Chapter 12: The Return part 2

After the brief distraction provided by the incredibly ill-conceived attack by the pirates of the Stepstones, the rest of the voyage by sea towards Sunspear was relatively peaceful. Those that'd been afflicted with greyscale had made a full recovery and, in general, the moral of the ship was extremely high. After all, they had just succeeded in doing something no one in the past four-centuries could claim to have done. Made their way to the very heart of the ruins of Valyria and live to return and tell the tale. And the fact that they could now see the impressive structure of the Sunspear, the walled city that served as the seat of House Martell and the capital of Dorne, the moral had skyrocketed with the knowledge that they were truly back in familiar waters.

"I don't suppose that I could convince you to stay any longer than just a night at most, my friend?" Prince Oberyn asked as he sauntered up next to him, his Valyrian spear resting against his shoulder as the Sea Wolf slowly made its way into the harbor on the south side of the city. "I know that my brother, niece, nephews, and my daughters are all very excited to meet you."

"The offer is tempting Oberyn," Nox replied, mildly shocked that he'd meant the sentiment. "But I fear that we cannot afford more than a night at most. The men of the Sea Wolf are of the North, and it has been little over six moons since we left White Harbor. They are anxious to return to their homes and their families."

He could tell that Oberyn was giving him a sidelong glance. "You don't fool me, my friend. You've been anxious ever since we put the Stepstones to our backs. The men and women onboard are not the only ones anxious to return to the warmth of their ladies back home. I wouldn't be surprised if your lady Nyra will be walking bowlegged for some time after you return to her."

Nox didn't deny the accusation, because Oberyn was right. The ache of not having Nyra by his side was starting to worsen the longer he was away from her. And what wasn't helping matters was the strange sensations he kept getting from the Force every time he tried to meditate with her in mind. Something had happened. He didn't know what is was or even if it had or had not happened just yet, but some sort of change was happening around Nyra that he couldn't see. It was starting to frustrate him to no end. Not to mention, ever since they destroyed the false god in Valyria, aspects of his foresight had started to darken. He was unable to come up with an explanation as for why that might've been. And on top of all those things, Oberyn was also correct in that he missed Nyra's warmth. After all, it had been over six months and would probably be another month at best before they made landfall in the North. Besides, listening to Oberyn and Ellaria – night after night – was starting to wear down on even his self-control.

Putting thoughts of Nyra and his inevitable return North to the side, Nox focused his sight instead on the walled city before them. It was truly an impressive sight to behold, as he was starting to become accustomed to in this world. Honestly, the sheer architectural genius of almost every city or keep he'd encountered during his years on this world could make even the most skilled amongst the Empire seem like floundering incompetents.

Sunspear was a walled city that was composed of three massive winding walls which encircled one another which protected miles of roadways all condensed tightly together. Honestly, it would be insanely difficult to take the city if one were to try. Three sides of the city were surrounded by the bay while the only access point by land was protected by a secondary city just outside the walls. Shadow City, he believed Oberyn called it. Even if an invading army were to breach the first wall, they would have to either choose scaling the next several layers of walls or traversing the miles labyrinth roadways between the walls. Neither of which were pleasant options. But the city wasn't just built to protect against invaders. It was also built to withstand the harsh weather of the desert which covered most of Dorne.

"Well, it seems that our arrival will not be a quiet one," Oberyn sighed, nodding towards the docks the Sea Wolf was being guided towards so they could tie off. "That man there is Ser Manfrey Martell, my cousin and the Castellan of Sunspear."

"Does this mean that your brother knows that you're on board?" Nox asked.

"More than likely," Oberyn conceded. "The crew I brought with me to Essos likely returned some weeks ago and informed my brother about my decision to accompany you on your little excursion. No doubt he has quite the berating waiting for me the moment I enter his presence once more. Well, no time like the present, as they say."

As the ship was tied off and the gangplank lowered, Nox and Oberyn were quickly joined by Ellaria, Obara, and Jon. Once all together, the group made their way off the ship and towards the growing crowd of people who were staring at the Sea Wolf with awe. At the head of the crowd was a man who resembled Oberyn greatly, though he was a bit stockier than the Prince of Dorne and was wearing a set of what looked like ornamental armor complete with a sword at his waist. Oberyn, ever one for the dramatic, embraced the man with a flourish and a kiss to either cheek. "Ah, dear cousin Manfrey! I wasn't expecting the castellan of Sunspear to greet me in person! Are my brother and beloved niece and nephew resting at the Water Gardens?"

