301 AC, Dorne
The sun beat down on Sunspear like a sovereign claiming its throne. The Dornish palace shimmered under its heat, all sandstone and shadowed alcoves, pierced by the crisp scent of lemon and brine wafting from the sea beyond the Tower of the Sun. Banners of gold and orange and red flapped lazily from its battlements. Robb Stark could feel the weight of the southern heat settle over his Northern bones, sweat pricking at the nape of his neck beneath the polished silver and blue of House Stark.
He stood in the throne room of Sunspear, its wide columns and mosaiced floor depicting the Martells' long, defiant history. Beside him, Jon Snow shifted silently, his eyes sharp and distant, taking in the details with the quiet assessment of a sworn sword. Jory Cassel stood at Robb's other shoulder, broad-chested and vigilant, his hand never straying far from the pommel of his sword.
Robb's heart pounded like a war drum, though he kept his face composed. This was the moment. Not a battlefield, but a courtly ambush just the same. His fate had been written not in blood or steel, but in ink and sigils. He was here to meet his betrothed. Arianne Martell. He could hardly believe that his father and Lord Martell would've agreed to this, and yet here he was.
He half suspected that Lord Arryn may have had a hand in this, the old man had a weird thing for trying to arrange marriages.
The doors opened with the soft rasp of sand on stone. The scent of oranges and myrrh seemed to arrive before she did. Then she stepped through the archway like a blaze of fire given form.
Arianne Martell.
She wore silks of burnt copper and deep rose, her dark curls cascading down her back, jewels winking like starlight at her throat and wrists. Her eyes, dark as the Summer Sea, found his immediately—sharp, amused, and assessing. Her hips were to die for. Her olive, bronzed skin radiant in the afternoon light.
Lord Arryn clearly understated when he said that she was a "pretty, little thing".
"Lord Robb Stark," she said, voice like sun-warmed honey. "The North finally graces Sunspear."
Robb bowed, his voice calm despite the racing of his thoughts. "Princess Arianne. I hope the North does not disappoint."
"We shall see," she replied, with a smile that could wound and charm all at once.
Behind her, Prince Doran Martell sat upon his wheeled chair that was filled with cushions, his calm presence like a tide pulled far out to sea, promising depth beneath still waters. Areo Hotah stood pushing him forward, his axe a quiet sentinel. Oberyn Martell moved to lounge nearby on a couch, a shadow of pleasure and danger, Ellaria Sand at his side. The Sand Snakes stalked forward to linger in the room's edges, beautiful and enigmatic, each a different blade honed for a different war.
Robb inclined his head respectfully to Doran. "Your Grace. I bring the honor and gratitude of House Stark."
"And you are welcome here," Doran said with a nod. "May your union be the first stone in a bridge long-needed."
Arianne approached, her skirts whispering over the floor. "Shall we walk, my Lord Stark?"
Robb swallowed before offering his elbow out to her as confidently as he could manage. "Yes, lets."
They moved through Sunspear's gardens, past citrus trees and cool springs that trickled gently. The air was thick with the perfume of jasmine and ripe fruit. Manicured grass and paths gave them easy access to navigate. Robb felt the press of the palace behind him and the closeness of Arianne beside him.
She glanced sideways. "So. The North. Are all your men made of stone and snow?"
He smirked. "Some of us are made of ice and pine needles. The rest are mostly stubbornness and meat pies."
That earned a laugh from her—short, surprised. "You've a tongue for mischief, Lord Stark."
"You can call me Robb."
"And you may call me Arianne or Anne," she replied, her voice lilting. "Though I make no promises that I will answer every time."
He studied her for a moment. "You enjoy the game."
"Of course. Why else live in a court?" she said, twirling a small fig from a passing dish of fruit. "But I'm not here to play endlessly. I want to know the man I'm to wed."
"And I want to know the woman I'm to rule beside," he said.
They slowed beneath the shade of a lemon tree. Arianne tilted her head, her earrings catching the sun.
