I do too. I have not seen my three youngest for too long. Loreza is only six, and I have not seen her for near a year. I wouldn't want her to forget her father's face. So, Arianne has come as my replacement."

Like the Boy King, she too sat dumbfounded at the news. Of course, if my father knew he would never have agreed to this. It is no wonder I wasn't told anything.

The King's eyes narrowed ever so slightly in suspicion, Arianne noted, as they observed Oberyn, "I hope I have not offended you."

Oberyn shook his head, "No, King Tommen, not at all. Quite the contrary. I am confident that Dornish interests will be protected, so much so that I no longer feel the need to personally ensure them."

The King's gaze turned on her, suspicious and scathing in equal measure, and then leapt back to her uncle, "And you are sure there's nothing I can do to convince you to stay, Oberyn? I do so value your counsel, and would loathe to lose it so soon."

"I'll stay till the wedding at least, King Tommen. And maybe the tourney I hear you plan to throw after it, but then I must return home."

The King gave a false smile that did not quite reach his eyes, "I see. And the two of your daughters will leave with you, will they?"

Oberyn laughed and shook his head, "They will go where they please, King Tommen. I have learned long ago that there is no telling them what to do."

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P.S. May be subject to a rewrite in the future