"Prince Oberyn, welcome home," the man returned the greeting cordially before his eyes flickered briefly towards himself and Jon, an air of suspicion growing around him as he did so. "And, no, Prince Doran and his children have not gone to the Water Gardens, so you cannot postpone your fate this time."

Oberyn didn't appear to be phased at all by the not-so-veiled threat, but he did notice the curious glance that'd been sent towards Nox and Jon. "Ah, forgive me! I forgot to introduce my new friends and guests of Dorne! This is Lord Alim Nox, the Northern Sorcerer, the Slayer of Ser Armory Lorch. And the young man beside him is his Apprentice, the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, Jon Snow."

Whatever curiosity remained in Oberyn's cousin disappeared immediately and was replaced by an all-too-familiar sensation of fear and awe. "Lord Sorcerer?" Ser Manfrey gaped, while around them the crowd started breaking out into loud whispers as people began jostling for position to see what was going on. "I – We were not expecting you to arrive and – and in the presence of our wayward Prince, no less."

Used to the reaction his presence could cause from his time traveling the Empire, Nox merely waved off the man's concern. "There is no cause for concern, Ser Manfrey. Prince Oberyn has been a most interesting and amusing traveling companion for these last few weeks. And good spear to have at one's side when it is needed."

The stench of fear remained within the man, but at least it had lessened slightly. "Yes, well, umm…If you would please follow me, my Lord, Prince Oberyn, I will lead you to where Prince Doran is waiting."

Falling in step beside Oberyn, Nox kept his senses on high as the group made their way off the docks and towards the towering walls that protected Sunspear. "Normally, I would take the time to show you and young Jon all the delights our fair city has to offer," Oberyn explained as they walked along the edge of the first wall before coming upon a massive gate. "But, as I know you are pressed for time, we shall be taking the Threefold Gate path directly to the Old Palace to meet with my brother."

The city itself was mightily impressive. At a rough estimate, the entire area of Sunspear was only slightly larger than Winterfell, but thanks to what he could only describe as incredible city planning, they would be able to fit the entire population of Winterfell and Winter Town within the walls of Sunspear several times over and still have room to spare. The culture was also vastly different, such that he felt that the Dornish had more in common with the people of Volantis than they did with the people of the North. 'It's understandable,' he thought as they passed through a bazaar where peddlers, whores, fire-dancers, and mummers plied their trades. 'Westeros is huge, and Sunspear is about as far as one can get from the North and still claim to be on Westeros soil. Still, such vast difference in cultures…The literature I've read does not do it justice. I feel I'm going to have to start taking trips around Westeros to get a better idea of the cultural and political climate I now find myself stuck in. If only there were faster methods of travel…Well, there are. But they've yet to be invented here yet. Perhaps I'll have to start planting the theories behind internal combustion or steam engines in the minds of my students at the Winterfell College. As I really don't feel like spending the rest of my life on horseback trying to get from one city to the next.'

As they passed through the third gate, Nox found himself tilting his head back as he took in the beauty that they entered. Unlike most of the city or even the land surrounding the city, the grounds of the inner palace area were relatively green and very well maintained. And in the center were three structures. A rather squat structure that stood in stark contrast to the two towers next to it, one of which was easily the tallest tower Nox had seen in his time here on this world.

"The Sandship, the Tower of the Sun, and the Spear Tower," Prince Oberyn explained, pointing to each tower of note within the center of Sunspear. "My dear brother will be waiting for us in the Tower of the Sun, no doubt in his private rooms as it is still too early in the day for him to hold court. Obara, dear, why don't you bring young Jon here to my squire, Daemon Sand? I'm sure the two will hit it off well in the yard. And then go and find your sisters and cousins. Ellaria, my dear, I know you're itching to see our daughters again, so I will not hold you any longer. I'll come find you and our beautiful girls after my brother is finished with me."