"You say 'rule beside.' Not 'rule over.'"
Robb nodded. "I've seen enough in King's Landing to know what happens when men try to silence women with crowns." His thoughts went to a certain overweight drunkard of a king.
Interesting, she thought. He wasn't only a wolf—he was one who had wandered far from his den and returned with lessons.
"And yet you bristle at the idea of your future wife having lovers, do you not?" she asked lightly, testing.
He stiffened slightly. "In the North, that is not our way."
"It is our way in Dorne," she said, watching him closely.
"Then perhaps," Robb said slowly, "there must be a way that is ours." But even as he said the words they tasted like ash in his mouth.
You either have a paramour or you don't, you can't halve a whole other person.
That gave her pause. He was not trying to dominate. Nor fully yield. Compromise, real compromise, was rare in nobles and lords. House Stark bred them right it seems, or at least she hoped so.
She stepped closer. "I want a partnership, not a prison or chains."
"And I want a wife, not a stranger or an enemy."
They stood a breath apart, the orange trees rustling in the warm breeze.
"You're not what I expected," Arianne said softly.
"Nor you," Robb admitted with a light exhale.
She studied his face—the high Northern cheekbones, the cleft in his chin, the intense blue of his eyes. He was too handsome to be real, and too guarded to be only charming.
"You've been Jon Arryn's ward," she said. "Does that mean you've been raised like a court hound? Or did you learn something of how the South breathes?"
"I've learned about masks and lies, plenty of those in Kingslanding." Robb smirked. "Though you must be much better suited to politics than I am."
"I'm afraid we all are here," she replied with a wicked glint in her eye. "But it is not politics I'm curious about right now. It's you."
His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't look away. "Me?"
She nodded, stepping a little closer, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. "What kind of woman do you imagine I am? Will you be content to share your life with a princess like me?"
"I have no doubt about your capabilities," he said, his tone careful. "I've heard enough about Dorne to know that your people—your family—are not to be underestimated."
Arianne's lips curved in a small, satisfied smile. "Flattery. A clever tactic, but I'm not here for that."
"What do you want then?" he asked.
She paused, her gaze softening. "I want to know if you're more than just the man your family has raised you to be. What will you do when the rules of the North collide with the customs of Dorne?"
"I'll stand firm," Robb said, his voice resolute. "I don't bend easily."
She stopped walking, turning to face him. "What about when it comes to me?"
The directness of her question made his heart skip a beat. He inhaled slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I'm here because my father believes this marriage will strengthen our houses. I'm here to do what's right. To fulfill my duty."
Her lips twisted into something between a smirk and a grin. "Duty. Yes. That's something I've heard a lot of, from the men of your house. But what about your desires, Robb Stark?"
"I don't have many," he said bluntly. "I have responsibilities." Though even as he spoke the words he knew that he was lying to himself, there was one right next to him.
She took a step closer, her presence overwhelming in a way he hadn't expected. "I see. And what about my desires? What if I want something beyond duty?"
He felt the heat of her body so near to his. He could smell the sweetness of her perfume, see the small sparkle of her earrings. Her chocolate gaze didn't leave his, and the tension between them was palpable. "What are you suggesting?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper, "That if you're to be my husband, you'll have to satisfy more than just my political needs."
The words hung in the air like a challenge. Robb's jaw tightened, and he instinctively took a small step back. He was a Stark, raised with a certain set of expectations. Loyalty. Honor. Fidelity.
"I don't like to share," he said, his voice firm, eyes hard.
Arianne's smile was full of mischief. "You'll have to learn how to, Robb. Because, as I told you earlier, I'm a woman of the world. And the world has no place for men who are afraid of their wives' appetites."
The heat surged in his chest again, though it was mixed with frustration. "I don't fear your appetites, Arianne. I just don't think I'll be able to satisfy them if you look elsewhere." He grimaced, "Loyalty is a two way street, I'll be faithful to you as long as you're faithful to me."
