When was a wolf ever moved by Words

by Propagate

Sent to Dorne to marry Arianne Martell, Eddard Stark's second son—twin to Robb— Edric Stark struggles to find his place. Smart, bookish, and no warrior, he must navigate Sunspear and the Realm's treacherous politics, balancing Stark honor with Martell cunning.

17. Commencing

The ship rocked gently as it pulled away from the dock, its sails catching the night breeze. The sound of the water lapping against the hull was a stark contrast to the chaos left behind in King's Landing. Edric crouched by the railing, his fingers gripping the wood so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breathing was uneven, and his eyes were fixed on the shrinking city behind them.

The others were safe aboard. Arianne stood nearby, her hand resting lightly on Tyene's shoulder as the two whispered in low voices. Daemon and Torrhen were stationed at the bow, keeping watch. Arya sat huddled with Ellaria, her small frame trembling, though whether from the chill of the sea air or fear was unclear. But Edric's heart was heavy with absence. His father and Sansa were not with them. They had planned for this moment, but reality was far more agonizing than any plan could have prepared him for.

Arianne approached Edric cautiously. "You're going to hurt yourself if you grip that any harder," she said softly, kneeling beside him.

Edric didn't respond. His head hung low, his dark hair falling across his face. The weight of the moment was too much—he couldn't shake the image of his father, still in King's Landing, still in danger. And Sansa…

He slammed a fist against the railing, a low growl of frustration escaping him. His chest ached with guilt, with anger, with the helplessness of having left them behind.

"They knew the risks, Edric. We all did. Your father... he wouldn't want you to carry this burden."

He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on the flickering lights of the Red Keep, now distant pinpricks in the darkness. "It's not about what he would want," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "It's about what I should have done. I should have waited. I should have—"

"You did what you had to," Arianne interrupted firmly, placing a hand on his arm. "You got us out. You kept Arya safe. You made the only choice you could."

Her words didn't soothe him, but he nodded, more out of resignation than agreement. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, his hand still clutching the railing. The salt air stung his eyes, or perhaps it was something else entirely.

"They'll make it," Arianne said, her tone firmer this time. "Your father and Sansa—they'll find a way."

He shook his head slightly, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke. "I left them behind."

Arianne's hand touched his shoulder. "You did what you had to. They would want you to be safe, Edric."

He looked up at her, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Safe? How am I supposed to feel safe when they're there? When Joffrey has them?"

The ship gave a slight lurch, and Edric closed his eyes, his grip on the railing tightening again. For a moment, the only sounds were the creak of the ship and the rush of the waves.

"They're strong, Edric," Arianne said, her voice steady now. "And so are you. You got us this far."

He let out a shuddering breath and finally released the railing, his hands trembling. As the ship moved further into open water, Edric stood, his gaze fixed on the fading outline of King's Landing.

Oberyn stood near the stern, his arms crossed as he gazed back at King's Landing, now a shadowed blur in the distance. Beside him, Ellaria leaned against the railing, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of her dress. They spoke in low tones, their expressions unreadable.

Torrhen and Daemon were further down the deck, speaking to one of the ship's crew. Torrhen's face was calm, but his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a silent reminder of his readiness for whatever might come. Daemon nodded at something Torrhen said, his brow furrowed in thought.

Tyene lingered by the mast, her fingers tracing the wood as she stared out at the open sea. She seemed lost in her thoughts, though her sharp eyes flicked occasionally to the others.

Arianne was still beside him, now leaning against the railing. Her hair caught the moonlight, and her face was set in an unreadable expression. She wasn't looking at him anymore, her gaze fixed on the horizon ahead.

Finally, Edric's eyes fell on Arya. She sat alone on a barrel, her shoulders hunched and her small frame almost swallowed by the oversized cloak wrapped around her. Her head was down, her gaze fixed on her feet, swinging slightly above the deck.

Edric's throat tightened, but he forced himself to move. Each step across the deck felt heavy, but he stopped a few paces from Arya. She didn't look up, didn't acknowledge his presence, but he crouched down beside her, resting a hand gently on the barrel.

As he approached, Arya didn't look up, her fingers picking absently at a thread on her sleeve. Edric stopped a few steps away, his voice soft. "Arya..."

She didn't respond, but her shoulders stiffened slightly, a subtle sign that she'd heard him.

"You're safe, Arya."

She didn't respond right away, her feet still dangling as she whispered, "But Father isn't. Sansa isn't."

Edric swallowed hard, guilt stabbing at him again. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we'll find a way to help them. I promise."

Finally, Arya lifted her head, her grey eyes meeting his. They shimmered with unshed tears, but there was a fierce determination in them. Edric straightened up, his eyes sweeping over the ship again. They were together—for now. It wasn't everything, but it was something. He would hold onto that.

She finally looked up at him, her gray eyes glassy with unshed tears. For a moment, she just stared at him, searching his face as if trying to find the truth in his words.

Before she could protest, he slipped his arms under her knees and around her back, lifting her effortlessly. Arya stiffened at first, but then relaxed against him, her small hands gripping the front of his tunic. Edric made his way through the narrow passage, feeling the weight of responsibility settle even deeper on his shoulders.

"You've done more than enough for now," he murmured as he stood, cradling her against his chest. "You need to rest. You've earned it."

Arya nodded slightly, her eyes already drooping. Edric stayed by her side until her breathing evened out, then quietly rose and left the room, closing the door behind him. The moment he was back in the corridor, he leaned against the wall, exhaling a shaky breath.

As he reached one of the smaller cabins, he pushed the door open with his foot and stepped inside, setting Arya down gently on the small cot. He crouched beside her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

"Try to sleep," he said softly. "We'll need your strength for what's ahead."

As Arya's breathing evened out and she slipped into sleep, Edric stood from the edge of the bunk. He adjusted the blanket to ensure she was covered, then quietly left the cabin, closing the door behind him.

The cool night air greeted him as he returned to the deck. The ship rocked gently with the waves, the moonlight casting silvery reflections on the water. The crew moved about efficiently, securing lines and adjusting sails.

Edric spotted the captain near the helm, a stout man with a weathered face and sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing. The captain turned as Edric approached, inclining his head in acknowledgment.

"Lord Stark," the captain greeted, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "Everything is as it should be. We'll be clear of King's Landing waters by dawn."

Edric nodded, gripping the railing as he glanced out over the dark sea. "Thank you, Captain. But I need to know—if the city has sealed the docks and patrols are sent out to search for us, how secure is this ship? Can we evade them if we're pursued?"

The captain's mouth twitched into a small smile, half-reassurance, half-pride. "This vessel's made for speed, my lord. And the men aboard are loyal to House Martell, thanks to Prince Oberyn's...persuasion." He cast a glance toward the deck where Oberyn leaned casually against the mast, seemingly unconcerned. "If it comes to it, we'll outrun anything King's Landing sends after us."

Edric exhaled slowly, the weight on his chest easing slightly. "Good. But if they do catch up..." He hesitated, then met the captain's gaze squarely. "We can't risk anything."

The captain's expression hardened. "Understood, my lord. I swear to you, no harm will come to us long as I'm at this helm."

Edric offered a small smile. "I'll take your word for it, how long until we reach Dorne?"

The captain considered for a moment before answering. "If the winds hold steady, about forty days, give or take a day or two."

Edric leaned on the railing beside the helm, staring out at the vast, dark expanse of the sea. "And the next safe port?"

"That'd be Tarth," the captain replied. "We'll make it there in twelve or thirteen days if nothing delays us. It's not the best place to linger, but we can resupply and rest if needed."

Edric nodded, his mind already spinning with plans and contingencies. "Ensure the crew stays vigilant. No unnecessary stops until we're out of the Crown's reach."

The captain's lips thinned into a firm line. "Aye. We'll do our part. You just make sure your people are ready if trouble comes."

Edric gave him a sharp look, his voice low but resolute. "They'll be ready. Just get us to Tarth, and then to Dorne."

Edric's steps were slow as he made his way toward Arianne, the exhaustion of the past hours weighing heavily on him. He needed a moment of peace, something to settle his racing thoughts. As he reached her, he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her gently against him.

Arianne relaxed immediately, her body fitting easily against his as if they were two parts of the same whole. The cool night air carried the faint scent of saltwater, and for a brief moment, it almost felt like a quiet, normal evening—before everything had changed.

"I need rest," Edric murmured, his voice soft and tired. "Come to bed. I can't think anymore… I just need to rest for a bit."

Arianne's lips curved slightly, though her eyes remained distant, lost in thought. She turned slightly in his arms, pressing her back against his chest. "You deserve rest, Edric. You've carried too much already." She reached up to stroke his cheek, the warmth of her touch offering a small measure of comfort.

His hands gently smoothed over her sides, his tiredness beginning to catch up with him. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, his exhaustion making him want to sink into the peace of her presence. "Come," he whispered. "A cabin's been readied for us."

Her hands slid over his, giving him a small nod. "Then let's go."

With that, they turned and walked toward the cabin, the sounds of the ship's movement and the gentle waves rocking against the hull the only backdrop to the quiet moment between them.