The three nodded and quickly left, leaving Nox alone with Oberyn and Manfrey. "Come, sorcerer," Oberyn said, motioning towards the more ornate structure. "My brother is most anxious to meet you."

Following Oberyn into the Tower of the Sun, Nox took a moment to marvel once again at the elaborate layout presented to him. High vaulted ceiling with marble columns and flooring. A glass and gold laced ceiling that allowed the light of the sun to filter and provide illumination. And at the far end of the main hall was a dais were the twin seats of the rulers of Dorne sat. One inlaid with a spear and the other with a blazing sun. 'A symbol of their heritage,' he thought as they passed by the thrones. 'If my history is correct, the spear designates House Martell, and the sun is for their Rhoynish roots through Princess Nymeria. Fascinating. And beautiful.'

After leaving the throne room and walking up a few flights of stairs, they found themselves before an open doorway that was guarded by a dark-skinned man that was easily as large as his old companion Khem Val. His sheer mass was pressing outwards against the copper scaled shirt he was wearing. And if Nox had to guess, he would put the axe he held to weigh nearly as much as himself. 'Honestly,' Nox thought, just barely managing to suppress the chuckle. 'How a preindustrial world can produce men the size of the Mountain and this giant now before me I will never know. Perhaps something in the food? Or maybe it's the Force presence of the planet itself? Who knows?'

"Ah, dear Areo, good to see your smiling face once more," Oberyn greeted the man joyfully. Though Nox assumed the 'smiling face' was said in jest as the man looked as hard as durasteel.

"Prince Oberyn," Areo greeted the Prince back before shifting his focus to Nox. "Prince Doran is waiting for you. Not this one or Ser Manfrey."

"Oh, don't be so formal, Areo," Oberyn smiled, patting Nox on the shoulder. "This is my new friend, Lord Alim Nox. Perhaps you've heard of him? Or perhaps you've heard of his more well-known moniker, 'the Northern Sorcerer'? My brother certainly has. After all, he sent me out to learn as much as I could. And after meeting him in person, well, I decided that the best way to really get to know someone is to travel with them. And we've had quite the interesting few weeks, haven't we, Nox?"

"That we have, Oberyn," he responded in the same light tone as Oberyn.

"There, now you know who he is," Oberyn said, stepping forward. "Now, why don't you move aside my large friend and let me see my brother."

Areo didn't respond, instead he simply moved aside in order to let Oberyn and Nox pass him by while Ser Manfrey took his leave. 'Interesting,' Nox thought, giving the man a once over. 'His skill is on par with Oberyn's, or perhaps even more so. And he isn't afraid of me, even knowing my reputation. If he had been born in the Empire, he would've been a shoo-in for the Imperial Royal Guard.'

Inside the room were three men, two of whom were wearing the grey-robes of the Maesters and the third was sitting in a rather primitive but elaborate wheelchair of all things. "Brother," Oberyn called out, making his way over to the man in the wheelchair and kneeling before him quickly before taking his hand.

"Brother," Prince Doran greeted back, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It is good to see you that you have returned. I was most distressed when the crew you left with returned without you and tales of you running off with the sorcerer of all people."

"Yes, well, when you are offered the chance to explore the lands of the fallen dragon lords beside a living legend, you can't really say no," Oberyn replied good naturedly as he rose back to his feet.

"Indeed, and I can see that your venture was indeed a success," Doran said, nodding towards the spear still in Oberyn's hand.

"Yes, it was," Oberyn replied, handing the spear over to his brother. "We fought side by side with against beasts straight out of nightmares, raided the vaults of Valyria, killed an undead dragon, and even obliterated a forsaken dragon lord sorcerer."

"Sounds like quite the adventure, Oberyn," Doran noted with a quirked eyebrow, handing the spear back to his brother and turning his attention towards Nox. "I take it that I owe you my thanks, Lord Sorcerer, for ensuring that my brother returned to his home unscathed?"

With his naming, both Maesters froze as fear tore through them. Strangely, though, it wasn't the same fear as that which was present in Ser Manfrey. No, this time their fear was all-encompassing. As if he were their very worst nightmare come to life before them.