Arianne tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She paused for a moment considering, "Well then, I suppose it won't be necessary for me to take any lovers… as long as you can keep up."
Robb opened his mouth to respond, but the words stuck. His mind raced. Could he even begin to meet the challenges of a woman like Arianne Martell? And what would their marriage mean, if he couldn't? He eyed the southern beauty again and couldn't help but feel his hands twitch at the thought of intimacy with such a woman.
"I'll… try," he said, feeling uncomfortably exposed, out of his depth.
She smiled and placed a hand on his arm. "That's all I ask." She grinned wickedly, "Though of course if you fail to match me, I guess I can help you to...train then."
Jory raised an eyebrow from where stood, and Jon Snow studied Arianne with the impassive expression Robb knew masked a thousand judgments.
As Robb and Arianne continued their walk, the two of them became aware of the approaching footsteps behind them. The Sand Snakes had caught up, moving with their usual grace and calculated menace.
Tyene was the first to speak, her voice honeyed and playful. "Well, well, Lord Robb, you've certainly made an impression on our princess."
Robb turned to face them, his composure still intact, though the tension of the earlier conversation lingered. "It's… a work in progress."
Tyene grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "A work in progress indeed. I'm sure you'll learn much from her, Lord Robb. And perhaps from us, too."
"You're already making enemies of the North, sister," Obara said, her voice sharp and teasing as she eyed Jon and Jory who walked up to join them. "They're too serious to appreciate a little fun."
Jon Snow, ever the stoic, met her gaze without flinching. "We're not here for your games, Sand Snake."
"Oh, but you are," Nymeria said, her voice rich with mischief. "Isn't that why you've come south, Jon Snow? To learn the way of the world?"
Jon remained silent, his gaze steady, but it was clear that he wasn't exactly comfortable. He only had gone with Robb because he begged him to go with him a hundred times. That, and that Jon was genuinely worried about what could happen to him if he didn't have help.
Jory Cassel, on the other hand, chuckled. "You're right about one thing. There's plenty of games to go around. But I'm not sure how much of it we'll be part of."
The Sand Snakes laughed in unison, drawing closer, their playful nature becoming more apparent. Nymeria eyed Jory as one would look at food. Arianne exchanged a humored look with her cousins, but Robb remained the focus of their teasing.
"I must say, Lord Robb," Tyene continued, "you've a beautiful woman on your arm. But, will she be enough to melt that northern ice?"
Robb smirked, with more bravado then he really felt. "We shall see."
Obara's grin widened. "Indeed, we shall."
As the courtyard quieted, Tyene Sand drifted toward Jon Snow like a wisp of white silk and honeyed malice. "Come, Snow," she said, looping her arm through his with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You look parched. Let's find you something sweeter than water."
Jon stiffened but allowed himself to be led, shooting Robb a look that practically screamed pray for me. Robb just shrugged helplessly, already half-defeated by the Dornish heat.
Jory Cassel clapped a firm hand on Robb's shoulder before heading off in the other direction. "I'll settle the men and find us beds that don't bite. Try not to get seduced into treason or get poisoned while I'm gone."
Robb muttered, "No promises."
That left him alone with Arianne as Obara and Nymeria left them to join their father.
She eyed him with a smirk that was somehow both lazy and sharp. "You look like you're about to expire, Stark. Tell me, is all that wool your version of armor?"
He tugged at the collar of his long-sleeved tunic, dark and heavy despite its fine make. "It was okay enough to wear in Kingslanding," he said defensively. "And normal in the North."
She gave an exaggerated gasp. "And you've not disrobed since? Gods, no wonder your face is red."
"It's the sun."
"It's the sweat." She stepped closer, taking his arm in a familiar, almost possessive gesture. "Come. I'm taking you to the pools."
He blinked. "Pools?"
"Yes, the kind you soak in. Water. Cool stone. Privacy." She paused, then added with a mischievous curl of her lip, "Well, relative privacy."
