The next morning, the soft golden light of dawn spilled over the Dornish estate, bathing the garden in a warm, honeyed glow. Edric sat at a small wooden table beneath the shade of a sprawling citrus tree, its branches heavy with bright orange fruit. The air was fragrant with the mingling scents of lemons, oranges, and blooming jasmine, and a gentle breeze carried with it the soothing rustle of leaves.
Across from him sat Arianne, clad in flowing robes of pale green silk that shimmered faintly in the light. Her dark, unruly curls were loosely pinned, a few strands cascading around her face, catching the sunlight. Her movements were unhurried as she reached for a fig, slicing it delicately with a small silver knife. Her demeanor was composed, but her sharp eyes were watchful, studying him over the rim of her goblet as she took a sip of water.
Edric toyed with a piece of flatbread on his plate, spreading a thin layer of honey over it but not eating. He had hardly touched his meal, his appetite dulled by the weight of the thoughts that had plagued him through the night. The letter from his father sat folded in his pocket, a heavy reminder of the uncertain future awaiting them. He glanced up at Arianne, who appeared perfectly at ease, her gaze briefly flitting to the colorful garden before settling on him.
"You look as though you haven't slept," she said finally, her voice smooth but tinged with faint amusement. "Troubled dreams, or simply too much on your mind?"
Edric sighed and set the flatbread down. "Both," he admitted. "There's much to consider, and no clear answers to any of it. I hardly know where to begin."
"Bad news?" she probed, tilting her head slightly, the sun catching in her dark eyes.
"You could say that." He hesitated, glancing away again as his appetite vanished altogether. The image of Bran, lying still and pale, was seared into his mind.
Arianne set her goblet down with a soft clink, her posture shifting slightly forward, her curiosity now sharpened. "The way you brood, one might think someone has died."
"Not yet," Edric replied, his tone sharper than he intended. He saw her brow arch in response, but he didn't apologize. His emotions were too raw, too untempered by the politeness she might have expected.
"Not yet," she repeated, tasting the words like wine, rolling them across her tongue. "Interesting choice of words."
He exhaled slowly, setting the knife down and pressing his fingers against his temple. "Bran, my brother, fell. A bad fall. He's…" Edric's voice faltered, and he shook his head. "He's in a coma. They're not sure if he'll wake."
She studied him for a long moment, then leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the garden around them. "A tragedy, then. But you don't believe it was an accident."
Edric's eyes snapped to hers, sharp and accusing. "How do you—"
"I know that look," she interrupted smoothly, her tone calm and measured. "It's the same look my father gets when he's uncovered some hidden threat. You're not grieving, Stark; you're angry. That tells me you suspect foul play."
"I don't know, though," Edric admitted, his frustration evident. "But my father's letter... It's not just about the fall. It's what he didn't say, the way he phrased it. He suspects something, but he's too careful to commit those suspicions to paper."
Arianne's lips parted as if to speak, but she hesitated, watching him closely. After a moment, she leaned back, her gaze flicking to the horizon. "You Northmen," she said with a faint smile, though her tone lacked its usual playfulness. "Always seeing shadows in every corner."
"Sometimes the shadows are real," Edric said, his voice quiet but firm.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The garden seemed to hold its breath, the rustle of leaves and distant trill of birds the only sounds. Finally, Arianne reached for a date, biting into it delicately before speaking again.
The peaceful silence that followed was soon shattered by the entrance of Andrey Dalt and Tyene Sand. They walked into the garden with an easy confidence, their presence impossible to ignore. Arianne straightened in her seat, but her expression softened slightly at the sight of them—old companions, partners, and friends. Their arrival, however, brought a shift in the air. The once comfortable, intimate setting now felt charged with something else.
Andrey's smile was wide and knowing as he spotted Arianne, his eyes lingering on her with a touch of something between affection and amusement. He was the kind of man who carried an easy charm, an air of mischievousness, and it was clear he knew his place in Arianne's past.
Tyene, more reserved but just as captivating, looked around with a cool gaze before her eyes settled on Edric, lingering for a moment too long. She might not share Arianne's open, teasing warmth, but there was a palpable sense of intrigue in her glance, as if she were weighing him up—assessing.
"Well, well," Andrey said, taking a step closer and flashing a grin. "Arianne, we leave for a while, and look what happens. It seems the North has come to claim Dorne."
Tyene remained silent, her lips curling into a small, almost imperceptible smile. Her eyes flickered toward Edric, clearly aware of the dynamic shifting in the garden, though she remained as enigmatic as ever.
