The next few days passed with little fanfare as the entourage continued their steady march toward the Rose Road. The terrain grew more vibrant, the Reach showing off its splendor with endless fields of golden wheat, vibrant flowers, and ancient oaks that lined the horizon. The roads were well-kept, and the occasional traveler or farmer offered polite nods or wary stares at the Dornish procession.
Edric found his interactions with Arianne limited to short moments—shared glances that neither lingered too long nor carried any discernible meaning. She remained mostly in her carriage during the day, veiled and distant, her presence almost spectral amidst the clamor of travel. Each glance was a wordless exchange—questions, doubts, perhaps even understanding—but neither of them acted on it. They were trapped in a strange limbo, where their connection was undeniable but undefined.
Daemon Sand remained a thorn in Edric's side, though their interactions were limited. The Dornish knight's smugness seemed to follow Edric like a shadow, a constant reminder of the lingering animosity between them. Tyene Sand's occasional comments, playful and sharp, added another layer of intrigue, though Edric largely ignored her attempts to draw him into her games.
Torrhen Karstark, the stoic sentinel, became an unexpected source of solace for Edric. Their late-night talks were sparse but meaningful, the Northerner's blunt perspective grounding in its own way. They spoke of Winterfell, of the cold, and occasionally, Torrhen would offer his unvarnished observations of the people around them.
"The Sands don't like you much," he remarked one evening, his voice as neutral as his expression.
"They don't have to," Edric had replied, his tone resigned.
Still, the nights offered little relief from the weight Edric felt. He remained watchful, his mind turning over countless thoughts about what lay ahead, about Arianne, about Doran's machinations. The road to King's Landing seemed to stretch endlessly before them, each day blending into the next.
The journey itself remained uneventful, a rare blessing given the dangers that often plagued such travels. A few minor delays—broken wheels, stubborn horses, and a brief encounter with an overzealous local lord—were handled without much trouble. It was clear that the sight of Prince Oberyn's banner discouraged most from interfering with their progress.
The monotony of the road was broken only by the small gestures and glances. Edric often found himself looking toward Arianne's carriage without meaning to, catching sight of her through the parted veil as she observed him in return. There was no malice in her gaze, but neither was there warmth. It was unreadable, enigmatic, and entirely her.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the Rose Road, the camp had settled into a rhythm. Days were for riding, and nights were for quiet reflections, shared meals, and the occasional flicker of tension between those traveling together. Edric found himself more than ready to see the end of this journey, though he doubted King's Landing would offer much reprieve.
The camp was quiet after dinner, the sky darkened to a deep indigo, with stars scattered like diamonds across a velvet tapestry. Edric walked back to his tent, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders. The steady rhythm of camp life continued around him—guards patrolling, the occasional neigh of a horse, and the muted chatter of those lingering around fires.
He ducked into his tent, expecting solitude. Instead, his breath caught. There, sprawled across his bed with an air of practiced ease, was Arianne Martell. Her long hair spilled over the blankets, and her gown—loose and faintly translucent in the dim lamplight—clung to her in all the places it shouldn't. She propped herself up lazily on one elbow, her lips curved in a faint, amused smile as she looked up at him.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice sharper than intended as he closed the tent flap behind him.
Her smile widened, unabashed. "Very much so, yes." She stretched like a cat, the movement deliberate, her olive-toned skin glowing faintly in the light. "It seems my tent decided to betray me tonight. It collapsed in the wind, and since my bed is currently under a pile of canvas and poles…" She gestured vaguely around. "Here I am."
Edric pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. "And it didn't occur to you to use one of the spare tents? Or to bother anyone else?"
"Oh, it occurred to me," she said airily, propping herself up on one elbow. "But then I thought—why should I? Your tent is conveniently close, and you, dear Edric, are always so accommodating."
"Am I?" he muttered, his exasperation barely concealed as he crossed his arms.
She tilted her head, studying him with those large, expressive eyes that always seemed to see too much. "You're not about to throw me out, are you? After all, where would I go?"
Edric sighed, leaning back against one of the tent's supports, arms crossed. "How long?"
She raised an eyebrow. "How long will my new tent take? An hour, perhaps. Maybe two."
Her gaze swept over him, her amusement deepening. "You do look rather flustered."
"I'm not flustered," he muttered, stepping fully into the tent. He crossed his arms, standing stiffly as he regarded her. "You can't just... take over my bed."
"Oh, but I can." She stretched out languidly, the gesture deliberate. "I must admit, it's quite comfortable. You Northmen know how to indulge yourselves in the little things, don't you?"
He stared at her, exasperated. "Fine. But stay on your side of the bed."
Arianne smiled, but she made no move to shift from her position. "Of course, my lord. You'll find me the very picture of decorum."
Edric didn't believe her for a second. He gave her a pointed look before making his way to the chair by the desk, carefully lowering himself into it without a second thought. He kept his posture stiff, back straight, hands folded in his lap, deliberately avoiding the bed altogether. The temptation to be near her, to fall into the odd dynamic that had been quietly brewing between them, was there, but he refused to give in.