"In part, Prince Doran," Nox replied, bowing his head slightly in greeting to hold proper decorum. "In truth, your brother proved himself invaluable to our success in Valyria."

"Flatter," Oberyn laughed. "I saw what you did when you leveled a part of Old Valyria. You didn't need any of us, except as pack mules, I suspect. But still, even if that was all I was, it was a privilege to fuck with those dragon lord cunts."

Leaning back in his chair, Doran waved the two Maesters off. "Caleotte, Myles. That will be all for today. And send out word that I will be in private talks for the rest of the day and will not be holding court."

"Yes, Prince Doran," both men said before they all but ran out of the room while trying to keep as much distance between themselves and him as they could.

"Interesting duo," Nox said, tilting his head towards the fleeing Maesters. "I haven't experienced that level of fear just from my mere presence in some time."

Grabbing the wheels of his chair, Doran brought himself over towards what Nox recognized as a cyvasse board. "It is a not-so-well-kept secret that the Maesters are wary of all things magic." Doran explained as he motioned for Nox to join him on the opposite side. "There are exceptions, of course. But most do not view that which they cannot explain in the best light."

Taking the offered seat, Nox took his time in examining Oberyn's older brother. They shared physical similarities and a fiery passion. But unlike his younger brother, Doran was very in control of himself. And even with just the briefest of passes, Nox could tell that the man had a mind like a steel trap. 'First Tywin Lannister, now Doran Martell,' Nox thought as Oberyn went about filling a few wine glasses behind him. 'Two of the four top 'players of the game', as it were. And both live up to their reputation. Now, I just need to meet this Jon Arryn and Olenna Tyrell to see if the rumors regarding their prowess are indeed true.'

"Well," Oberyn said, giving each of them a glass of dark red wine. "I take it that you two have quite a bit to talk about. Most of which I've already heard. So, with your permission, brother, I would seek out my daughters. It has been some months since I last laid eyes on my beauties."

"Of course, brother," Doran said excusing Oberyn. "They have been most anxious for your return. But do not think this gets you out of the conversation we will be having soon about your disregard for my instructions."

"Why, brother, you wound me!" Oberyn cried out dramatically, "I followed your every instruction to the letter. I even went above and beyond by bringing the very man you were interested in home with me. And this is the thanks I get? A scolding. Perhaps I should've just stayed on the Sea Wolf with you, Nox, and gone North. I've heard the women of the North are most eager to keep warm."

"Enough, Oberyn," Doran sighed. No doubt used to his brother's antics. "We will talk later. Now leave us and tell Areo that we are not to be disturbed."

"As you say, brother. Nox, have a good game. And, brother, don't try and play too hard. This man is perhaps one of the best players I have ever met, even if he is new to the game," Oberyn said with a flourish before making his way out of the room, leaving Nox alone with Doran.

"Well then," Doran said, placing a screen in the middle of the board so that the two could place their cyvasse pieces where they so desired. "Shall we begin our game, sorcerer?"

Leaning against the arch leading out to her balcony high within the Tower of the Sun, Princess Arianne Martell, eldest daughter of Prince Doran Martell, took a moment to enjoy the warm breeze that fluttered her silken robes around her body while she idly listened to her cousins interrogate their sister who had accompanied her Uncle across the Narrow Sea. To say that her cousin Obara had experienced perhaps the adventure of a lifetime was understatement. Traveling to Valyria in the accompaniment of the Northern Sorcerer of all people. Raiding the vaults of the lost dragon lords and fighting against a dragon! An actual dragon! It made even Arianne's most interesting day seem utterly dull in comparison.

"Do you truly expect us to believe that a boy, a mere boy whose balls probably haven't even dropped yet, was able to take down a dragon, sister?"

Turning her attention away from the landscape of Sunspear and Shadow City, Arianne started paying closer attention to what her cousins were saying. Her companions for today, all of whom were her cousins, were currently lounging around her room. Obara was standing with her back straight as if she were a guard standing watch was usual for her eldest cousin, who was undoubtably the most serious of them. Her second cousin Nymeria was lounging across several cushions, her pale-yellow silken dress hugging her curves tightly while her black long braided hair laid draped across her shoulder and down between the valley of her breasts. Laying in a similar position to her sister, her third cousin and frequent bedmate, Tyene, was listening intently to her elder sister while slowly popping one grape after another into her mouth in an almost sensual manner while her golden hair was done up into an elaborate braid behind her head. And lastly, Elia, the eldest daughter of her Uncle's paramour Lady Ellaria Sand, laid on her front while using her elbows to prop herself up. At only ten name-days, the young Elia idolized her elder sisters and was hanging off every word that left Obara's mouth.