The door to the cabin clicked shut behind them, and the quiet of the room felt almost soothing after the chaos of the day. Arianne moved toward the small mirror by the wall, slowly undoing her hair. The dark curls fell around her face, soft waves that caught the low light of the cabin. She turned back to Edric, her gaze lingering on him before she made her way over, her movements graceful, purposeful.

Without a word, she settled beside him on the bed, the space between them disappearing as she nestled her head against his chest, her body curling into his warmth. Edric let out a breath, feeling her presence grounding him, making him forget the stress of the past hours, if only for a moment.

Edric's hand instinctively reached to her back, gently running his fingers up and down the curve of her spine. He let out a deep breath, his eyes closing as he tried to let go of the tension that had built up.

Arianne's fingers traced lightly across his chest, as if she, too, needed the comfort. Edric rested his chin atop her head, feeling the weight of the world lift ever so slightly as he closed his eyes, the steady beat of his heart matching the rhythm of her breathing.

Edric shifted slightly, his thoughts returning to the state of the realm. The quiet of the cabin felt distant from the turmoil that was waiting for them back in Westeros.

"The North is surely in motion by now," Edric murmured, his voice somber. "Robb would've called the banners already. He must know about Father. He won't sit idle for long."

"It's not just Robb, though," she said quietly, her voice steady but carrying a sharpness to it. She hesitated before adding, "Stannis left King's Landing before we did, as did Renly, they will raise their claims too."

"Stannis and Renly... both are already preparing their forces. They're not going to sit back while Joffrey squabbles for control." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "With the king dead, it's as if the very throne is calling out for blood, and they're eager to answer."

Edric's jaw tightened at the mention of Stannis and Renly. "Stannis... he's a stubborn man, but a powerful one. He has the true claim now, and he won't rest until he's sitting on that throne. And Renly... Well, his ambition matches his brother's."

Arianne nodded, the weight of their situation clear in her expression. "Two brothers, each with their claim. They will clash. And the storm will be fierce."

"I know." Edric closed his eyes briefly, the mental image of war unfolding before him, of the armies clashing, of the bloodshed that would follow. "But the Lannisters won't give up that easily. They'll fight until the last man. Joffrey may be young and dumb, but Cersei… she won't hesitate to do whatever it takes to keep her son on the throne."

Edric's fingers still gently brushed against Arianne's neck, the quiet of the room wrapping around them, but his mind was far from peaceful. He had avoided this conversation, knowing that the weight of the question would only add more tension between them. But the time had come, the world outside their room was crumbling, and they couldn't wait any longer to know what was on the horizon.

Finally, he drew in a steady breath, his voice low and careful. "Arianne," he began, the words feeling heavier than they should, "I need to know... how many men will Dorne give me? Your father... you... will you be able to help us?"

Her head turned slightly, eyes searching his face, but she didn't pull away from him. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—apprehension, perhaps, or something else, but she didn't shy away from the question. They both knew how much was at stake.

"I can't promise you all of Dorne's men," she replied softly, her voice serious, yet laced with an understanding that the future of the realm was as much in her hands as it was his. "My father... he's not one to commit easily. But he will listen. He knows the danger of the Lannisters. And I..."

Edric nodded slowly, processing her words. There was a small spark of hope, but it was tempered by the reality that their situation was precarious. "I need men, Arianne."

Arianne's lips pressed together for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she thought. "I know," she said after a beat. "We will help you, Edric. But it will take time."

Edric gave a short nod, absorbing her words, but there was still an edge of uncertainty in his mind. "How much time?"

She hesitated for a moment, the weight of the question apparent in her pause. "Not much longer. When we raise our banners, the battle will be long and hard. And we will need every sword, every ally we can muster."

Arianne shifted slightly, her body moving with the grace and fluidity of someone who was entirely at ease with her surroundings. She turned so that her side rested against Edric's chest, her head still nestled against him. Her leg bent, sliding over his waist, the soft fabric of her gown brushing against his skin

Edric's fingers continued to trace gentle patterns along the back of her neck, though his attention was now more divided between the rhythm of her breathing and the thoughts swirling in his mind. He could feel the steady beat of her pulse against his chest, and a part of him, the part that had been so focused on the war ahead, found it oddly calming.

"Are you tired?" she asked, her voice low and laced with a quiet concern that hinted at more than just physical exhaustion. She raised her eyes to meet his, her gaze soft, a knowing look lingering there.

He let out a quiet breath, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as he considered the question. He was tired, but it wasn't just the physical fatigue that weighed on him. The world outside the walls of the ship, the looming war, the uncertainty about his family's fate—all of it settled into his bones like a cold weight. But in this moment, with Arianne's warmth against him, there was an undeniable pull toward rest, even if it was temporary.

"I don't think that needs to be said," Edric admitted, his voice a touch rougher than usual. "But I think I'll find sleep soon enough."

Arianne smiled faintly, adjusting her position slightly, her head still resting on his chest as she draped her arm across his waist. She was close now, her presence filling the space between them.

Her lips brushed against his collarbone, Edric's eyes were half-lidded, his thoughts drifting between the responsibilities that loomed ahead and the strange sense of peace he felt with Arianne pressed against him. The steady hum of the ship moving through the water was soothing, but his mind refused to quiet completely.

Arianne tilted her head slightly, watching him with a small, knowing smile. "You're thinking too much again," she murmured, her voice soft and teasing. She shifted a little, her hand trailing lazily along his chest. "Perhaps I should distract you."

Edric's lips curved faintly, but he didn't open his eyes, letting her words settle over him. "The walls are wood Arianne," he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching in something close to a smile.

"Let's sleep," Edric murmured quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He felt her nod against him, her fingers lightly brushing his chest before she relaxed fully into his embrace.

With that, the two of them drifted to sleep.

---

The sunlight crept through the narrow window of their cabin, casting a soft golden glow on the room. The gentle sway of the ship was still there, but the world beyond felt calmer, more distant in the quiet of the early morning.

Edric awoke slowly, his body still heavy with sleep but his mind already turning. He could feel Arianne's warmth beside him, her steady breathing against his chest. Her head rested on his arm, and her leg was still draped over him.

For a moment, he simply laid there, savoring the peace of the moment before the inevitable weight of the day settled in. But as the minutes passed, he shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Arianne too much.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair, then glanced out the small window to see the vast ocean stretching before them, the world beyond the ship feeling so far away.

Arianne stirred beside him, her eyes blinking open as she shifted slightly. She didn't speak at first, simply looking up at him, her expression a mix of sleepiness and curiosity.

"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep, her eyes still half-closed.

"Much better" he said, turning to Arianne, Edric spoke again, his voice gentle yet firm. "I think I'll go check on Arya. Make sure she's alright."

Arianne, who had been straightening herself and preparing to step out, paused and nodded. She could see the concern in his eyes, the protective instinct he had for his younger sister.

"I'll be here when you're done," she said softly, a reassuring smile on her lips.

Edric took a moment to collect his thoughts before making his way toward the cabin where Arya had been resting. As he approached the door, he hesitated for a moment, unsure of how she was coping. He hadn't seen her express much since their escape, but that didn't mean she wasn't struggling in silence. His hand gently pushed the door open.

Inside, Arya sat on a small cot, her legs crossed and her gaze fixed on the floor. She hadn't noticed him yet, lost in her own thoughts. Edric stepped closer, his voice soft as he spoke.

"Arya?"

She looked up at the sound of his voice, her dark eyes tired but sharp as ever. She quickly wiped at her face, perhaps trying to hide any hint of emotion, but Edric could see the tension in her posture, the way her small frame seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"Hey," he said gently, kneeling beside her. "How are you holding up?"

Arya looked away for a brief moment, her expression hardening. "I'm fine," she replied, though the crack in her voice betrayed the lie. She didn't meet his eyes. "I just… I just want it all to be over."

Edric gave her a soft, understanding smile, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. "I know," he said quietly. "I know. We're going to make it. I won't let anything happen to you."

For a moment, Arya said nothing, but then she turned to face him, her eyes full of silent gratitude. She didn't need words to express what she was feeling, and Edric didn't push. Instead, he stayed by her side, a quiet reassurance in his presence.

"You should rest some more," he suggested softly. Arya gave a small nod, her posture relaxing a little as she leaned back against the wall, though her eyes still betrayed the storm raging within her. Edric lingered for a moment longer, just in case she needed something else, but then he rose, offering her a reassuring smile.

"I'll check in later," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

With that, Edric turned and left the cabin, his thoughts heavy as he made his way to the deck. His mind lingered on Arya, but he knew he couldn't let his worries consume him—not when there was so much more ahead.

Edric made his way up to the deck, the cool morning breeze meeting him as he stepped into the open air. The sounds of the waves lapping against the sides of the ship, combined with the creak of the wooden planks beneath his feet, created a constant rhythm as they sailed toward Tarth. His mind, still heavy with thoughts of Arya and their uncertain future, found momentary distraction as his eyes scanned the horizon.