"So, this is how it's going to be?" she asked, her tone teasing, but there was something deeper beneath the surface—an edge, perhaps curiosity. "You're going to sit in the chair like a stoic northerner and pretend I'm not here?"
Edric's jaw tightened, but he held his ground. "I'm not pretending anything." His voice was even, betraying none of the frustration building beneath his calm facade. "You're free to stay until your new tent arrives."
Arianne laughed softly, her laughter like silk unraveling in the air. "Austerity suits you, Edric," she remarked, her voice soft but laced with an undeniable teasing quality. "Always so formal, so precise. You don't even allow yourself the comfort of your own bed when it's offered."
Edric settled into the chair, leaning back slightly but keeping his gaze firmly on her. "I'm not a man who needs comfort. Not the way you do."
Arianne stretched lazily on the bed, her voice playful but carrying a hint of something deeper. "Is that your way of saying you don't trust me? Or perhaps you simply can't afford to let go of your control, even for a moment."
He scoffed, the edge of annoyance creeping into his tone. "Control is the only thing I have in this world. And I'd rather keep it than give in to whatever game you're playing."
Arianne's smile faltered just slightly, her eyes studying him more closely now. "And what if I told you I'm not playing? What if I just... wanted to share the moment with you? Even if only for a few hours, before the world comes rushing back?"
He didn't answer immediately, his gaze flickering toward the bed before settling back on her. "You always want something, Arianne. You just never stop."
She didn't look away, her expression unreadable now. "Maybe I just want to see if you'll let me in, even for a moment." She tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching his, as if testing the waters of his reaction. "You never know, Edric. Sometimes, a little trust can go a long way."
Edric stared at her for a long moment, his usual guard up, but something in her words softened the harsh lines of his expression. He was silent, considering her, before he finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual.
"You always seem to want something from me, Arianne," he said, his tone tinged with weariness. "And I... I'm not sure if I'm willing to give it, whatever it is." He met her eyes, and for once, it wasn't the cold mask he wore, but something more real. "I don't trust easily. You know that."
Arianne was quiet for a moment, perhaps giving him space to process, and when she finally spoke again, her tone was gentle. "I understand, Edric. But sometimes... trust isn't about the grand gestures. It's just the little things, the small moments when you let someone in without thinking of what they might want in return."
There was a long pause. Edric stayed still for a few seconds, almost as if weighing the choice. The cold walls of detachment that had always been there began to crack, just slightly, and with a soft sigh, he stood from the chair. The tension in his body shifted, and with slow, deliberate movements, he sat on the edge of the bed, but not too close to her. The bed creaked slightly as he sat at the edge, careful not to let the space between them feel too small.
"I'm not good at this," he muttered, glancing down at his hands for a moment. "I never was. It's easier to keep my distance, to keep my thoughts to myself." He looked at her again, this time with a little less resistance in his gaze. "But you... you make it hard not to let my guard slip."
The silence between them grew, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that carried understanding, unspoken but felt deeply. Slowly, Edric relaxed a little, his rigid shoulders dropping just a fraction. The tension that had always clung to him when he was near her had eased—at least for now. He didn't know how long it would last, but for the first time in a long while, he was willing to give it a chance.
Edric stared at the floor for a moment, his hands resting on his knees. The quiet between them lingered, but it no longer felt like a chasm. He glanced at Arianne, catching the faint shimmer of amusement in her eyes as she reclined languidly on the bed.
"You've always been good at this," he said at last, his voice steady but quieter than usual.
Arianne raised an eyebrow. "Good at what?"
He gestured vaguely toward her, his expression unreadable. "This. Being at ease, like nothing ever truly weighs you down. Even when I know it does." His tone carried a hint of curiosity, perhaps even admiration, though he masked it well.
Arianne tilted her head, studying him. "Is that what you think? That I'm carefree? That nothing touches me?"
"I didn't say that." Edric shifted, leaning slightly forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I said you're good at seeming that way. There's a difference." His sharp gaze met hers, and for a moment, the intensity in his eyes was disarming.
Arianne smirked faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "And you? You're the opposite. You carry everything on your shoulders, whether it's yours to bear or not."
Edric gave a dry chuckle, leaning back slightly. "Maybe. But someone has to."
"You think it always has to be you?" she asked, her tone soft but probing.
He shrugged, glancing away. "When I look around, it doesn't seem like anyone else is willing to."
They talked as the night stretched on, their words weaving a web of understanding. The sharp edges of past arguments dulled, replaced by an unexpected ease. There was no grand revelation, no sudden shift, just the quiet cadence of two voices filling the stillness.
Eventually, the conversation ebbed, leaving only a lingering sense of something unspoken, yet understood. Arianne, reclining against the pillows, allowed her eyelids to flutter shut, her breathing evening out as exhaustion claimed her. Edric, seated at the edge of the bed, wrestled silently with the boundaries he had drawn for himself.
It wasn't right—he knew that much. She shouldn't have stayed, shouldn't have settled into his space, her presence a quiet defiance of the ideals he clung to. But when his gaze fell on her resting form, the soft rise and fall of her breath, he found his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his own weariness.