"That is exactly what I am saying, sister," Obara continued, completely unfazed with the dismissive tone of her sister Nymeria. "While the Sorcerer battled the creature that he claims was responsible for the Doom of Valyria, his Apprentice, Jon Snow, held off the flames of a dragon before cutting the beast down while the rest of us protected him from the stonemen."

"And how did he manage to cut the beast down?" Tyene asked, her tone lacking the disbelieving tone of her sisters. "The only method that has been successful in taking down a dragon is to use a scorpion or another dragon. Or to kill it in its sleep."

"He used the Sorcerer's fire-sword, his 'lightsaber' as he calls it," Obara explained. "He jumped up onto the top of the dragon's head while the beast was distracted, and the sorcerer threw the weapon to him. The moment Snow had it in his possession, he brought the blade to life, plunged it into the dragon's skull, and killed the beast in two blows."

It was quite the story, one worthy of any bard's tongue. The killing of a dragon was no small feat, and unlike the uncertainty that showed on Tyene's and Nymeria's faces, Arianne knew her cousin's words to be true. Obara wasn't one to shovel horse shit. If she said something happened, it happened. "And what of Jon Snow himself?" Arianne asked offhandedly. "Is he as Nymeria says? A boy whose balls haven't even dropped?"

Sharing a glance between Tyene and Nymeria, she could see just the slightest of an upturning of Obara's lips, while on the floor Elia watched on in ignorance of the full meaning behind Arianne's question.

Three years ago, Arianne had stumbled across an unfinished letter in her father's solar that was destined for her brother, Quentyn, who was fostering at Yronwood to try and improve the relationship between their Houses. In the letter, her father had stated that Quentyn would one day sit in his seat and rule Dorne. Which was a clear violation of Dornish laws of inheritance. She was the eldest! Dorne was hers by right of birth! Not her brothers. Yet still, her father was going to pass her over in favor of her frogged-face brother. At first, she hadn't wanted to believe it. But as she thought on it, the more it made sense. Her father had rejected many of her potential suitors that would serve her well as a Consort. After nearly two moons' off thinking of the letter, she finally confronted her father. The conversation that followed was perhaps the worst of her young life. Her father had not denied the accusation. In fact, he stated that it was his plan to have her brother inherit Dorne! To steal her birthright! And when she pressed on what would happen to her, he simply brushed off her concerns and said that he would find a good place for her.

For nearly a year after that conversation she waged a – in hindsight, anyway – childish rebellion against her father. She stopped listening to him. Stopped taking commands from him. And in the end, she even went so far as to have a brief tryst with her Uncle's squire Daemon Sand. But even then, her father didn't seem to care. After her tryst, she realized just how childish she was being, and decided that if her father wasn't going to give her Dorne, as was her right, she would have to take it from him. She wouldn't kill him; she still loved her father far too much to even consider such an action. But she would make it so that he was left with no choice to name her as his official heir.

To that end, she started paying far more attention in her lessons, learning everything she could of not only Dorne and its politics, but of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms was well. Everything she put her mind to, she excelled at. She even managed to successfully create a new trade agreement between Dorne and Braavos. It wasn't for much, merely a decrease in taxation from Braavos on imports, but still, it was something. And yet, no matter what she did, her father never even so much as gave her an acknowledgement of her deeds.

Just before she reached her six-and-ten name day, it became apparent that her father would never name her his heir. And unfortunately, she simply didn't have the political pull within Dorne to force her father's hand. But she still had one weapon at her disposal. And it could be a powerful one at that. Her hand in marriage. But she needed to be extremely careful with her pick. She needed someone strong. Someone powerful. Someone who no one would even think once about crossing. And as she came to this realization, there was only one person who met that criteria. The Northern Sorcerer and the Butcher of Amory Lorch; Lord Alim Nox.