Tyene's voice, sweet and teasing, cut through the tense air in the room. She leaned slightly forward, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know Arianne, if your betrothed wasn't here," she said with a sly smile, "I might have asked for a kiss."
Her words hung in the air, lighthearted yet laced with a playful challenge. She was well aware of the power of her words, her tone hinting at something more than mere flirtation, and she watched Edric's reaction closely, as if testing the waters of his resolve.
Tyene's words hung in the air like a teasing challenge, her gaze unwavering as she locked eyes with Edric before slowly shifting to Arianne. Her lips curved into a sly smile, one that hinted at mischief and a history of flirtations.
Arianne's hand tightened slightly around her drink, but her face remained an unreadable mask, even as she glanced between Edric and Tyene. There was a moment of tension, but it was fleeting. Tyene had always had this way of pushing boundaries, speaking with the confidence of someone who had never feared what others thought.
Edric could sense the lightest tension in the air, a challenge, but also a strange familiarity. The words, though flirtatious, felt almost like a game. Whether it was playful or something deeper, only time would tell.
Arianne's response came quickly, her voice light but carrying a sharp undertone. "Tyene," she said with a soft chuckle, "If you're trying to make my betrothed jealous, you'll have to do better than that."
Tyene's eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and something else. The unspoken power dynamics between the three of them continued, palpable but subtle.
Tyene and Andrey exchanged a quick, mischievous glance before sitting at the table, their expressions smug as they settled in without hesitation.
Tyene's lips curled into a teasing smile as she stretched out lazily in her seat, her eyes flickering over to Edric with a playful glint. "We wouldn't dream of upsetting you, my lord," she said, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness. "But Arianne doesn't seem to mind our company."
Andrey leaned back, a casual smirk on his face as he studied Edric. His presence was more subdued, but there was an unspoken challenge in the air between them. He didn't need to speak much, letting Tyene's teasing do the talking for him.
Arianne, for her part, stayed composed, her gaze flickering between Edric and her two companions. There was a faint twinkle of amusement in her eyes, a sign that she wasn't bothered by the intrusion—perhaps she even enjoyed the dynamics of the interaction more than she let on.
"Do you have a problem with our company, my lord?" Tyene pressed, her tone still light but with a hint of challenge. She was pushing his buttons now, enjoying the reaction. But there was something about the way she spoke that was oddly respectful—almost as if she were testing the waters of the unspoken rules Edric and Arianne had set in their relationship.
The tension was palpable, but it felt like a game of wits rather than an outright conflict.
"Don't mind Tyene, she likes to tease. I'm sure you've grown used to her by now," Andrey added, his tone more neutral, though there was something in his smile that suggested he knew exactly how uncomfortable Edric must feel in that moment.
Arianne didn't respond immediately, but her eyes flickered toward Edric again, almost as if she were waiting for him to react. Whether he spoke up or not, her body language suggested she had already made peace with the situation, her attention drifting back to her food.
The subtle dynamics of the group—Arianne's comfort with her past, Andrey and Tyene's knowing smiles, and Edric's own discomfort—hung heavily in the air. Despite the smile Edric forced, the mask he wore couldn't hide the discomfort gnawing at him from within.
Andrey and Tyene took their places on either side of Arianne, closing the circle around Edric. Their mere presence added a subtle layer of tension to the air, though it was clear they were more interested in maintaining the playful atmosphere than truly making a stand.
As they settled, Arianne glanced between Edric and her two childhood friends, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. The teasing lingered in her gaze, but there was a certain edge of amusement as she watched him navigate the unexpected situation.
Tyene, leaning back in her chair, eyed Edric with a glint of curiosity. "You know," she said softly, almost in a whisper, "Arianne always liked her partners to be a bit... more hands-on." She tilted her head, letting the words hang in the air for a beat longer than necessary, daring him to react.
Andrey, more focused on the food than the banter, looked to Arianne with a lighthearted smile. "I assume you're still the best at choosing your company, Arianne. We won't argue with that."
Edric's gaze flickered toward Tyene, his expression hardening just slightly, though he did his best to mask the discomfort that stirred within him. He couldn't afford to let her words get under his skin.
His voice, though steady, carried a hint of cool detachment. "I'm sure Arianne's choices are her own to make," he said, his tone flat. "But I don't believe it's necessary for anyone to compare themselves to her preferences. If you're hoping for a response, you'll have to try harder, Tyene."
His eyes shifted briefly toward Andrey, then back to Tyene, maintaining a composure that he had long since perfected when dealing with the Martells' subtleties. He wasn't interested in playing her games, especially not in front of Arianne.