Edric hadn't intended to stay on the bed, and Arianne, in truth, should never have remained in his tent. Yet, against the unyielding dictates of his ideals, against what was expected of them both, they had wound up there together.
It wasn't about comfort or closeness; it was something quieter, unspoken. Perhaps it was understanding, tentative and fragile, taking root where neither had expected it to grow.
Without a word, he leaned back against the headboard, careful not to disturb her, and closed his eyes. What should not have been became what was, and in the silence of that shared space, for once, he let it be.
The morning light filtered into the tent in soft golden streams, marking the slow arrival of dawn. Edric stirred first, a vague awareness of warmth pressing against his side, his thoughts sluggish and disoriented. His body felt pinned, not unpleasantly so, but undeniably unfamiliar. As his mind cleared, the realization struck—Arianne's body was curled against his, her arm draped over him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder.
His breath hitched, his heart leaping into his throat. He turned his head slightly, only to see the tousled cascade of her black hair spilling over his chest, her face peaceful in the dim light. For a moment, he froze, unsure whether to move or remain as he was. For a moment, he froze, every instinct screaming at him to disentangle himself immediately. For a moment, he froze, every instinct screaming at him to disentangle himself immediately.
The sound of a throat clearing sharply broke through the tentative stillness.
His head shot up, eyes wide and startled, to see Tyene Sand standing at the foot of the bed. Her hands were on her hips, her blonde curls shimmering in the light, and her smirk was as wicked as it was amused.
"Well," Tyene drawled, her tone laced with mockery, "isn't this a cozy little arrangement? Should I start singing the Dornishman's Wife, or would that be too forward?"
Arianne stirred at the sound of her cousin's voice, her brow furrowing slightly before her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at Edric first, then shifted her gaze to Tyene, taking in the scene before groaning softly and burying her face against Edric's shoulder in exasperation.
"Good morning," Tyene added cheerfully, her smirk growing impossibly wider. "I take it this isn't how the night started?"
"Should I call for breakfast to be brought here?" Tyene continued, her tone sweet and dripping with mockery. "Or shall I leave you two lovebirds to... continue whatever this is?"
Edric's cheeks flushed a deep crimson as his body stiffened. Desperately, he tried to shift without waking Arianne, but her hold on him was annoyingly secure. Her hair, dark and fragrant, spilled over his arm, and her even breathing suggested she didn't care about the position we were in.
Edric without a moments of hesitation "How the fuck is the Dornishman's Wife even relevant in this situation?" he asked, sitting up abruptly, pushing Arianne's arm off him as if he couldn't get away from the tangled mess fast enough.
Tyene's smirk only deepened, her eyes dancing with amusement as she watched him scramble to collect himself.
"Well," she began, her voice thick with playful sarcasm, "you're both tangled up in this cozy little nest, and that song seems fitting, don't you think? Though," she added, eyeing him slyly, "maybe you're more of a Dornishman than you care to admit."
Arianne, still tangled in the sheets, narrowed her eyes at Edric, her expression somewhere between playful and annoyed. She lifted herself onto one elbow, her gaze focused on him as she mock-glared.
"Really?" she said, her voice dripping with a mix of amusement and feigned offense. "You had to shove me off like that?"
"You could've been more gentle," she said, her voice laced with mock indignation. "I wasn't that bad, was I?"
Edric, still visibly shaken by the situation, straightened himself out on the edge of the bed, his voice tinged with an edge of discomfort. "Propriety," he began, his tone laced with a mixture of frustration and defensiveness, "is the only reason I shoved you off. You know as well as I do that this isn't—" he paused, visibly struggling with the words, "—appropriate."
"You know," she began, her voice teasing but with an edge of sincerity, "I did say something about your austerity yesterday, didn't I?"
Her gaze flickered to where he sat, so rigid and controlled, and she allowed a small smirk to play at the corners of her lips. "Seems like you're determined to prove me right."
Arianne's soft laugh cut through the tension in the air, a light, almost teasing sound. She shifted leaning back slightly, her posture unbothered, as if the situation itself was just another challenge to be navigated. "But, I suppose I've come to expect it from you."
Edric's gaze flicked back to Tyene, his irritation sharpening as he met her smirk. He stood up straighter, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "Is there a reason you're still here, Tyene?" he asked, the edge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "I fail to see how your presence is relevant to anything going on at the moment."
Tyene smirked, leaning against one of the tent poles as if she were savoring the moment. "You misunderstand me, Edric. I'm merely observing—it's fascinating to watch the self-appointed moralist in such a position."
Edric's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing further as he took a step toward Tyene. "A position? Is that what you call it?" he retorted, his voice cold. "Or is it merely the consequence of your incessant need to make everything into a spectacle?"
A humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he shook his head, the absurdity of it all starting to settle in. Despite the tension, he couldn't help but feel a slight amusement at how twisted this whole scenario had become. Of all the things he'd endured, this—this—was perhaps the most irritatingly trivial. Yet there was something oddly satisfying in how absurdly predictable it had all turned out.