But while the idea of bedding the powerful man was indeed a fantasy that filled many of her fantasies late at night, she slowly came to realize that he was not necessarily the best option. To be sure, he was powerful, and no one would dare cross him, especially after what he had done for Dorne by helping to give some justice to her Aunt Elia Martell. But that was exactly the problem. He was too powerful. She knew that if she were to marry him, eventually she would become little more than a puppet while he ruled Dorne behind the scenes. And that was not something she was willing to have happen. And there were also the rumors of the man having a woman back in the North. So, as unfortunate as it was, she was forced to conclude that the sorcerer would simply not fit in her long-term plans, at least not as her husband.

That was why it seemed to have been a gift from the gods that, after little more than a moon's turn after acceding that Nox was not a fully suitable option for her, rumors started floating through Dorne regarding Nox and, more importantly, why he was so fixated on staying in the North. The Stark children all had the same type of power as Nox and the sorcerer was training them all. Including Lord Stark's bastard son. And it was the bastard son who drew Arianne's attention. Politically, marrying a trueborn son would be preferable. But in this case, it wasn't feasible. Marrying Lord Stark's heir meant that she would become the next Lady of Winterfell, which was not what she wanted. And the other son was far too young for her needs. That was why she started trying to dig up every scrap of information about the bastard son of Lord Stark as she could. Strangely enough though, this proved far more difficult than she would've liked.

She'd been able to learn that Jon Snow was in fact Lord Nox's favored student. He had also been raised alongside his trueborn brothers and sisters, something that seemed far more Dornish than Northern. But when she tried to find out just who his mother was that was when she hit the proverbial wall. No one was able to answer that question. Even Lord Stark had never seemed to state who Jon's mother was. It was a complete mystery. Naturally, it was one that people started taking a great interest in the moment word started to spread that the Stark children and Jon Snow had the same abilities as the sorcerer.

The most common story she'd heard was that he was the son of Lord Stark and Lady Ashara Dayne. A tale that held some merit. It was well known that the late Lady Dayne and Lord Stark were at the very least interested in one another at the Tourney of Harrenhal. And if that interest had progressed to a physical affection, then the timing would work out that after finding his deceased sister at the Tower of Joy, Lord Stark took his bastard son from Lady Dayne's arms on his way back north. It could also explain why Lord Stark was so hesitant to speak of the boy's mother. After all, it was known that Lady Dayne killed herself after he left, so perhaps the pain of losing her brother, her lover, and her son in one fell swoop was simply too much to bear.

In fact, the story held such merit that her father had recently even reached out to House Dayne to ask to either confirm or deny the story. And they were still waiting to hear back from them on the matter. If he truly was a son of Dorne, then he could be even more useful to her than she'd originally thought.

After nearly a year of collecting every scrap of information she could on Jon Snow, and the Starks in general, she made her decision. Jon Snow was the perfect Consort for her. From what she heard, he was well liked, even loved by his trueborn siblings, giving him close ties to the future Warden of the North. He was also being trained personally by the Northern Sorcerer to wield the same power as he did. And being a bastard meant he stood no chance of inheriting anything from his father without pissing off his Lords. The best he could hope for would be to become a Master of Arms or perhaps live out his life at the Wall or with the Maesters. None of which seemed appealing prospects for one who held so much promise. But most importantly he was still young. Malleable. Someone she could mold into what she wanted. Though, she did hope that he was strong enough to resist somewhat. The chase and seduction wouldn't be as fun nor enjoyable in the end if he simply went along with her every whim. And she wanted someone who was strong enough to rule alongside her. Not a simpleton who would bow to her every wish or a fool who would think that just because he had the cock that he was in charge.

"To call him a boy would be a disservice," Obara said, bringing Arianne back to the conversation at hand. "While he is young, he has this…aura about him that makes him seem far older. After he killed the dragon, it was like he was a different person. He gave orders and even I was willing to go along with what he said. And despite his boyish looks, he…well, he will grow up to be a…handsome…man."

"Why, sister!" Nymeria grinned, eagerly leaning towards her sister. "I do believe I see a blush forming on your face! Do you fancy the boy? I didn't know you liked them that young."