Arianne raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a slight smile as she noticed the jab. She glanced at Andrey and Tyene, who both seemed unfazed by his comment.
Tyene tilted her head, her lips curving into a mischievous smile as she glanced at Edric from the corner of her eye. "You wound us, my lord," she teased, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. "But, you're right. We may not be as complicated as your strategic mind, but we do manage to enjoy life's little pleasures."
Andrey, still munching on fruit, shrugged with an air of indifference, offering a half-hearted smile.
"Dull or not, we're still here, aren't we?" he said with a smirk. "Better company than some, I'd argue."
Arianne's eyes flickered between him and her friends, clearly enjoying the banter, though her expression remained guarded. There was an unspoken tension, but she wasn't about to let it derail the moment.
"Let's not make this too uncomfortable. We've got far more pressing matters to discuss, after all," she said, her words hanging in the air, suggesting that beneath the banter, she was keen to steer the conversation toward more serious topics—something that perhaps only the Northerner could engage with fully.
Tyene placed her hand over Arianne's shoulder, her fingers softly running along her neck, playfully massaging it.
Arianne's breath hitched slightly at the unexpected touch, but she remained composed, her gaze flicking to Tyene, who seemed to enjoy the moment a bit too much. The playful, intimate gesture was clearly not lost on her, and a wry smile tugged at the corner of Arianne's lips.
"Tyene, always so touchy, aren't we?" Arianne's voice was smooth but carried a hint of irritation.
Tyene leaned in a bit closer, her fingers continuing their soft motions on Arianne's neck. Her tone was light, teasing, almost provocative.
"Just keeping you relaxed, my dear. You're always so tense, and we can't have that, can we?"
There was a certain electricity in the air as Tyene's touch lingered. Though Arianne remained outwardly calm, there was a subtle shift in her expression—she was used to these interactions, but the tension between the two women was palpable.
Andrey, sensing the shift in mood, glanced between Arianne and her betrothed before offering a casual, almost indifferent chuckle, as if this sort of thing happened often.
"You two do know how to make things interesting around here." His eyes held a certain curiosity as he observed the interaction, but he didn't seem particularly bothered.
Arianne sighed, but there was a flicker of something deeper in her eyes, something complex, before she finally addressed the situation with an edge in her voice.
"You know, if you're going to keep trying to rile me up, you'll need to do better than that, Tyene."
Her words were teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more. Arianne wasn't easily shaken, but she was no stranger to the game Tyene was playing.
Edric remained silent, his eyes fixed on the small remnants of his untouched breakfast. The interplay between Arianne, Tyene, and Andrey was as intricate as the patterns woven into the silken robes of Dorne. He felt like an outsider, a Northerner thrust into a world where subtle games and veiled provocations were the order of the day. But before the tension could stretch further, Edric finally spoke, his voice cutting through the charged atmosphere.
"Is this what passes for camaraderie in Dorne? Teasing, jabs, and... whatever this is?" He gestured lightly toward Tyene's hand on Arianne's shoulder, his tone carrying equal parts exasperation and curiosity.
Tyene's lips curved into a sly smile, her fingers still trailing lightly over Arianne's shoulder.
"Camaraderie, my lord? Oh no, this is affection. You Northerners wouldn't understand." Her tone was honeyed and deliberately provocative, but her gaze held a glint of challenge.
Edric leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, his expression measured.
"Perhaps. But in the North, affection doesn't usually look like someone trying to provoke a fight."
Arianne's laughter broke through the tension, low and melodious, though there was an edge to it.
Tyene smirked, clearly unbothered. "A sharp tongue, my lord. I see you've not entirely forsaken the ways of the North." Her fingers retreated from Arianne's neck, though her expression remained one of amusement, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Edric didn't rise to the bait, instead turning his attention to Andrey. "And you," he continued, his tone measured, "you speak as though your charm excuses your presence. But I wonder—when was the last time charm won a battle or solved a problem that didn't involve a goblet of wine?"
Andrey's grin faltered just slightly, his composure slipping for a moment before he regained it.
"Well," he said, his voice light, "charm can win over hearts, and hearts rule minds. Isn't that right, Arianne?"
Arianne, caught between her betrothed and her childhood friends, let out a soft laugh, her fingers tracing the rim of her goblet.
"Oh, Edric," she said, her voice laced with amusement, "I'd forgotten how dour the North can be." Her gaze flicked to Andrey and Tyene, a playful smirk on her lips. "But perhaps that's what makes him so... refreshing."