"I suppose I should thank you for the education, Tyene," he said, his tone lightening just slightly, "but really, if you don't mind, some of us do have more pressing matters to attend to than whatever it is you're hoping to see unfold." He turned away, allowing his gaze to rest on Arianne for just a moment, his eyes softening, though he quickly masked it with his usual impassiveness. "And I'd prefer to not have an audience when dealing with my... austerity," he added, his voice a little more dry than usual, but with a faint, almost imperceptible wisp of humor beneath it.
Tyene's smirk lingered for a moment longer as she took in Edric's expression, clearly enjoying the tension. With a dramatic, exaggerated sigh, she pushed herself off the doorframe, straightening up.
"Very well, Edric," she said with a mock curtsy. "I suppose your... austerity is not to be interrupted." She cast one final glance at Arianne, a gleam of amusement in her eyes, before turning towards the door.
"Don't mind me," she added over her shoulder, her voice light and teasing. "I'll leave you both to your... complicated affairs."
With that, Tyene stepped out of the tent, leaving the two of them behind, her laughter faint but still echoing in the distance.
Edric couldn't help the frustration that slipped into his voice, though there was a wry edge to it. "I swear, Arianne, I hate you for bringing Tyene as your handmaiden," he muttered, shaking his head.
Arianne raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the bed with an amused smile curling on her lips. "Oh? You're blaming me for her?" She crossed her arms, giving him a knowing look. "I thought it was only my company you couldn't stand, Edric."
Edric gave a resigned sigh and muttered, "Well, I did sleep with you last night, and I can stand you—just about." He couldn't help the dry tone that slipped into his words.
Arianne echoed him with a playful smirk, her voice laced with teasing. "Yes, you did sleep with me, Edric."
Edric froze, he blinked, momentarily stunned, as he quickly tried to backpedal. "I— that's not what I meant—"
Smirking, Arianne slowly pushed herself off the bed, the motion deliberate, almost tantalizing in its ease. The soft rustle of her gown echoed in the quiet tent as she rose to her feet. The fabric shimmered in the sunlight, a pale, almost translucent layer that clung to her curves. Her movements were fluid, measured, as she approached the table where her cloak was neatly folded.
She reached for it, the delicate fabric falling smoothly over her hand as she draped it over her shoulders, her back still turned to Edric. She could feel his eyes on her, the tension palpable in the room. Arianne didn't rush, savoring the moment, knowing full well the effect she had on him.
Arianne turned, her cloak now draped over her shoulders, a faint smile playing on her lips as she caught Edric's eye. Her voice was smooth, tinged with amusement, as she spoke.
"Well then, I suppose I'll take my leave, Edric," she said, the words dripping with a teasing lightness. "It seems you're in need of some peace after all."
She stepped toward the tent flap, still watching him with that knowing, almost playful glint in her eye.
"After all," she added, her smile widening just a little, "it seems I've already been more than enough of a... disturbance."
Edric leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as he looked at her with a raised brow. His tone was dry, laced with a touch of sarcasm as he responded, "Disturbance would be an understatement, Arianne."
As Arianne slipped out of the tent, Edric stood there for a moment, his thoughts lingering on the strange, unexpected conversation that had just transpired. He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside as he went about preparing for the day's journey. He buttoned up his tunic with practiced ease, his hands moving automatically as he organized his things. He was used to the routine, to the steady rhythm of travel. With one last glance at his tent, Edric stepped out into the morning light, the cool air hitting his face. It was time to focus, to return to the role he had to play. The next leg of their journey awaited, and no matter how distracting things might become, there was work to be done.
The next few days felt like a blur. The once expansive road stretched out before them, now narrowed with the passing of time, as they entered the rolling hills closer to King's Landing. Each day seemed to pass in a rush, with the landscape shifting from the wide expanses of the Reach to the more cultivated terrains of the capital's outskirts.
The conversations between Edric and Arianne were frequent, though often subdued, a far cry from the tension that had marked their earlier exchanges. They would walk side by side during the day, the sound of hooves and wheels crunching through the dirt underfoot, with the soft breeze cutting through the air. There were moments when Edric would catch her gaze from the corner of his eye, and their words would seem to fall into easy silence, an unspoken understanding lingering between them—something that was never quite fully said, yet felt.
The shared walks became something more than routine. They were opportunities for quiet reflection, fleeting moments where Edric allowed himself to relax just a bit, allowing the tension from their past encounters to fade into the background. Arianne, for her part, seemed more pensive, less playful than usual. But there was still that same underlying sharpness to her words, the same teasing edge that she couldn't quite bury.
One evening, as they neared a small village for their stop, Arianne pulled ahead a little, walking with purpose. Edric, walking alongside Torrhen, exchanged a glance with the Karstark man, and then let his gaze wander back to the sight of Arianne walking away. He had thought about her words from the last few days—about what she had said, about how she seemed to be more reflective, less intent on pushing him away.
"Do you ever think she'll stop pushing?" Torrhen's voice cut through Edric's thoughts, his face a bit more serious than usual.
Edric didn't immediately respond. He didn't have an answer for Torrhen, and even if he did, he wasn't sure how much he wanted to reveal. "Maybe," he said after a moment, his eyes following Arianne as she spoke to one of the riders ahead. "Maybe she'll just learn to stop pushing at the right times."