"He doesn't look his age," Obara muttered quietly, but not quite quietly enough to keep to herself. "If you don't believe me, you can see for yourself. Father left him with his squire in the yard while he and the sorcerer went to talk with Uncle Doran."

"Then that is exactly what we'll be doing," Arianne announced with a note of finality, marching towards the door to her chambers and leaving her cousins scrambling to follow.

Just as she was about to pass through her door, she stopped and took a moment to looked herself over in the mirror that'd been gifted to her by her uncle after one of his many trips across the Narrow Sea. At seven-and-ten, she had changed greatly from the little pudgy flat-chested girl she had been. Her olive skin was near flawless, her chest grown to be a thing all admired and her hair had grown into long curls that hung loosely down her back and over her shoulders. In short, she had grown into a beautiful woman. A woman that was desired by men, and even women, from near and far. 'He's barely three-and-ten name days,' she thought as she took a moment to adjust her dress to accent her curves just the slightest bit more. 'Men twice his age can barely control themselves around me…Let us hope that he is made of stronger stuff.'

Pleased with her appearance, the Princess of Dorne marched out of her chambers with her cousins close behind as she sought out her prey. It didn't take them long to arrive at the training yard, nor did it take long to find her intended target. For standing in the middle of the yard were two young men, both shirtless, and each with a training sword in hand as they worked through a series of movements together side by side. The slightly taller young man was easy for her to identify. After all, she had a rather, if only singular, carnal encounter with him. And while there was no true spark or passion between herself and Daemon Sand, she could at least admit that he struck an impressive sight. His strong jaw, sky blue eyes, sandy brown hair with a close trimmed beard and his well-toned body earned from hours upon hours of training were certainly a sight that could make many a maiden – make any woman – wet themselves with desire.

But while Daemon was impressive, the young man beside him was just was equally impressive. Her cousin was correct. Snow certainly didn't look like a boy of two-and-ten almost three-and-ten. Rather, he looked more like a young man of at least five-and-ten. He was slightly shorter than Daemon, but not by much, merely a hands width if she had to guess. And even with the distance that separated the them, she could tell that in a few years he would indeed be a handsome man. With his long face, his dark hair and dark-grey eyes. And, just like Daemon, his body was nothing to be ashamed of. Lean and well-toned, if slightly paler than she was used to. Daemon was a sight to behold, but this Jon Snow, if given a few years, he would be the thing of fantasies for any maiden, young and old, across the Seven Kingdoms.

'A slight stubble on the cheeks, kept closely trimmed to less than a finger widths,' Arianne mused as she tried to picture what sort of man he would grow into in a few years while watching the two treat her to an unexpected, but quite welcome, show. 'Let his hair grow and pull it back…Perhaps bound in a tail behind his head…Yes…I can definitely work with this.'

Letting her hand rest lightly on the railing, Arianne slowly walked her way around the upper level surrounding the training yard, keeping herself out of the eyesight of the two strapping men below. As she made her way around the backside of the two of them, she started to realize something. While she was not an expert in martial combat, she did enjoy watching a good fight or watching men and women train. At first, she'd thought that Daemon was teaching Snow a few tricks, but as she watched more closely, she realized it was the exact opposite. Snow was teaching Daemon a few things.

Coming around almost full circle of the yard, Arianne descended the steps leading to the ground level of the yard, emerging just as the two men in the yard appeared to reach a stopping point as Daemon led Snow over to a shaded area of the yard so the two could drink greedily from a flask of water.

Raising her hands, she began to lightly clap, the sound of her hands echoing throughout the empty yard and announcing her presence to the two. Daemon didn't seem surprised to see her as he merely turned to her and bowed his head respectfully. Snow, however, his reaction was everything Arianne could've hoped for. His eyes grew twice their size at seeing her before tracking up and down her body while his face turned a steadier shade of red.

"Well done, you two," she congratulated the two as she approached. "That was quite the display."

"I am glad you approve, Princess Arianne," Daemon said, using her name as a way of subtly announcing her presence to Snow.