As he walked toward the stern, he saw Oberyn standing near the edge of the ship, his back to the railing, his eyes scanning the sea with the same air of calculated detachment he always carried. His paramour, Ellaria, was not in sight, but the presence of the Martell prince was still a welcome one. Oberyn was a man of intrigue and action, qualities that Edric respected. He could only hope that Oberyn's wisdom would prove useful in the days to come.

As Edric approached, Oberyn turned, his sharp eyes catching sight of him immediately. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he raised an eyebrow.

"Edric," Oberyn greeted, his voice warm with a hint of amusement. "I take it you're still trying to make sense of everything?"

Edric sighed as he leaned against the railing beside him, his hands gripping it tightly. "I'm trying," he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. "It feels like the weight of the world is on our shoulders. Father, Sansa... I don't know if they're alright. And with what's happening in King's Landing..." He trailed off, frustration flickering in his eyes.

Oberyn tilted his head, his gaze briefly resting on the horizon. "It is a precarious time," he said, his voice laced with experience. "Joffrey is mad, Cersei is manipulative, and the realm is ripe for chaos. I have little doubt that you and I both know the game being played, though."

Edric nodded, staring out at the sea as well, his mind racing. "I'm just counting the days until Tarth? We need to know what's going on in King's Landing. The city must be in turmoil right now, and we can't afford to remain blind."

Oberyn's expression grew more serious as he turned to face Edric fully. "We'll reach Tarth in a little over a week," he replied, his tone thoughtful. "As for news, that will be difficult. With the chaos in the city, information will be a commodity. But there are always ways. There are men loyal to me across the seas, and even in the city, if you know where to look."

Edric's eyes flickered with interest, his gaze sharp now. "How can we trust them? We need reliable news, and quickly."

"Believe me Edric, I trust them," Oberyn said with a wry smile, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken experiences. "I have my ways. I will send word to certain people in the city. They'll know what's going on, and if we're lucky, we'll have word sent out to Doran and your brother."

Edric breathed out a slow breath, feeling the weight of their conversation settle in his chest. "I'll trust you on this, then. We can't stay and let them stay in the dark any longer."

"Good," Oberyn replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned back to the sea. "Now, all we need is patience. The storm has passed for now, but a new one is on the horizon."

Edric nodded, glancing over at Oberyn, grateful for his confidence. "I just hope that when it comes, we're ready for it."

Oberyn smiled, though there was little warmth in it. "We'll be ready. The Martells are always ready." He gave a soft chuckle, adding, "And you, Edric Stark, are a clever one. The game may be changing, but you've got more of your father in you than you realize."

Edric turned his eyes back toward the endless sea, feeling a slight weight lift from his shoulders as they spoke. There was still much to be done, but with allies like Oberyn, there was a flicker of hope in the darkness.

The ship continued its journey toward Tarth, and with it, the uncertainty of the days ahead loomed larger. But for now, they would wait for news, and prepare for what came next.

Edric turned away from the railing, his gaze meeting Oberyn's with a newfound intensity. The weight of his responsibilities had been pressing on him ever since their departure, and now, with the storm still raging in King's Landing and their uncertain future, his mind was focused on the next steps. His voice was calm but carried the conviction of a man who understood the stakes.

"You know," Edric began, "I expect Dorne to give me men for my march to King's Landing. Robb would've already called the banners, and I intend on doing the same. The North and Dorne have a shared interest now — we've seen the chaos in the capital, and my family needs support."

He paused, his gaze unwavering, though his mind was far from calm. "I'm not just a Stark anymore. Arianne is my wife, and with that comes the weight of Dorne's loyalty. Our families have an agreement, and that alliance will be tested soon enough."

Oberyn listened intently, his expression unreadable. He studied Edric for a long moment before responding, his voice low but thoughtful. "I understand your position," he said, his tone carrying the weight of experience. "Dorne will honor its alliance, as it always does. But it's not just about calling banners."

Edric's jaw clenched slightly, but he nodded, taking in Oberyn's words. "I understand that, and I plan on doing just that. I won't let my family — or yours — down. But I can't do this alone. I need men. I need support. And Dorne's involvement is the key to making sure we stand strong against the Lannisters."

"I understand your urgency," Oberyn finally said, his voice low and thoughtful. "And you're right—Robb Stark will have already called his banners. But it's not just about men, Edric. It's about the timing. I can promise you that my brother will lend you support, but you must be patient. You must understand the delicate balance at play here."

Edric's gaze remained fixed on the open sea, but his thoughts were racing. The more he thought about the journey ahead, the more he realized that every moment counted, every decision mattered. He turned slightly to Oberyn, his voice firm and urgent.

Edric's mind raced, considering the logistics of the campaign ahead. The distance between Dorne and King's Landing was vast, and every day they lost could be the difference between success and failure. As the wind whipped through his hair, he turned to Oberyn, a sense of urgency in his voice.

"Oberyn," Edric began, his brow furrowing with the weight of his thoughts, "do you think there's any potential to send word to Doran asking him to start marching his soldiers as soon as possible. Instead of sailing all the way to Sunspear, we could head straight for Yronwood. If we join them over there, our march to King's Landing will be much shorter. Time is not something we can afford to waste."

He paused, looking to Oberyn for his response. The idea was bold, perhaps even risky, but Edric's mind was already set on a course of action. The sooner they could join forces with Doran's army, the better. The distance between Dorne and King's Landing could be cut drastically if they coordinated their movements.

Oberyn's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the proposal. He tapped a finger against his lip, thinking deeply. "It's an ambitious plan," he said, his tone thoughtful. "But it might just work. Yronwood is well-positioned, and if we could move quickly enough, we could strike before the Lannisters have a chance to respond."

He turned to Edric, the weight of his words clear in his gaze. "The question is how quickly we can get word to Doran. If he agrees, the logistics of moving that army are going to be difficult. But, if we're fast enough, we could certainly cut the march in half. And that would put us in a strong position."

Edric nodded, feeling the excitement of possibility surge within him. "Exactly. If we sail to Yronwood instead of Sunspear, we'll save valuable time. Once we're joined by your men, we can move directly toward King's Landing, and we'll be able to hit them when they least expect it. No more wasting time on the long journey to Sunspear."

Oberyn's gaze remained focused, as if weighing the risks and benefits. "I'll have to send word as soon as possible. But Doran is a man of foresight, so for all we know he is already doing this."

Edric's eyes burned with the weight of his words as he turned back to Oberyn, fully aware of the magnitude of what they were planning. He had to make Oberyn understand the full scope of the situation, and he needed to lay out his strategy clearly.

Edric's gaze grew more intense as he continued speaking, his mind sharpening with every word. He turned to Oberyn, his tone steady but resolute.

"The Lannisters will consider us the greatest threat, Oberyn," he said, his voice low and calculating. "Robb and I, us, are both will have armies, one from the North and one from Dorne. Together, we are more than a match for them. But we need to strike simultaneously, from both sides. If we don't, if there's any delay or if the armies aren't in sync, then having our forces split between the North and Dorne won't be nearly as effective. They'll have the advantage of time to regroup, to counter our movements."

He took a deep breath, his mind already picturing the movements on the battlefield. "Robb's forces are strong, but if we wait too long, they'll be bogged down by the terrain, by the distance. And while I'm confident in the strength of Dorne's forces, we can't rely on one side to do all the heavy lifting. We need to be able to strike at the same time, on both fronts. That's the key to catching the Lannisters off guard and making sure they don't have the chance to reinforce their defenses."

Edric's hands gripped the railing, his fingers tight, as if holding onto the weight of what was at stake. "Once Robb's forces start marching south, we need to be ready to move immediately. We can't afford to let the Lannisters consolidate their forces. They'll try to play us against each other, make us think that we have time, but we can't let them. We strike fast, we strike together, and we strike with the full force of the North and Dorne."

He turned to Oberyn then, meeting his eyes with a fierce resolve. "We have to make sure we're ready to move when the time comes. If we can pull this off, the Lannisters won't be able to respond in time. But we have to be in sync. If we move too slowly or too quickly, they'll exploit that, and we'll lose our advantage."

Oberyn listened carefully, nodding in agreement as Edric spoke. The plan was clear—coordinate the armies, strike with precision, and don't give the enemy a chance to regroup. If they succeeded in uniting their forces at the right time, they could hit the Lannisters when they were weakest.

"You're right," Oberyn said, his voice calm but filled with purpose. "Our strength lies in the timing. If we can keep the pressure on them from both sides, they won't know which way to turn. We need to keep them on the defensive, and make sure they're never able to regroup."

Edric's expression softened slightly, the weight of the decision hanging over him. "And once we break through their defenses, once we've got them on the ropes, we can't hesitate. We push forward, we make sure they can't recover."

The two men stood in silence for a moment, their thoughts aligned on the same goal. The plan had taken shape, and now it was a matter of execution. Timing, precision, and coordination would be their weapons in the coming fight, and they would need to be ready to strike at the perfect moment.

"We'll send word to Doran," Edric concluded, his voice steady once more. "We'll make sure everything is in place. And once we have the signal, we move—together."