Torrhen gave a slow nod, his gaze shifting ahead. "She's like a storm. Comes with a lot of noise, and then... dissipates."
"Sounds about right," Edric murmured, then added with a dry smile, "But the aftermath can be just as troublesome."
The two continued their ride in silence for a while, Edric lost in thought. With every passing day, they drew closer to King's Landing, but there was still something in the air between him and Arianne that felt unresolved—like the calm before a storm, or perhaps the quiet after one.
The days passed quickly as they continued their journey, the rhythm of travel ingrained in every movement, the monotony of long rides only interrupted by the occasional brief exchange between Edric and Arianne. The landscape had changed, becoming more crowded as they neared King's Landing, and the roads were busier with merchants, travelers, and soldiers. The air felt heavier, the weight of the city drawing nearer with each passing day.
Arianne, despite her usual composure, seemed almost restless. Edric noticed the way she would sometimes stare off into the horizon, her thoughts veiled, and he wondered what it was about King's Landing that made her so introspective. In their conversations, she would often say little about the capital, but her silence spoke volumes—there were things she didn't want to share, and Edric couldn't help but wonder if it was the city, or perhaps something deeper, that troubled her.
For Edric, the days were a quiet mix of contemplation and irritation. The proximity to King's Landing made him uneasy, unsure of how he would be received once they entered the city. His reputation as a Stark in Dorne was still an open question, and the tensions between the northern and southern realms were not lost on him. Every time he rode alongside Arianne, he felt as if he were walking a tightrope—too close to the edge of the unknown, with no guarantee that he wouldn't fall.
Torrhen Karstark, though not one for idle conversation, seemed to notice the change in the air. Their talks had grown more frequent, but still centered around practical matters—strategy, the road ahead, and the inevitable arrival in King's Landing. Even the usually quiet Torrhen couldn't shake the sense of unease that came with being on the cusp of entering the heart of the Seven Kingdoms. There was a kind of foreboding energy in the air, and it seeped into every conversation, every glance.
As they reached the final stretch of the journey, the surroundings began to shift again. The quiet villages and vast farmlands began to give way to the unmistakable bustle of the capital's influence. The roads were narrower now, with towering stone walls in the distance marking the edge of the city. You could hear the hum of the city before you saw it—the clamor of the markets, the voices of soldiers calling orders, the clattering of carts laden with goods. The atmosphere was charged with the anticipation of the capital, and it was clear that whatever awaited them would not be a simple affair.
Arianne had remained mostly quiet for the past few days, her eyes a little sharper, her manner more reserved. Even the playful teasing from earlier had ebbed, replaced with a quiet, almost distant air. Edric, for his part, felt a tightness in his chest. He had grown accustomed to the comfort of their moments together, their late-night talks and shared silences. But he couldn't ignore the weight of the impending arrival. Things would change once they crossed into the gates of King's Landing. They both knew it.
By the time the camp had been set up for the night, the stars above were barely visible, the city's lights already too bright to let the sky shine through. Edric sat by the fire with Torrhen, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows over their faces. The sound of the crackling fire was the only noise in the air, but the silence between them was heavier than usual. Torrhen broke the quiet first, his voice low and steady.
"Tomorrow," he said simply, his gaze fixed on the flames, "We'll be there. At the gates. What happens after that?"
Edric didn't look up at first, his thoughts swirling with the uncertainty of it all. He had tried to prepare himself for what was coming, but nothing could quite ready him for the reality of entering the heart of the Seven Kingdoms.
"We'll see," Edric replied after a long pause, the words tasting bitter as they left his mouth. "Whatever comes... we'll deal with it."
But even as he said the words, he couldn't shake the feeling that something would be different once they reached the city. That everything he had thought was solid and dependable would be turned on its head.
And somewhere behind him, Arianne stood watching them, her gaze steady, her expression unreadable as she prepared herself for whatever would come with the dawn.
The night stretched on, silent and thick with the weight of things left unsaid, the final stretch of their journey just within reach.
The next morning, Edric stepped out of his tent, the cool morning air biting at his skin as he took in the familiar sight of the camp stirring to life. Horses were being saddled, the fire was slowly fading to embers, and the men moved with a lazy rhythm that only the first light of dawn could inspire. His mind, however, was far from this quiet, routine scene. No, it was busy with the weight of what lay ahead—the final stretch toward King's Landing, and all that it entailed.
The thought of it was... overwhelming, if he were being honest with himself. The city, its looming presence, both excited and terrified him. It was too much to process right now, so he let the flurry of thoughts settle into the background, like a storm he couldn't control. A distraction, that's what he needed. Something to take his mind off the journey.
As his eyes scanned the camp, they landed on Arianne and Tyene, standing at the edge of the gathering, conversing quietly. He watched them for a moment, noting the faint smirk on Tyene's lips as she leaned in closer to Arianne, a softness in their posture that intrigued him. He didn't understand what had brought them here, but something about the way they were together caught his attention.
Without giving it much thought, Edric found his legs moving toward them. It wasn't a decision so much as an instinct, something in him guiding him forward. Tyene was always close to Arianne, but today, their conversation held a different kind of pull for him.