That gave him a moment's pause, but she was already pulling him along, weaving through a side corridor shaded by latticed screens and trailing vines. They emerged into a softly lit chamber where the air was thick with the scent of jasmine and wet stone. Several pools lay scattered across the space—sunken, steaming or cool, veiled by sheer silks and palm fronds. Attendants moved like murmurs, offering towels, chilled fruit, iced water and carafes of spiced wine.
Robb slowed to a stop, drinking in the scene. Then he blinked again. His eyes settled on a pair of Dornish nobles reclining naked in one of the far pools to his left, laughing freely.
He froze.
Arianne, already unclasping the sash around her waist, gave him a sidelong glance and a raised brow. "Something the matter?"
He cleared his throat. "They're… unclothed."
"Yes," she said, utterly unbothered. "It's a pool. You don't bathe in boots either, do you?"
"I didn't think—" He hesitated. "In the North, we don't… this isn't…"
She laughed outright, stepping out of her dress and skirt with a smooth, practiced motion. Beneath it, there was nothing. No shift, no pretense of modesty. She stood bare and unashamed, her round breasts and sun-kissed skin aglow in the filtered light. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders like gentle waves of ink.
Robb looked away so quickly he nearly tripped over himself. "Gods." He choked back a cough.
Arianne just laughed harder. "You're blushing."
"I'm not," he muttered, very much blushing.
She slid into the pool with a sigh of pleasure, water lapping around her. "Relax, Robb. No one here is judging you—except perhaps for your taste in climate-appropriate clothing."
Robb hesitated, torn between the oppressive cling of his wool and the mortifying prospect of stripping bare in front of her. He tried to find a middle ground, unfastening his tunic and tugging it over his head, revealing pale skin dusted with sweat. He paused at his belt and breeches. He also hoped that in actually taking his outfit off he can avoid looking at his wife to be... so...lecherously.
He wasn't Theon, he had standards for himself.
Arianne floated closer, arms resting on the tiled edge. Her bosom pushed against the stone, out of sight to Robb's disappointed relief. "You'll boil in those too, you know. Dornish pools don't care for shame."
He shot her a look—half plea, half warning. "You're enjoying this."
"I am," she said, unrepentant. "It's not every day I see a wolf squirm." She chuckled, "Or strip."
With a low groan, he finally shed the rest and slipped into the water as fast as he can, quickly submerging up to his chest. The pool was cool and glorious against his overheated skin. Relief warred with embarrassment on his face.
Arianne tilted her head, gaze sweeping him openly. "You know," she said, tone lazy but appreciative, "for someone raised in furs, you cut a fine figure."
She can appreciate the strong chest, the broad shoulders, the muscled arms...and well...everything else. Her father had not neglected her tastes with this unorthodox match. She couldn't help but feel a bit grateful deep inside. She also wondered how his auburn curls would feel between her fingers, and she was eager to find out.
He stared straight ahead at her, exasperated. "You're impossible."
"I'm Dornish," she replied, with something close to pride. "You'll learn the difference soon enough."
He risked a glance her way, and for a moment they just looked at one another—quiet, unguarded. The ripples between them shimmered in the golden light.
"Why bring me here?" he asked, voice low and husky.
"Because I wanted to," she said simply. "Because you're always so wound tight I can hear the strain in your voice. And because—if we're to share a future—I'd rather see you like this."
"Like what?"
"Unarmored."
That quieted him. He looked down at the water, then back at her.
"I don't know how to be like that...exactly."
"Then we'll learn together."
Robb gave her an honest, small smile. A faint shine of hope in his Tully eyes. Arianne decided to lower her own guard and smile back honestly. She too could feel some of her worries slipping away quietly.
Just then, a loud commotion echoed from beyond the chamber—a slurred yell and something crashing into a bush.
"…Jon," Robb muttered.
Arianne sighed dramatically. "Tyene moves fast."