"The Lannisters have some unpaid dues to Dorne, Edric," he said, his voice low. "The debts they owe—in blood—are not forgotten. Doran will understand that this is not just about securing your claim, but also about settling old scores. Oberyn's gaze hardened as he spoke. "But," he added, "Doran will not send men to their deaths for an ill-planned battle. If you're reckless, if you move too hastily without considering the consequences, you'll lose his trust. And once you lose his trust, it will be much harder to rally Dorne behind you. Your army's strength lies in how well you can unite those under your banner, Edric—not just how fast you can strike."

Edric nodded slowly, feeling the weight of Oberyn's words settle over him. "I understand. I won't be reckless. We will wait for the right moment, and when Doran is ready, I'll make sure that the timing is right."

Oberyn gave him a sharp look, his tone softening slightly. "Good. Doran's patience has its limits, but he is a master at waiting for the perfect moment. If you show that you can do the same, then we'll have the strength of Dorne behind us. And with that, we will strike not just with the force of an army, but with the certainty of destiny."

Edric exhaled deeply, his gaze firm as he looked out over the water. "Then we will wait for Doran's signal. And when it comes, we will move. Together."

"Together," Oberyn echoed, a small but dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "And the Lannisters will regret underestimating us."

---

Edric pushed open the door to the cabin, his gaze landing on the sight of Tyene carefully tending to Arianne's hair. The air was thick with the scent of oils and frustration. Arianne sat with her back straight, her long, voluminous hair cascading down her back. Tyene's fingers were moving deftly through Arianne's hair, but Arianne was clearly less than pleased. She muttered under her breath, her words a mixture of irritation and discomfort. "This damned sea air, it's ruining everything. "My hair's gone dry and frizzy. I can't stand it." She sighed, clearly vexed, as Tyene continued to apply oil to smooth it out.

Edric's footsteps slowed, and he leaned against the doorframe, watching the two women in quiet contemplation. He couldn't help but smile faintly at the sight of Arianne's usual grace slipping into frustration over something as mundane as her hair. Tyene glanced up, catching Edric's gaze, and offered him a playful grin. "I'm doing what I can to salvage her royal beauty," she teased, her voice light. "But the salt air is no friend to fine hair."

Arianne huffed, her eyes flicking to Edric. "This is ridiculous," she muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone now that Edric was here. "The sea might be calming, but it's turning my hair into a mess."

Tyene, her face a picture of amusement, continued to work the oil through Arianne's hair with a practiced hand. "It will be fine, Arianne. The saltwater and the wind—nothing a little patience can't fix." But there was a slight teasing edge to her voice.

Edric smiled softly at the sight, stepping further into the room. The contrast of Arianne's frustration and Tyene's calmness was almost comical. Arianne, ever the perfectionist, despised her hair being anything less than perfect. But Tyene's touch was gentle, and her words seemed to soothe Arianne despite the frustration.

"You're both quite the sight," Edric remarked, leaning against the doorframe, watching them for a moment. "Though I'm sure this will be sorted quickly." His voice was light, yet there was a warmth in it—more affectionate than anything else.

Arianne looked up, her face a mixture of annoyance and relief as she met his eyes. "You've arrived just in time to see me lose the battle with my own hair," she said dryly, though there was a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Tyene, without missing a beat, shot Edric a playful look. "Perhaps you could assist, my lord? I'm sure you've had enough experience with unruly hair in your time." She looked at him, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Edric chuckled, stepping forward, but Arianne stopped him with a raised hand. "Not yet," she said, turning her face back to Tyene. "Let her finish, I don't want to end up looking like a beggar, at least not until we reach land."

"Rest assured," Tyene teased, "no one could make you look like that, Arianne."

Tyene pulled away from Arianne, taking a step back as she inspected her work. "It's better, but I'll need to work on it more later. You'll have more time to pamper yourself then."

Edric nodded. "There will be time. Right now, we've got other matters to think about." He stepped closer, glancing at Arianne's hair, but his eyes lingered on her face, a smile tugging at his lips. "And your beauty remains undeniable, even if the sea disagrees with your hair."

Arianne met his gaze, her expression softening, the frustration ebbing away into something more tranquil. "Flatterer," she murmured, but her lips curved into a smile.

Edric chuckled softly, walking over to them. He crouched down beside Arianne, looking at the hair that she had so carefully maintained for so long. "It's a small matter in the grand scheme of things, but I suppose we all need something to focus on," he said, gently brushing a strand of hair behind Arianne's ear. "Let's hope we can keep our heads as well-groomed as we can our strategy, eh?"

"We'll be having a meeting of sorts soon to discuss the way forward," he said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of anticipation. "The situation in King's Landing will undoubtedly shift soon, and we need to prepare for what's next."

Arianne, already standing, moved toward him as if drawn by the pull of his words. She reached out, her hand brushing lightly over his arm as she guided herself closer, her fingers curling around his arm with a practiced ease. "Of course," she said with a nod, her voice steady but with an edge of something else beneath—perhaps anticipation, perhaps something more. "We need to be prepared for what comes next."

Tyene, who had been standing nearby. "I'll be there, Edric," she said, her tone warm but a bit teasing, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before she turned her attention back to Arianne.

As they moved together toward the door, Edric's arm subtly tightened around Arianne's, a small, almost unconscious gesture of reassurance. The ship's deck was still, save for the occasional sound of the waves brushing against the hull. Edric felt the weight of leadership pressing down on him, but for the moment, he was surrounded by those he trusted most—Arianne, Tyene, and his allies who would walk beside him into the uncertainty of what was to come.

As they made their way forward, Edric couldn't help but feel the gravity of the situation bearing down on them all. The meeting would be critical, and the choices they made in the coming days would determine the fate of not only their future but the balance of power across Westeros.

Inside the cabin, the air was heavy with anticipation. Oberyn, Daemon, Torrhen, Ellaria, and Lord Dagos were already present, standing near the table where several maps of Westeros had been laid out. The dim light from the lanterns flickered against the walls as Edric, Arianne, and Tyene entered. The room quieted for a moment, the tension palpable.

Oberyn, leaning against the wall, gave Edric a knowing glance. His dark eyes held a mix of curiosity and something more—perhaps the weight of the situation, or the underlying complexity of their goals. "Well, Edric," he said, his voice smooth, "seems we are all here. Time to figure out how we're going to play this."

Daemon, who had been quietly inspecting the maps, looked up as Edric approached. His usual stoic demeanor was tinged with a rare look of concern. "I trust you've thought through every possibility," he said, his voice deep and deliberate. "This will not be a simple task, but the consequences of failure could be disastrous."

Torrhen stood a bit apart from the others, his arms crossed, a look of determination on his face. His features were hardening with the knowledge that his role in this endeavor was crucial. Lord Dagos, on the other hand, was seated, his eyes scanning the maps intently, clearly lost in thought.

Ellaria, who had been sitting next to Arianne, stood as the others entered, her posture graceful yet firm. "The time for subtlety has passed," she said, her voice calm but carrying a sharp edge. "If we're going to move, we must do it quickly."

Edric nodded, his gaze sweeping over the gathered group before he moved to the head of the table. "Thank you all for being here," he began, his voice firm, though there was a quiet intensity to it. "We are facing a moment that will define the rest of our lives. Our march to King's Landing must be swift and decisive. The North is preparing for battle, and Robb has called his banners. Dorne must answer in kind."

He gestured to the maps, his hand lingering over the areas of the Reach and the Crownlands. "We cannot allow the Lannisters to consolidate their power. If we strike now, while their attention is divided between us and the rising rebellion, we may have a chance."

Arianne moved to his side, her presence almost like an anchor, grounding him in the sea of uncertainty. "We've discussed the need for a coordinated attack," she added, her voice low and controlled. "Edric's right. If we are to succeed, we cannot waste time. Dorne will give him men, and we will move as one force, striking at the heart of the Lannisters."

Lord Dagos finally spoke up, his voice rough but resolute. "And when we reach King's Landing, what then? Do we have the support of the people, or are we walking into a war we can't win?"

Edric met his gaze, considering the question carefully. "The people will follow strength. If we show them that we are capable, that we will bring an end to the Lannisters' rule, they will rally behind us. But we must act swiftly, before their power grows too entrenched."

Daemon leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. "And if we succeed? What then for the throne? Who sits upon it when we take it?"

Edric exhaled slowly, the weight of that question pressing down on him. "That is yet to be decided, I believe both Stannis and Renly will raise a claim, until we reach Tarth we won't get news of it. But we do know that Joffrey is a tyrant, and his mother, Cersei, is no better. They must be removed from the equation entirely. We need to support a claim that will serve the people—not the Lannisters."

Torrhen shifted, his voice a bit quieter than the others. "And if they resist?"

"If they resist, we fight," Edric replied without hesitation, his tone hardening. "We cannot afford to fail. If we hesitate, the Lannisters will strike first."

There was a moment of silence as the group absorbed his words. Finally, Oberyn spoke again, his voice laced with a bit of humor, though there was no mistaking the seriousness behind it. "I see you've thought this through," he said. "Perhaps a bit too much, Edric. But we stand with you. Dorne stands with you."

Arianne's hand brushed against Edric's arm as she leaned closer. "The time for hesitation is over. We move as one or we risk everything."

Edric looked around at each of them, his allies, the people who would help him take the first steps toward saving his family. There was no turning back now.