When he reached them, he slipped easily between the two women, his presence not disruptive but firm enough to show he wasn't simply passing by. Arianne, who had been speaking in soft tones, lifted her head, her expression unreadable. Tyene, with her characteristic grin, met his gaze with amusement, one eyebrow arching playfully.
"Is this some kind of private meeting, or should I be worried?" Edric asked head turned to Arianne, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity. There was no anger, no frustration or the bitterness that once plagued him—just a calm desire to understand what was unfolding.
Tyene's eyes flicked between him and Arianne before she spoke, her voice teasing but also measured. "I'd say you're interrupting something important, but I suspect you wouldn't mind. Not with your... history with us."
Edric glanced at Arianne, then back to Tyene, his calm demeanor intact. "I didn't ask you, Tyene."
Tyene's smile widened, but she remained silent, clearly entertained by the interaction. Arianne, meanwhile, looked at him for a long moment, her gaze weighing him, her lips curling ever so slightly in what could almost be a smile.
"I see you've come to join us," Arianne said with a touch of amusement, her voice soft yet steady. "What is it you want, Edric? Or is this just idle curiosity?"
For a moment, Edric hesitated, unsure of what to say. The last few days had been filled with tension, an unspoken distance growing between him and Arianne. But here, now, with the three of them standing together, he felt something shift in the air. He couldn't quite place it, but it was there.
"Perhaps it's the same idle curiosity that drove Tyene to enter my tent that morning. Or maybe I just don't want to be left out." he said, his voice low, his eyes meeting Arianne's as he spoke.
Tyene chuckled, her expression one of knowing mischief. "Left out? You're a Stark, Edric. You never need to be left out. You just like to act like you're above it all."
The brief silence that followed felt more comfortable than awkward, and Edric finally met Arianne's gaze. She held it for a moment, as if searching for something in his eyes, before speaking again.
"If you want to talk, Edric," she said, her voice almost coaxing, "then speak. But don't stand there like a shadow."
Her words settled over him, weighty and unexpected. He hadn't planned on talking—hadn't planned on opening up—but something in her gaze made him feel like he could, if he wanted to. But as he stood there, caught between them, he realized he didn't have the words to express what was swirling in his mind. Instead, he let silence fill the space.
Finally, after a long pause realizing that he had nothing to stay, he muttered, "Let's get moving. We'll have plenty of time for idle conversation once we get closer to the city."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and began walking toward the camp's bustle. But as he moved, he knew both Arianne and Tyene would be watching him, as they always did. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to be seen, or if he just didn't mind anymore.
The final day's travel began with a quiet yet palpable energy in the air. The horizon was close now—King's Landing loomed just beyond the next stretch of the road. Edric could feel the weight of it, the journey drawing to its inevitable conclusion. His thoughts were a mix of anticipation and a subtle wariness, but he was determined to focus on the road ahead.
Riding at the front with Oberyn Martell, Edric couldn't help but feel a shift in his position. The day felt different, as if the weight of the journey and the destination had changed things for both of them. Oberyn, ever composed, rode with the same relaxed confidence as always, but there was a sense of purpose to his movements, as though the coming events would bring some new challenge to them all.
Behind them, Lord Dagos and Torren rode slightly back, close enough to offer support, but distant enough to allow the front riders their space. Lord Dagos was a trusted advisor and loyal to Oberyn, his presence at the rear of the group reinforcing the chain of command. Torren, by contrast, was Edric's right hand, a familiar and steady figure beside him. They didn't speak much, but the silence was comfortable, built over many journeys and shared experiences. Torren's presence was one Edric valued deeply—always reliable, always steady.
The carriage, carrying Arianne and Tyene, was placed just behind the main group, positioned closer to the front of the entourage than usual. Arianne, no doubt, preferred being nearer to the leadership of the group, even if it meant less privacy, but Edric had no intention of commenting on it. He had grown accustomed to her presence, though there was still a lingering tension between them. Tyene, as always, was an enigma—a shadow of amusement lurking in her every glance.
As the group began their ride, the usual bustle of the camp faded behind them, replaced by the steady rhythm of hooves against the earth. The landscape stretched out before them, a seemingly endless road that led toward the towering city that awaited them.
Edric couldn't help but glance back briefly at Arianne's carriage, wondering how much longer they would maintain their delicate distance. It was strange, the way things had shifted over the past few days—strange, but not entirely unpleasant. Yet the question still lingered, as it always did: What did any of it mean?
For now, he focused on the road ahead, trusting in the stability of his companions and the strength of their collective purpose. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was bound to change today—something that would finally tip the balance in a way they could neither foresee nor control.
As the group drew nearer to the city, the first thing that hit them was the unmistakable stench of King's Landing. The air grew thick with the smell of waste, the heavy scent of refuse and saltwater clinging to the breeze. Even from a distance, the city's reputation for its filth seemed to cling to the very air.
Oberyn's nose wrinkled slightly as the odor reached him, and he turned to Edric with a wry smile, his voice laced with dry humor.