The tension in the air lingered, but it was no longer sharp. Edric's calm assertion had shifted the balance, and for a moment, the garden felt more like a battlefield of wits than a place of leisure. Arianne's eyes met his, and there was a flicker of something—respect, perhaps, or maybe a challenge of her own.
Edric picked up his flatbread, taking a deliberate bite, as if to signal his satisfaction with the exchange. "Dour or not," he said after a moment, his voice low but steady, "I prefer honesty to pretense. If that makes me dull, so be it."
His words cut through the moment, firm but not unkind. "Tyene, perhaps you should leave Arianne's neck to rest. It's the only part of her that's spared the weight of crowns and daggers."
His words, laced with quiet humor, drew a faint smirk from Andrey and a laugh from Tyene, whose hand stilled on Arianne's shoulder.
Andrey leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he studied Edric with mild amusement. "I do admit, Tyene's games do keep things lively. A quiet garden is no place for silence, don't you think?"
"Quiet isn't the same as peace, Ser Andrey. But if you're seeking amusement, I'm sure Tyene can oblige with less intrusive methods."
Tyene laughed softly, her eyes glittering as she withdrew her hand from Arianne's shoulder.
Arianne looked at Edric with a slight, knowing smile, her eyes softening as she spoke. "You'll have to get more accustomed to Tyene's presence, Edric. She'll be accompanying us to King's Landing, after all." Her tone was light, but there was a subtle, almost teasing undertone, as if to say that his discomfort was only the beginning of what lay ahead.
She paused for a moment, letting her words settle, before adding with a small chuckle, "You may find her company... less easy to avoid than you think."
Edric's lips tightened slightly at Arianne's words, a flicker of frustration passing through his expression before he forced a neutral smile. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting to Tyene for a moment before returning to Arianne.
"Less easy to avoid, you say?" He raised an eyebrow, his tone tinged with a hint of dry amusement. "I suppose I'll have to adjust to it. But if I'm to tolerate your friends' games, I'll at least expect them to be... interesting," he added, his voice slipping into something more sardonic.
"If she's to be with us in King's Landing, I suppose I'll just have to learn to navigate the... game she plays." There was a brief pause as Edric leaned back slightly, his eyes flicking between the two women. "But I trust you'll keep me from losing my way entirely."
Arianne smirked, the corner of her mouth quirking upward as she leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. "Oh, Edric, you give me far too much credit," she teased, her tone laced with amusement. "Besides, she's hardly the type to let anyone lose their way. If anything, she ensures they wander exactly where she wants them to."
Her voice dropped slightly, teasing but with an edge of sincerity. "And don't worry, Edric. If she plays too rough, I'll make sure she knows where the line is. Though, between us, I suspect you might enjoy the challenge."
Andrey leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms with a skeptical look. "Challenge? More like torment," he muttered, though his tone was more amused than annoyed. "Tyene's games are like trying to outwit a viper while it's coiled around your neck. Good luck with that, Edric. Better men have tried and failed."
He shot Tyene a playful glare. "And don't you dare deny it. I've seen you in action."
Tyene, sitting with an air of feigned innocence, tilted her head and placed a delicate hand over her chest. "Torment? Me?" she said, her blue eyes widening in mock surprise. "I'm offended, Andrey. I simply encourage people to show their true selves. If that feels like torment, well… perhaps they have something to hide."
Her lips curled into a sweet, dangerous smile as she turned her gaze to Edric. "But don't worry, cousin. I'll be on my very best behavior for the journey. After all, the road to King's Landing is long, and I wouldn't want anyone feeling… uncomfortable."
Her voice dropped into a honeyed tone, dripping with mischief. "Though if you're ever in need of company, my Lord, you know where to find me."
Edric shifted uneasily in his seat at Tyene's teasing. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "I appreciate your… offer, Tyene," he said carefully, avoiding her gaze. "But I think I'll be just fine focusing on the road and the journey ahead. You know, keeping my wits about me."
Edric sat at the table, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his napkin. The laughter and banter swirling around him felt distant, like they were coming from another world altogether. He had never been one to navigate such dynamics easily—especially not when they stirred unease in him. Tyene's teasing, Arianne's unbothered composure, and Andrey's laid-back arrogance made his stomach churn, each word like another weight pressing on him.
Edric was grateful for the distraction of the morning's meal—something to focus on, even if only for a moment. But it wasn't enough. The letter from his father sat heavy in his pocket, its contents about Bran's fall and the uncertainty of his survival gnawing at him.