---

The journey from King's Landing to Yronwood had been treacherous, to say the least. With no safe harbor at Tarth, they had pressed on, the salt air clinging to their skin and the constant creak of the ship gnawing at their patience. The worst torment, however, was the silence—thirty days without word from Westeros, without knowing Robb's movements, or the state of his father and sister still trapped in the Red Keep. Had Robb already clashed with the Lannisters? If so, with what army? What chance did he have against Joffrey's forces without support from the Reach or the Riverlands? And what of his father and Sansa, trapped in the Red Keep? Were they alive, imprisoned, or worse?

Now, seated at the heavy oak table in the Hall of Yronwood, Edric felt no more at ease. Arianne sat to his left, poised and regal, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her goblet. To his right, Oberyn lounged with the casual arrogance of a man ready to kill or laugh at a moment's notice. Torrhen Karstark sat further down, silent as always but with an intensity in his sharp gaze that betrayed his readiness for war.

Lord Anders Yronwood, the "Bloodroyal," sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. He was a man of imposing stature, his salt-and-pepper beard giving him an air of authority. Yet, for all his commanding presence, something felt off.

Most notably, Quentyn Martell was absent. Arianne's younger brother, fostered here at Yronwood, had inexplicably departed before their arrival. Edric couldn't shake the feeling that this was no coincidence. Doran Martell's calculated mind surely had a reason for sending his son away just as Edric prepared to lead the Dornish host into battle.

"Still no word on where Quentyn has gone?" Edric asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

Anders Yronwood shook his head. "None. He departed one day before your arrival, with a small retinue and no explanation. If Prince Doran had any instructions for his son, he did not share them with me."

"Quentyn's absence troubles you," Anders Yronwood remarked. It wasn't a question.

"It does," Edric admitted, his voice steady despite the turmoil beneath. "I would think Prince Doran would want his son here to witness the call to arms. His absence feels... deliberate."

Anders's dark eyes flicked to Arianne, who met his gaze with a frown. "My father's plans are his own," she said softly. "Quentyn has his duties, as do we."

"Duties," Oberyn interjected, his tone laced with dry amusement. "A polite way of saying my brother sent the boy elsewhere to avoid the dangers ahead. Doran plays the long game, as always."

"Dorne cannot afford to play the long game now," Edric said firmly, his hands gripping the table. "The North marches. If we wait, Robb will face the Lannisters alone. If he falls, the war is lost."

Anders leaned back, his fingers steepled. "And you think Dorne's armies will be enough to turn the tide?"

"They will be," Edric replied, meeting the Bloodroyal's gaze. "With the right allies we can take King's Landing. But I need your swords and spears now, Lord Yronwood. Not after more delays."

A tense silence followed. Anders's expression didn't change, but there was a glimmer of approval in his eyes. Finally, he nodded. "You'll have the banners of Yronwood. I've sent word to my bannermen at Ghost Hill and Wyl. When the call to arms comes, we'll be ready."

Relief washed over Edric, though it was tempered by the enormity of what lay ahead. "Thank you, my lord."

Anders inclined his head, but his voice remained stern. "Let's hope your brother marches as swiftly as you think. And let us hope that he and you are as capable as you both have been claimed to be."

"Time to move onto the news you wish to hear then," Yronwood began, his voice measured, "there is much you must hear, though I fear it will offer as many questions as answers."

Edric sat straighter, his heart pounding in anticipation. "Go on," he urged.

Yronwood nodded and began, his words deliberate. "Renly Baratheon has crowned himself king. He has declared his claim from Highgarden, securing the Tyrells as his allies with a marriage to Margaery Tyrell."

Arianne exhaled sharply, her expression darkening. "So, the realm splinters further. And Stannis?"

"Stannis remains at Dragonstone, unyielding in his claim as Robert's lawful heir," Yronwood replied. "But his position weakens with Renly's growing strength."

Edric's fists clenched under the table. Every move by the Baratheons felt like another wedge driven into the heart of Westeros. "And my family?"

"Eddard Stark and Sansa Stark remain in King's Landing," Yronwood said solemnly. "There is no word on their condition, but the Lannisters hold them still."

The words felt like a dagger to Edric's chest. He swallowed hard, his mind racing.

"There is more," Yronwood continued, his tone grave. "Your brother, Robb Stark, has called his banners. "He has amassed an army of around twenty thousand strong. He's already engaged the Lannisters at the Green Fork. Word is, he pulled off a maneuver that led to the capture of Jaime Lannister."

A murmur rippled through the room. Even Oberyn raised an eyebrow at that. "The Young Wolf has teeth," the Red Viper said with a small, approving smirk.

Edric felt a surge of pride and relief, but it was short-lived as Yronwood continued.

"I do not know the full extent of his battles and losses," Yronwood admitted. "But I fear his army has suffered greatly. The Riverlands are bloodied, and Robb Stark's forces will not remain unscathed."

The news was heavy, but it was not the last of it. Yronwood reached into his cloak and withdrew a letter, sealed with the sun-and-spear of House Martell. He extended it toward Edric.

"This is from Prince Doran," Yronwood said. "He has predicted your intent, Stark, and called his banners. Fifteen thousand Dornish warriors are marching to the Boneway as we speak. They are sworn to you."

All Edric could think was, Sworn to me… why wouldn't he swear them to his ten and seven son, and have him march with me into the battle. So he hesitated for a moment before breaking the seal. The parchment bore Doran's precise handwriting, each word measured and deliberate:

To Edric Stark, Prince consort of Dorne,

The sands of Dorne have waited too long for vengeance, but now the time has come. Lead our armies with wisdom, and rain hell upon our enemies. Bloody the Lannisters and show the realm that the sun and spear do not forget their debts.

Act with precision, with caution and heed advice from those around you, use patience as your strength. You have my armies, and with them, my trust. Make no mistake—this is your war to win or lose. Do not squander the lives of my men lightly.

Edric set the letter down, his chest tightening. The promise of fifteen thousand soldiers was a boon, but the weight of command was a heavy one. The words sent a shiver down Edric's spine. For the first time, he felt the weight of the Dornish army behind him, their banners raised in his name. He folded the letter carefully, his mind racing.

"There is one final piece of news," Yronwood said, his tone shifting. He hesitated, as though searching for the right words. "Your brother, Robb Stark, has been crowned King in the North."

The words struck like a thunderclap. Edric blinked, struggling to process what he'd just heard. "King in the North?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Aye," Yronwood confirmed. "The northern lords have declared independence. Robb Stark no longer only fights to free his father or avenge his kin—he also fights to sever the North from the Seven Kingdoms."

Edric, however, felt a surge of frustration. "He's isolated us," he muttered, rising from his seat. "If the North declares independence, how can we hope to form alliances with Renly or Stannis? How can we unite the realm against the Lannisters if the North breaks away?"

Oberyn leaned back in his chair, a low whistle escaping his lips. "The boy doesn't lack for ambition."

But Edric wasn't thinking of ambition. He was thinking of the implications. The North's independence would make it nearly impossible to ally with Stannis or Renly. It would isolate them further, painting them as rebels rather than liberators.

"Robb," he murmured. "What have you done?"

"This complicates things, yes," Arianne said carefully. "But it doesn't change the immediate goal: freeing your father and sister, and breaking the Lannisters' grip on the throne."

Edric paced the room, his mind racing. The North's secession threatened to undermine everything. If they couldn't secure broader support, their war might end in disaster, no matter how many victories they claimed.

"We need to move quickly," he said finally, turning to Yronwood. "We should start arranging talks and negotiations with everyone around us, starting with Renly."

Yronwood nodded, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "And what of your brother's claim? Will you march as his banner or as your own?"

Edric hesitated. The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. It ignited some irritation in him "We march with Dorne's banner but I will wear the Stark Sigil. But I find that irrelevant right now."

Edric steeled himself before moving back to more serious matters, "before we commit fully to this campaign, I must know: is Dorne secure? Are there any immediate threats we face closer to home?"

Yronwood met Edric's gaze evenly, his tone measured as he replied. "Dorne faces no immediate threat of invasion. The Stormlands remain preoccupied with Renly's claim, and the Reach is aligned with him for now. Neither Stannis nor the Lannisters have the resources to strike at Dorne directly, not with the turmoil across the realm."

Edric glanced at Oberyn, who nodded in agreement, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "The Lannisters wouldn't dare march into the sands. They'd lose half their strength before they crossed the Red Mountains, and the other half by the time they faced our spears."

Edric exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "Good. I needed to hear it. If we are to commit Dorne's armies to this fight, we cannot afford distractions or vulnerabilities."

Lord Yronwood inclined his head. "Rest assured, my lord. Dorne's strength endures, and our enemies know better than to test it lightly. The men marching to the Boneway are not the entirety of our forces—our homeland will remain secure."

Edric leaned back in his chair at the table, his mind spinning with the enormity of their task. As the conversation shifted to the logistics of the journey ahead, Edric leaned back in his chair, his mind spinning. The immediate threat of the Lannisters, it seemed, was the least of their worries now. To reach King's Landing, they would have to march through enemy territory, and the question of how to navigate the dangerous path ahead weighed heavily on him.