"Well, this is certainly not the welcome I had in mind," he remarked, his tone light but sharp. "I'd hoped for something a little less... fragrant." He glanced over at Edric, his expression amused. "But I suppose that's the charm of King's Landing, isn't it? Never a dull moment."
Edric could hear the underlying irony in Oberyn's words, the sense of familiarity with the city's unpleasantness. It wasn't exactly the kind of greeting anyone would wish for, but it was hardly a surprise, either. They had all heard enough about King's Landing to know that the city's outward appearance never quite matched the grandeur of its reputation.
"Charming, indeed," Edric muttered under his breath, though his gaze remained fixed on the horizon, the sight of the Red Keep growing ever closer. As much as the city's stench bothered him, it wasn't the smell that would be the problem—there were far worse things waiting for them within the city walls.
The journey into King's Landing was marked by a quiet procession through the city's bustling streets. As the entourage passed through the Gate of the Gods, the sight of the towering structures and the city's intricately carved stone walls greeted them. The gate, an imposing archway that connected the rest of Westeros to the heart of the capital, seemed to be a threshold between the outer world and the grandeur—and the complications—within.
The streets of King's Landing were alive with activity, the hustle and bustle of the common folk intermingling with the nobility. The noise of the market stalls and the distant hum of the city's vibrancy filled the air, but there was a certain distance, a boundary that had already been established between the newcomers and the city's chaotic life. The crowds parted respectfully as they made their way deeper into the city.
As they reached the Hook—a prominent junction where the main road to the Red Keep split—Edric and his party veered slightly, heading toward the area set aside for Dornish visitors. The land was quieter, more private, nestled just far enough from the Red Keep. This would be their residence while they were in King's Landing, it was an old house of House Vaith which had undergone repairs and renovations before our visit.
The Dornish Estate prepared for them was a welcome respite from the overwhelming stench and sounds of King's Landing. The estate, with its elegant architecture, exuded the same warmth and flair that was characteristic of Dorne. It was a small piece of their homeland amidst the foreign land of the capital—a place to settle in, refresh, and prepare for what lay ahead.
Arianne, as was customary, remained hidden from view. Her face was concealed beneath a delicate veil, the pale green silk blending seamlessly with the yellow hue beneath, pearls twinkling lightly with the motion of her carriage. She was always shrouded in a layer of mystery, even as they passed through the city. Her presence was felt, but her face was carefully guarded, even from those who might have caught a glimpse of her otherwise.
Once settled in the Dornish Estate, there was a brief moment of respite. Edric, along with the rest of the party, took the opportunity to refresh themselves—changing into fresher clothes, shaking off the dust of the road. But all the while, Edric's thoughts lingered on what would follow. The court awaited them, the royals and the grand spectacle of the tourney. A part of him braced for the inevitable interactions, the politicking, the whispers and looks that came with the territory. Yet, another part of him couldn't help but feel the weight of what lay ahead.
And as the day drew to a close, it was clear that their real entrance into the heart of King's Landing was yet to come.
Edric, dressed in fresh attire befitting a Stark in Dorne's company, mounted his horse and rode toward the Red Keep. The Dornish Estate was quiet in his absence, and the streets of King's Landing felt different now that the initial awe had worn off. The cacophony of the markets still hummed in the distance, but as he neared the imposing walls of the Red Keep, a sense of solemnity took hold.
Crossing the gates, Edric dismounted, handing the reins to a stable boy before stepping through the grand entrance. The chill of the castle's stone walls was a stark contrast to the vibrant heat outside. As he walked through the halls, the echoes of his boots on the stone floors were the only sounds accompanying him. The Red Keep felt oddly deserted, its usual bustling energy dampened by the pull of the tourney that had drawn most of its occupants outside.
He passed guards and attendants, nodding in acknowledgment but saying little. Each step toward the Tower of the Hand weighed on him. Despite the excitement of the tourney, his father, ever dutiful and introspective, had opted to remain in the quieter halls of the keep. It was so characteristic of Eddard Stark that Edric couldn't help but feel both comforted and apprehensive at the thought of seeing him again.
A guard directed him up the stairs of the Tower of the Hand, and as he ascended, the air grew heavier. This was a space reserved for the most important decisions of the realm—a place where burdens weighed heavily on those tasked with shouldering them.
When Edric reached the top of the tower, he paused briefly outside the door to gather himself before knocking. A familiar voice called for him to enter, and as he pushed the door open, his father's presence filled the room. Eddard Stark sat at a simple desk, papers and correspondence scattered before him. His head lifted, his gaze meeting Edric's with a quiet intensity.
"Edric," Eddard said, his voice as steady as ever. "I wasn't expecting you so soon."
Ned's face softened, the usual stern lines around his mouth easing. He crossed the room in a few measured strides, not hesitating but not rushing either. As he approached, he reached out with one hand, clasping Edric's forearm in a firm, grounding grip—the kind of greeting reserved for those who share a bond deeper than words.
His other arm came up and wrapped around Edric's back in a half-embrace, not too tight, but enough to convey warmth and unspoken emotion. It was the kind of hug that spoke volumes in its simplicity, a mix of quiet pride, relief.