"I—" Edric's voice faltered, and he glanced around, trying to collect his thoughts. "I should attend to some matters back at the estate." He gave a strained smile. "With the journey to King's Landing fast approaching, there are preparations that can't be delayed."
Arianne's gaze flickered toward him, her expression unreadable. She had been calm throughout the entire conversation, her sharp eyes assessing every nuance of his discomfort. Perhaps she found it amusing—his awkwardness, his unease—but she said nothing. She simply nodded.
"Very well, Edric," Arianne replied, her tone smooth but edged with a hint of something—was it annoyance? Or perhaps just a reminder that she could handle her companions with ease, while Edric struggled to keep up with the game? "Don't let us keep you from your work."
Tyene's eyes flickered with mischief, but she remained silent, her lips curling into a sly smile that almost seemed to dare Edric to stay.
Edric forced a small, strained smile. "I'll leave you to your… conversation. I trust you'll find your way to more pleasant topics."
The garden seemed to expand before him as he walked briskly, each step taking him farther from the weight of the conversation. He barely registered the scent of the citrus trees or the soft rustling of leaves as he made his way to the stone steps leading into the house.
His mind was elsewhere, back in Winterfell. His thoughts were clouded with Bran's image—the pale, lifeless body he had been told about—and the subtle unease of his father's letter, which had stirred so much doubt and suspicion in him. The walls of the Dornish estate felt like they were closing in around him, the laughter and lightness of his companions mocking the chaos in his mind.
A few hours later, Edric found himself standing in Doran Martell's heavy scent of parchment and ink hung in the air as Edric Stark stood before Doran Martell's large oak desk. The study was dimly lit, with the only light coming from a small brazier in the corner and a few scattered candles on shelves that lined the walls. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of papers beneath Doran's hand as he wrote, seemingly unaffected by the tension between them.
Edric, however, felt every second of the silence pressing in on him. He stood rigid, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, maintaining an air of cold detachment. He had always found it difficult to warm to Doran, despite the man's position and wisdom. There was something about Doran's calculating, almost passive demeanor that grated on Edric's nerves.
Doran, however, had never been one to easily succumb to the pressure of silence. He leaned back in his chair, his sharp, dark eyes never leaving Edric as he set his quill down. His voice was calm, measured, as always.
"Edric, you are too young to be so hard," Doran said quietly, his voice rich with experience. "The world is not as simple as you think it is, nor are people as easily categorized as you wish them to be. You cannot live as if every action of those around you is an affront to you."
Edric's jaw tightened, and he stepped forward, clearly unsettled by Doran's words. "I don't need you to lecture me about the world, Doran," he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. "I am not a child, and I don't need your guidance."
Doran's lips curled into a small, knowing smile, though his eyes held an undercurrent of something darker, something more serious. "No, you are not a child. But you do need guidance."
Edric clenched his fists, trying to contain the frustration that simmered within him. He could feel the heat of anger rising, but he was determined not to let Doran see him lose control.
"You still don't get it, do you?" Edric muttered, his voice lowering. "I don't trust you. I don't trust your games, your alliances. The way you've maneuvered everything to your advantage. How many times must I watch you choose the path of manipulation over sincerity?"
Doran's lips twitched, though it was not a smile—more like a slight amusement, a knowing acceptance of Edric's words. "You never have been one for playing the game, have you?" he mused, his voice tinged with quiet respect. "Perhaps that is why you struggle with my approach. But I ask you, Edric, what would you have me do? The world we live in is not as simple as the books you bury yourself in. It is a place of subtlety, of patience, of moving when the time is right."
Edric's brow furrowed, the words stinging more than he cared to admit. But he refused to let his emotions dictate his response. "And what of the lives caught in your 'subtlety,' Doran? What of the people who will suffer because of your decisions? I don't care for your games."
Doran's gaze remained steady, though the briefest flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression. "Suffering is inevitable, Edric. No matter the course we take, some will fall, others will rise. That is the reality of power. But if you are to lead—if you are to be a part of what comes next—you must understand that sacrifices are not always as clear-cut as you might wish them to be. You must be willing to bear the weight, even when the path ahead is uncertain."
The words struck home, even though Edric refused to let it show. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to rise from his chair and leave the room. But instead, he stayed, his voice cold but firm. "I will never be like you, Doran. I will never accept your ways. And I will never bow to a crown built on lies."
Doran's eyes narrowed slightly, the calm exterior slipping just for a moment. "Then what would you have me do, Edric? Tell me—how do you propose we move forward?" He leaned back in his chair, the weight of his position evident, the tone of his voice shifting slightly, as if he were giving Edric the space to form an answer.