Arianne poured herself a glass of wine, swirling it thoughtfully before breaking the silence. "To get to King's Landing, we must cross the Reach and the Stormlands," she said, her voice cool, but with a touch of concern. "Both regions are now firmly in the control of Renly Baratheon and the Tyrells. You know as well as I that Renly's army is the largest in the realm—seventy thousand strong, if not more."

Oberyn's lips twisted into a wry smile, though his eyes reflected the seriousness of the situation. "Seventy thousand?" he muttered. "More than enough to make fifteen thousand Dornishmen look like a handful of ants, even if we were all armed with spears dipped in fire."

"And with the Tyrells behind him," Arianne added, her fingers tapping lightly on the table, "Renly has a hold on both wealth and men."

Lord Yronwood nodded gravely. "Aye, and the Reach has no love for Dorne. If we march openly through their lands, they'll respond with force. The same goes for the Stormlands."

Arianne tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing. "Then we can't march openly. We'll need to avoid direct confrontation until we're close enough to King's Landing to strike. But how?"

Silence fell as the group considered the problem. Edric finally spoke, his tone thoughtful.

"Renly doesn't see us as a threat—not yet. He's focused on consolidating his power and preparing for the Lannisters. That might give us a window to slip through his territory, but it'll require careful planning."

"Even so," Torrhen interjected, "there's no guarantee we won't be discovered. If Renly's men catch wind of our presence, they'll descend on us like wolves."

Edric's mind raced as he absorbed the implications. "So we'll be facing not just Renly's army, but the full weight of the Tyrells and Baratheons. Fifteen thousand men simply won't be enough." He paused, rubbing his brow in frustration. "If we're seen as a threat, there will be no easy way through, not unless we can find a way to avoid direct confrontation."

"And what of Renly?" Edric asked, his voice sharp. "We haven't even considered what Renly might do if he learns of our approach. If he chooses to stand against us, we'll have no hope of overcoming his forces."

"Renly would crush us," Oberyn said bluntly, his tone full of ruthless practicality. "The Dornish, for all their fierce reputation, are still a drop in the ocean compared to Renly's tide. If we march straight through his lands, we risk losing everything."

The room fell silent as everyone absorbed the reality of the situation.

Edric's gaze shifted to the map laid out on the table, his finger tracing the journey ahead. "Then we'll need a plan. Something more than just a direct march into Renly's lands. We need to find a way to make them think we're not a threat or, failing that, we need to create a diversion strong enough to let us slip through unnoticed. Otherwise, fifteen thousand Dornishmen will do nothing more than die on the fields of the Reach or the Stormlands."

"And the north?" Arianne asked, her voice a touch more hopeful. "What of Robb?"

"He'll hold the north for now," Edric replied, his voice unwavering. "But even with his army, he cannot spare forces to aid us here. We must move on our own. We'll have to find another way—through politics, or strategy."

Edric stood, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the map, his eyes scanning the regions that lay between them and King's Landing. The room was quiet for a moment, the weight of the decisions ahead pressing down on them all. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice steady, but tinged with uncertainty.

"We could attempt negotiations," Edric said slowly, his gaze flicking from one person to another. "Renly Baratheon is no fool. He doesn't need us, so long as Robb keeps Tywin engaged he can just waddle to King's Landing and take the throne by force."

Arianne arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You're right he is consolidating his rule, and we are little more than rebels in his eyes. Our cause may be righteous, but to him, we are a distraction—another thorn in the side of the crown, he will demand that Robb bends the knee,."

Edric turned to her, his expression conflicted. "I know. But if we play our cards right, it may not be about persuasion—just about survival. We may not have the power to win his favor outright, but we might be able to present a case he can't afford to ignore. The Tyrells may be with him, but they're not invulnerable. He might see it as a lesser evil to let us pass."

Oberyn chuckled darkly. "A lesser evil, yes. But what do we offer him in return? He has no love for the North, nor for anyone who defies the crown. What could we offer Renly that would make him even entertain our presence? He's busy with his own ambitions, and the North's declaration of independence is only making matters more complicated."

Edric paused, rubbing his chin. "That's the problem, isn't it? Robb's declaration has complicated everything. Renly now has a reason to view us as thieves, thieves that stole half his kingdom. If the North seeks its independence, he might see that as a threat to his own control of the realm. He already has the Tyrells at his side, and the threat of the North breaking away only makes him more determined to hold onto his power. He might not entertain us at all."

Lord Yronwood, ever the pragmatist, interjected. "Negotiation with Renly will be no simple matter. He may see an alliance with you as the lesser of two evils, but that's only if we present him with an offer he cannot refuse. We would need to provide him with something of value—information, resources, even support. And we must tread carefully, for Renly is no fool. He will likely question our true intentions."

Edric shifted his weight, his gaze moving from face to face around the room, the quiet tension palpable. The weight of his next words hung heavy in the air, as if they were a bridge to something larger, something inevitable.

"The thing is I have always intended to ally with Stannis, as did my father." Edric said, his voice steady but with a flicker of resolve that could not be hidden. "He is the rightful heir to the throne. Renly may have his armies, and his charm, but Stannis—he has the blood and the honor to rule. I've always believed in his claim."

Arianne, ever keen in her observations, raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you speak of negotiating with Renly. Surely you don't intend to put your faith in both brothers at once?"

Edric sighed, rubbing his temples, the weight of their situation pressing down on him. "No, I don't. But we need to keep our options open. The North may be leaning toward independence, and we are marching to King's Landing through Renly's lands—while we do so, it might be best to consider all possibilities. Stannis may be the right king, but Renly is the reality of the realm at the moment. If we could gain Stannis's favor, it might shift the balance in our favor as well. He has the potential to take the throne in a way Renly could never."

Oberyn leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "But you know as well as I do that Stannis has his sights set on Storm's End. He has never been one to take a back seat to his brother. He will not sit idle while Renly plays king in the Reach."

Edric nodded, his fingers tracing the edge of the map, where Storm's End loomed just beyond the Stormlands. "I know. But I wonder—has he made any moves? Is he preparing to lay siege to Storm's End anytime soon?" Edric's voice was tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern. "If he does, it will change everything."

Lord Yronwood, who had been listening intently, added, "And if Stannis makes his move, it could give us an opening. If Renly is preoccupied with his own forces, it could provide the distraction we need."

Edric nodded, appreciating the insight. "We can only wait and watch for signs of Stannis's movements. But I fear the longer we delay, the harder it will be to secure either's allegiance—if they even want it."

Edric paused, his fingers tracing the edge of his glass absentmindedly as a new thought crossed his mind. He glanced up at Lord Yronwood and then at Oberyn, his voice inquisitive yet cautious. "Stannis Baratheon... does he have a daughter? I believe her name is Shireen."

Lord Yronwood and Oberyn exchanged a brief glance before the former nodded.

"Yes, Stannis has a daughter, Shireen," Lord Yronwood confirmed. "She is the only child of Stannis. She's still young, though she's... struggled with her appearance due to an unfortunate illness when she was an infant."

Edric raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Greyscale if I am not wrong."

Oberyn leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but deliberate. "Yes, she was stricken with greyscale as a baby. A cruel fate for any child, and the disease left her with permanent scarring on the left side of her face." He paused, his gaze sharpening. "It's hard to say how she will be received when she's older, especially with the stigma that comes with the disease."

Edric's brow furrowed as he considered the implications. "A child of Stannis Baratheon, but marred by such a condition..."

Lord Yronwood let out a soft sigh. "Yes. It's a difficult truth. She'll struggle with suitors in the future, no doubt. The scars will make things harder for her, especially in such a superficial world. Her beauty will not be her strength, as it often is for noble women of her station."

"And yet," Oberyn added with a slight smirk, "it may not be a curse but an opportunity. Perhaps we could arrange something for her. Trystane is around her age I believe."

Edric nodded thoughtfully, the pieces of the political puzzle shifting in his mind. "A marriage alliance... I suppose, if it's carefully arranged, she might find a way to leverage her position."

Lord Yronwood nodded thoughtfully, sensing the delicate nature of the subject they had just broached. Let's come back to discuss the balance between Renly and Stannis later," he said, his voice steady. "Right now, we must focus on what lies immediately ahead—the war, the alliance, and the march to King's Landing."

Edric's gaze remained fixed on the map before him, his thoughts swirling like the currents of a storm. The future was a puzzle, its pieces scattered and uncertain. He knew they would need strength to face whatever lay ahead, but the question of time loomed large.

He turned to Lord Yronwood, his voice low but deliberate. "How long do you think it will take to consolidate our forces?" Edric asked, his fingers tapping the table softly. "We will need every man we can muster if we are to face both Renly and the Lannisters, not to mention whatever Stannis might do. If we are to make a move, we must have a united front."

Lord Yronwood's weathered face furrowed in thought as he considered the question. "It will depend on how quickly we can bring in the various houses from across Dorne. Our banners will need time to assemble, but I expect we can have the core of our forces ready in two weeks' time, if not sooner. The road to the Boneway and beyond is long, but once we have the reinforcements, we can move swiftly."