For a moment, Edric stood stiff, caught off guard by the sudden display of affection. But as the warmth of his father's presence enveloped him, he allowed himself to relax, his hands coming up to rest lightly on his father's back. The embrace was strong, protective—a reminder of home and the unshakable bond between father and son.
Edric after detaching stepped further inside, his earlier hesitation melting away. "I thought it best to see you before anyone else," he said, closing the door behind him. "You look as if you've been hard at work already."
Ned allowed a faint smile, gesturing for Edric to sit. "There's always work to be done, son. Even in a city that celebrates." He paused, studying his son closely. "Tell me, how was your journey?"
Edric hesitated, knowing his father's sharp gaze would catch any half-truths. "Uneventful," he said finally, though he added with a small smile, "save for the company."
His father raised a brow. "The Martells?"
Edric nodded, his expression guarded. "And others," he said simply, not elaborating further.
Ned leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the arms of it as he regarded Edric thoughtfully. "King's Landing can be... overwhelming. Keep your wits about you, Edric. Not everyone here wears their intentions openly."
The words, though said calmly, carried the weight of experience, and Edric felt the familiar pull of his father's wisdom. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied. "But what about you, Father? The tourney's in full swing, and yet you're here."
Ned's expression darkened slightly, his gaze drifting to the window. "I have no interest in such things. Not when there are matters of the realm to contend with."
Edric studied him, the familiar lines of his father's face etched deeper now, as though the burdens of the Handship had already taken their toll. "Is it as bad as they say?" he asked quietly.
Ned didn't answer immediately, but when he did, his voice was heavy. "Worse."
Edric watched his father, noting the uncharacteristic weariness in his frame, the way his shoulders seemed to carry more than just the weight of the Hand's chain. The quiet stretched until, unexpectedly, Ned sighed and murmured, almost to himself, "What are we even doing here?"
Ned's voice, quieter now but filled with an emotional weight that struck deep, reached Edric's ear. "This is incredibly hard to fix, Edric. The rot runs deep, and I've dragged all of you into it."
Edric, who had been holding back his own frustrations, suddenly felt the dam inside him break. The words rushed out before he could stop them, tumbling over each other like a torrent of long-suppressed fears. "It's the same for me," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. He stood abruptly, pushing the chair back as he began to pace the room, his hands clenching at his sides as though trying to hold onto his composure. "Do you know what Doran arranged for me, Father? My betrothal to Arianne—his precious daughter—wasn't even his first choice. He wanted her for Viserys Targaryen."
Eddard's head snapped up, his face a mask of disbelief and growing alarm. "Viserys Targaryen?" he repeated, his voice sharp and edged with disbelief. His fingers tightened against the armrest of his chair as he sat forward, the weight of the revelation pressing him into action.
"Yes," Edric said, his voice cracking slightly under the strain of holding back his emotions. "Years ago, after Robert's Rebellion, Doran Martell promised Arianne to Viserys—the last Targaryen prince. He wanted to bind House Martell to a Targaryen restoration. Don't you see what that means, Father?" His pacing grew faster, his steps uneven as he struggled to give voice to the anxiety that had gnawed at him for years. "Do you know what that makes me?" He stopped abruptly, turning to face his father with wide, desperate eyes. "I'm a placeholder, Father. Nothing more. I'm not their choice. I'm their contingency, their plan B, their fallback when everything else fails."
Eddard stood slowly, his face grim as Edric's words sank deeper into his understanding. "Viserys…" he murmured, his voice low, as if testing the name on his tongue. He looked at Edric with a mix of disbelief and dawning comprehension. "You're telling me this was planned? After everything—after we overthrew their dynasty—Doran Martell sought to tie himself to their cause?"
"It's been ten years in the making, Father," Edric pressed on, his voice rising with every syllable. "This isn't some hasty alliance cobbled together in the aftermath of rebellion. It's deliberate, methodical. They've been waiting, biding their time, playing the long game." He gestured wildly with his hands, the frustration and helplessness evident in every movement. "My position in all of this—it's not about me. It's about their scheme, their ambition. I'm a pawn, Father. A pawn in a game that I don't even fully understand. And what happens when—if—the Targaryens return?" His voice broke, his words raw and bitter. "Do I get discarded? Do I lose everything? Am I left to rot, forgotten, because I was never meant to matter?"
Ned's brow furrowed deeply, his face darkening with every word. The implications weighed heavily on him, like stones pressing into his chest. "Edric," he said firmly, his tone cutting through his son's tirade. His voice carried the weight of both command and compassion, forcing Edric to stop and meet his gaze. "What you're saying—this changes everything."
Edric fell silent, breathing heavily as his father's words settled over him. The room was thick with unspoken tension, the air heavy with the magnitude of what had just been revealed. Eddard's jaw tightened, and his lips pressed into a grim line as he stepped closer to his son.
He paused, his gaze locking with Edric's. A heavy silence stretched between them, laden with unspoken truths. When Ned finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate, and carried a weight that made Edric's stomach twist.
"But, Edric, Viserys… he's been slain."
The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Edric froze, his mouth slightly open as he struggled to process what he had just heard. Ned stepped forward, his expression unyielding,
"Viserys Targaryen is dead."