Oberyn leaned forward with a knowing look in his eyes. "Two weeks is generous, but realistic. The question will be how much time we have before Renly makes his next move or before Stannis takes action. The longer we wait, the more precarious our position becomes. Our advantage will lie in the surprise of our arrival, but we cannot afford to be delayed by logistics. Dorne is not a short march, but we will make it."

Edric nodded, absorbing their answers. He could feel the pressure of time pushing down on them, the ticking clock of the realm's instability. "So, we have a window—perhaps a month, maybe less, to consolidate and move our forces."

He glanced between Oberyn and Lord Yronwood, both of whom were seasoned in the politics of war. "Another idea to consider is to simply let Renly and Stannis go at it versus each other and once they finish we can go down, but again that leaves Robb in a difficult position because he needs us versus Tywin."

The two men exchanged glances before Oberyn spoke. "We have always known the timing would be critical. Renly will not wait forever, and Stannis has his own ambitions. But with Dorne's forces behind us, we will have a chance—not just to survive, but to make a real impact."

Oberyn leaned back slightly in his seat, his expression cool but filled with conviction. "Doran may be sending only fifteen thousand now, Edric," he said, his voice steady, "but don't mistake that for a lack of support. As the war moves farther away from Dorne, we will send more men. The safety of Dorne is no longer at immediate risk, and as the conflict moves northward, our interests will only grow. We may begin with fifteen thousand, but I assure you, that number will increase as the need for reinforcements grows."

He paused, his gaze sharpening. "Dorne has always understood the long game. While our forces are not infinite, we will have the manpower when we need it. The longer this war drags on, the more Dorne's strength will be felt. Our commitment to your cause is not just for this initial push—it's for the entire struggle ahead."

Edric's eyes met Oberyn's, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "So you're saying," Edric said slowly, "that once we move farther from Dorne's borders, and the threat to our homeland wanes, Doran will commit more forces? That's a reassurance I needed to hear."

Oberyn nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Exactly. Doran will not let us falter, especially when the stakes are this high. His patience has always been his strength, but do not mistake it for inaction. He is calculating, and as the war spreads, he will be more than willing to send reinforcements. We will make sure the Lannisters feel the full weight of Dorne's power, and that means we need to keep moving forward with precision."

Edric took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the plan settle in. "Then we're not alone in this fight. If we can hold on, rally enough strength, and survive the first few battles, Dorne's support will grow as the war intensifies."

Edric leaned forward, his gaze steady but thoughtful as he looked from Oberyn to Lord Yronwood. The weight of his decision was heavy, but the reality of their situation pressed upon him. Renly Baratheon's army was immense, and the situation seemed to be spiraling toward open conflict. Still, there was one option that he couldn't dismiss.

Edric stood, his mind still racing with the weight of the decisions they had just discussed. There was no time to waste, and his first priority was clear. He turned to Lord Yronwood with a firm look.

"I'll need a quill and some parchment," Edric said, his voice steady, though there was a flicker of urgency in his eyes. "Before we make any moves, I need to write to my family—Robb, and whoever is with him in his march. I need to know where he stands, what support he has, and how far he's gone in his fight."

Lord Yronwood nodded, his face unreadable as he motioned to one of his servants. "Of course. We'll get them for you right away."

Within moments, a servant entered with the requested supplies—a clean sheet of parchment, a quill, and a small ink pot. Edric took them from the servant, his fingers brushing over the smooth paper. He sat back down at the table, taking a deep breath as he focused on the task ahead.

As the quill scratched across the parchment, he wrote quickly, his words concise but urgent.

To Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North, and my brother,

I hope this letter finds you safe and well, though I fear the uncertainty of the times may make that unlikely. I hope mother, Bran and Rickon are well. The days since our parting have been torturous, and the silence has only added to the weight I carry. I do not know where you stand in your campaign, nor how your forces are faring, but I must ask: Where do you march? How fares the war? Have you suffered great losses, or are you still gaining ground?

You know as well as I that Renly Baratheon now sits upon the throne in the South, and Joffrey Lannister continues to tighten his grip on King's Landing. Stannis is collecting his forces on his island.

Lord Doran has pledged his support…

The number of paces from which you were able to shoot a bullseye on our 9th nameday:
We are assembling an army with a thousand times the men of that, and those many for now, more will follow as the war spreads further from Dorne.

I will be ready to move in that number of days as well.

The immediate problem we face is my ability to pass through the Reach and Stormlands, it hinges on whether we want to support Stannis' claim or Renly's claim, if Renly then the path forward is easy, if Stannis then a lot of maneuvering is required.

Yours in solidarity,
Edric Stark

Edric made sure to conceal the army strength and the number of days for him to mobilise in information only Robb would know. He paused, reading over his letter one more time before dipping the quill into the ink again, signing it with a flourish. As the ink dried, he folded the parchment and handed it over to Lord Yronwood.

"Send this to Robb immediately," Edric instructed. "I need to know where he stands, what forces he has left, and whether he's still fighting."

Lord Yronwood took the letter, nodding once more. "It will be done, Lord Stark. We will see it delivered to the North at once." He leaned forward slightly, meeting Edric's gaze. "You must know however that the Lannisters have ears everywhere, and Renly's spies are likely no different. Word could have already reached them that Dorne is throwing its weight behind your cause. There's a chance Robb may already know we're coming to join him."

Edric's brow furrowed as he processed the implications of Lord Yronwood's words. "So there's a chance my brother could already be aware of Dorne's involvement?"

Lord Yronwood nodded gravely. "Yes. And it's not just Robb who might know. Renly could be aware as well, though he may not know the full extent of our intentions. As much as we've tried to keep things quiet, this is a war of rumors as much as armies. Your message might reach Robb, but there's also a chance it's already too late to keep our movements a secret."

"I see," Edric murmured, rubbing a hand over his face, frustration evident in his voice. "So the element of surprise is lost. To everyone, the Barathons, to the Lannisters, and to Robb and the North… they may already be preparing for it."

Lord Yronwood nodded grimly. "The armies of the Reach and Stormlands are not the only ones keeping an eye on us. The North has its scouts and spies. Even with Dorne's distance from the heart of the realm, nothing remains secret for long. It's possible that they have already made his own plans with this knowledge."

Edric sighed heavily, the weight of everything settling deeper on his shoulders. "That's good for us on only one front, but there's nothing to be done now. We still need to move, regardless."

Oberyn, who had been quietly observing the exchange, leaned in slightly, his voice low but laced with insight. "If Robb Stark knows we're coming, then he may have been waiting for us. But that works in our favor too. It means we're not walking into a war alone. The more prepared he is, the less we risk when we join him."

Edric nodded slowly, the idea beginning to settle. "Then we move forward. We take Dorne's strength and reinforce the North. It may not be a surprise, but it will still be a force they will have to reckon with."

---

Arianne stood by the window for a moment, her silhouette framed by the dim glow of the moonlight. Her mind was sharp, and though much had been said during the day, her thoughts had settled on one subject in particular. She turned, her movements calculated, her eyes locking with Edric's as she walked toward him.

Edric was seated on the edge of the bed, lost in thought, his brow furrowed with the weight of the decisions they'd made and the war they were about to wage. When Arianne approached, he didn't immediately react, too deep in his own thoughts to notice her movements.

She smiled to herself, a smoldering intensity in her gaze. Without a word, she moved swiftly, pushing Edric back onto the bed with surprising force. He stumbled, caught off guard, and before he could fully process what was happening, Arianne was straddling him, her legs on either side of his waist, pinning him to the mattress.

"The walls are made of stone here," Arianne murmured, her voice thick with mischief. "Not wood."

Edric blinked, still dazed, but the implications of her words hit him all at once. "Arianne…" he began, his voice hoarse with uncertainty.

She placed a hand gently over his chest, silencing him. "No more excuses, Edric," she whispered, leaning down to press her lips against his in a slow, deliberate kiss. The heat between them surged as her hands slid up his chest, pulling him closer to her. She deepened the kiss, letting him feel her urgency, her dominance in the moment.

Edric's breath quickened as he tried to push back the swirl of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. But Arianne was relentless. The weight of the war, the decisions that had yet to be made—it all seemed to vanish in that moment, replaced by the raw intensity between them.

Arianne's hands moved with practiced ease, pulling at his clothing, while her lips traced along his jaw, whispering against his skin.

"I don't know if this is the time, Arianne," Edric murmured, his voice hoarse, betraying the conflict inside him.

Arianne smirked, leaning down to whisper in his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "When would be a better time, Edric? The world is falling apart around us, and the night is ours. Let's forget the plans and the politics for a moment. We deserve it."

As Arianne continued to hover over him, her eyes darkened with a mix of urgency and something else—something that made Edric feel unease amidst the heat of the moment. She paused, her breath uneven, and for a brief moment, her gaze softened.

"I should've had my moon blood by now," Arianne said, her voice laced with an unsettling calmness. She lowered herself slightly, her body pressing into his, but her mind seemed elsewhere, lost in her thoughts. "If I don't have it in the next seven days…"

Edric's heart skipped a beat at her words. He could feel the tension shift in the air, the seriousness of the situation settling over them. He blinked, unsure how to respond, a knot forming in his stomach.

Arianne's eyes met his, her expression unreadable for a moment. She exhaled slowly, her lips curling into a small, almost bitter smile. "If it doesn't come... then we'll have to deal with the consequences." She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. "A child, Edric. If I'm pregnant, then I'll have to prepare for it. It will change everything."

Arianne pulled back slightly, studying his face for a long moment. "But until then… we'll just have to wait and see," she said with a shrug, as if dismissing the heavy reality of it all with a coolness he hadn't expected.

Arianne's eyes locked onto Edric's with an intensity that left no room for hesitation. Her hand slid slowly down his chest, and she leaned in, her lips brushing his with an almost teasing softness. The warmth of her breath mixed with the electric charge between them, and Edric could barely gather his thoughts before she kissed him deeply.

The kiss was nothing like the ones before. It was demanding, passionate, and full of a desperate hunger that left Edric breathless. Her lips parted against his, her tongue slipping into his mouth, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He responded in kind, his hands moving to her waist, feeling the curve of her body beneath the thin layers of fabric.

As they pulled apart for a moment, their breaths ragged, Arianne's fingers moved swiftly to his robes, pushing them off his shoulders. Edric, still reeling from the intensity of the kiss, followed her lead, his hands fumbling at her layers of silk and lace. The fabric slipped away from her skin, revealing the smooth, olive-toned expanse of her back.

With the final tug, their robes fell to the floor, forgotten in the haze of the moment. The only thing that mattered was the heat between them, the undeniable pull that neither of them could resist. Arianne's hands moved over his chest again, dragging her nails lightly across his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

Their lips met again, more fervently this time, and the world outside the room seemed to vanish. The war, the uncertainty, and even the weight of their duties were forgotten as they lost themselves in each other's presence, the only thing left between them the press of bodies and the wild, shared need.

---

Edric's sleep was restless, but something unfamiliar stirred within him. His mind shifted from the warmth of his dreams into something colder, darker. He was no longer in his own body, but somewhere else entirely—a place he had never physically been but somehow knew instinctively. The air was thick with the scent of leather and campfire smoke, and he could feel the earth beneath him, firm and steady, he was only a foot above the ground.

He was in the body of his direwolf.

His eyes—no, the wolf's eyes—surveyed the scene before him, his heightened senses alive with every movement. He padded softly, almost soundlessly, through the camp. The tents were barely visible in the moonlight, casting long shadows as the soft sounds of distant soldiers murmured in the background.

He moved closer to the source of the voices.

Inside a dimly lit tent, Robb Stark sat hunched over a map, his face taut with frustration. Catelyn sat beside him, silent, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Edric—no, the wolf—paused outside, listening intently as the conversation began to unfold.

"There are whispers, Mother," Robb said, his voice low but sharp, his eyes tracing the map with feverish determination. "Word has reached us that Dorne is amassing an army. They're preparing to join the fight."

Catelyn's eyes flickered, a glimmer of hope in them, though it was quickly tempered by caution. "Dorne?" she whispered. "Edric?"

Robb's hands tightened into fists, his anger barely contained. "I don't know, Mother. I want to believe it's him, I do, but I can't say for sure. But… probably. I can't see Dorne sending anyone else, not with how close they've become to us."

Catelyn nodded slowly, the weight of the words settling over her like a burden she hadn't realized she was carrying. "That would be a great boon to us. With Dorne's strength added to ours, we might stand a better chance against the Lannisters."

Robb's gaze darkened, a flash of bitterness crossing his face as he looked up. "It should be a boon," he muttered. "But it's hard to see it that way when I don't even know what happened in King's Landing. We've lost time, we've lost ground. Edric was there, with Father and Sansa, and now they're... still trapped. And him? He's nowhere to be found."

Catelyn's expression softened, her heart aching for Robb. She knew that the pain of losing his father and sister had left him vulnerable, especially with his suspicions about Edric. "You think Edric abandoned them?" she asked gently, her voice full of the understanding only a mother could give.

Robb clenched his jaw, his voice thick with frustration. "What else am I supposed to think, Mother? He was there, right in King's Landing, and now he's nowhere. I don't understand how he could leave Father and Sansa behind... especially when he knew how dangerous it was."

Catelyn's heart sank, but she reached out, placing a hand on Robb's. "Robb, you know that he wouldn't have taken this lightly."

"I know," Robb muttered, his voice tinged with regret. "But it doesn't make sense. We're fighting for the North, for our family. And he's… out there, somewhere. I need him, Mother. We need him."

The words hit Edric like a wave, but as he heard them, a sharp realization cut through him. He had never seen himself this way—he had never understood how much Robb needed him. To Robb, Edric's absence had been an abandonment, a betrayal. It stung deeper than he thought it would.

Robb's gaze dropped back to the map, and Catelyn let out a quiet sigh. "I'll have to trust that Edric is doing what he thinks is right," she said, her voice steady. "We may not understand his choices now, but if he is with us, if Dorne truly is coming, then it will help."

Robb nodded, but the hardness in his expression didn't relent. "I just hope he's not too late."

Edric's heart pounded as he listened, confused, conflicted, but also—almost relieved that Robb had not written him off entirely. But before he could process much more, the words from inside the tent shifted again.

Suddenly, Catelyn's sharp voice cut through the silence. "What's Edric's Wolf doing here?"

Edric's pulse quickened. His mind grasped the words, but his body—the wolf—remained frozen just inside the tent. His breath came in shallow, quick gasps as he realized the question was aimed at him, but not him.

Edric wanted to speak to them, say something, but was unable, there was no way to answer them. They didn't know he was the wolf.

Robb's voice followed with confusion and suspicion. "How did you...?"

Catelyn's eyes narrowed as she studied the camp's perimeter, a new worry in her gaze. "I thought we tied him down in your tent Robb..."

Robb's footsteps were heavy as he walked toward the wolf, his gaze fixed on the creature before him. He crouched down slowly, his fingers reaching out to gently scratch the wolf's fur behind the ears. The action was almost absentminded, but there was a softness to it, a mixture of affection and frustration.

"I wish Edric had just named you," Robb murmured, his voice carrying a trace of regret. "But he wouldn't. He refused to name you until he saw you for himself." He paused for a moment, his hand still resting on the wolf's fur, as if contemplating the weight of his words.

The wolf—Edric—could feel the scratch, the warmth of Robb's touch, and it stirred something deep within him. But it was distant, as if it were part of someone else's memories, someone else's body. It was strange and alien, yet somehow comforting. Edric's heart ached as Robb continued.

"You're kind of like him," Robb added, more to himself than to anyone else, his voice distant. "Even when he was here, he kept his distance. Always hiding behind his thoughts, never showing who he truly was. I never understood him, not really. But I always hoped... I always hoped he'd show up, that he'd be there when it mattered."

Edric's chest tightened with the words. Robb's anger, his hurt, were more apparent now than ever. He could feel the weight of the unspoken feelings, the distance between them that had only grown wider. Even in his dreamlike state, Edric wanted to reach out, to speak to him. But all he could do was exist as the wolf, trapped in the body he didn't fully control.

Robb let out a soft sigh, pulling his hand away from the wolf's fur and straightening up. "I just don't understand you, Edric," he muttered, his voice laced with confusion. The words echoed in Edric's mind, cutting through him like a blade, but he had no way to respond—no way to make Robb understand. He could only feel the pain, the hurt, and the weight of the choices that had led him to this moment.

After a long pause, Robb stood up and took a deep breath, glancing around the camp as if looking for something that wasn't there. "I guess we'll see what happens, won't we? Whether Dorne shows up... whether Edric does."

"Father's death has—"

Edric woke with a sudden jolt, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his body slick with cold sweat. The dream—if it had been a dream—lingered in his mind like a shadow, the conversation with Robb, the anger, the confusion. His heart raced in his chest, and his mind struggled to catch up with reality. Father is dead.

As he sat up sharply, the sudden movement threw Arianne off of him. She tumbled down onto the bed with a soft thud, her eyes wide with surprise and confusion as she scrambled to steady herself.

"Edric" she groaned, her voice filled with a mixture of confusion and irritation. Her dark eyes locked onto him, as her irritation gave way to worry, her brow furrowed with concern. "What's wrong? You're shaking like a leaf."

Edric's hands were trembling as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breath. His pulse was still racing, and the remnants of the dream clung to him like a shadow. He glanced at Arianne, then quickly looked away, the weight of the vision or whatever that was still heavy in his chest. Father is dead.

"I... I don't know," he muttered, his voice shaky. "I just—" His words trailed off, lost in the confusion of his own mind.

Arianne frowned, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she knelt beside him. "You're acting strange," she said softly, her hand gently resting on his arm. "What did you see?"

Edric's gaze flickered toward her, but he couldn't bring himself to explain it. He didn't know how to explain the pain in his heart, the anger, the confusion that had surged through him in the dream. It felt too real, too close. But Arianne would never understand. How could she?

"I... I don't know," he repeated, his voice distant, almost lost in the aftermath of the vision.

Father is dead.