The bastard's reaction to her station was even more comical. His eyes, which were already wide, grew even wider as his blush increased and he started trying to look everywhere except where he, and even she, wanted to look. Even more amusingly, he seemed to be suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was standing before her without a shirt on. "I have known my uncle's squire for some time now. But I have never truly seen him take lessons from anyone other than my uncle, let alone from one so young. What is your name?"

"Jon Snow, my Lady…Princess…umm—"

Arianne couldn't help but smile slightly at his stumbling. It was rather cute, in a boyish way that stood in stark contradiction to his physical appearance. "Jon Snow, the son of the Warden and Lord Paramount of the North, Eddard Stark. And the apprentice of Lord Nox, the Northern Sorcerer. I have heard stories about you."

Snow appeared shocked that she knew of him, until his eyes flickered behind her where she knew Obara was standing, and a look of understanding crossed his face. "I hope what you've heard have been good things, Princess."

"Arianne," she corrected, drawing a quick look from the boy. "In a private setting like this, I prefer if my name, not my title, would be used."

Snow took a step back. "I – I couldn't do that, Princess. It would not be proper for—"

"Not proper?" Arianne asked, taking a step forward to counter his step back, putting her almost within arm's length of him. "I am the Princess of Dorne, am I not? And we are currently in Dorne. So, what I say is proper is what is proper. Let us try again, shall we? I wish for you to call me Arianne, not Princess. Now, try it."

Snow looked more than a little unsure, but soon enough he relented. "As you wish, Prin – Arianne."

Letting loose her full smile, Arianne took another step forward, placing her well within arm's reach of the young man. "That's better," she muttered, looking him up and down. "I see that your training has done wonders for one your age. I may not be an expert with a sword, but I can tell just by watching you that in time you will, undoubtably, be one of the best in the lands. Perhaps even on par with the Sword of the Morning."

She'd hoped that by mentioning the legendary position given only to those of House Dayne that she would be able to gain some sort of insight on whether the boy knew of his lineage or not. Unfortunately, the boy showed little recognition of his potential mother's family outside of the name and position. 'Shame. Either he doesn't know, or he is a far better at hiding his true thoughts than any young man his age has the right to do so.'

"I could only hope to eventually be considered on the same level as the legendary Sword of the Morning or Lord Nox, Princ – Arianne."

'Humble too. Such a rare trait to find these days, considering almost all men like to strut about like a stallion out to stud. Yes, this young man has the qualities that I'm looking for. He'll need some refinement but he's still young. He will grow.' Gracing him with a dazzling smile, she looked back and forth between Sand and Snow. Daemon was giving her a more than slightly amused look as she did so. He knew exactly where her thoughts were, they'd discussed it a length before and he'd been one of the first to agree to help her take her place as ruler of Dorne, even if he knew that she would never be his. 'Well, maybe not never…This is Dorne after all.'

"The display between yourself and Daemon here was quite impressive, Jon Snow." Arianne stated, slowly circling the young man. "Tell me, Daemon, if you two of you were to spar, who would emerge the victor?"

Daemon didn't hesitate. "If we were to spar with swords alone, Snow here would win without question. But if we were to spar while I wielded by spear, then I believe I would have the edge over him."

His words brought her up short slightly. Daemon, much like her uncle, was not one to exaggerate their skills. They were both good and they knew it. For Daemon to say that Jon could potentially beat him, he wasn't just trying to build up Snow's confidence. He was serious. "And what of you, Jon?" she asked, turning the young man. "Do you think you can take on Daemon while he wields his spear instead of the sword?"

To his credit, Snow didn't answer right away, preferring instead to turn and study Daemon. "I believe I could, Pr – Arianne."

'Confident. Good.' "Then, let us put that to the test then," Arianne said with a clap of her hands. "You two shall spar. Daemon with his spear, and Jon with his sword. First to ten victories will take the match. And to give you both a little incentive, I shall put a wager of my favor to the winner on your little contest."

Jon looked confused at her statement, but Daemon merely gave her a sidelong look. Regardless of the looks, both accepted and Jon moved off to the weapon rack to replace his wooden training blade for a training blade. "Daemon," Arianne whispered quietly, ushering her uncles squire to her. "Test him, but don't hurt him."

To her surprise, Daemon merely laughed. "Arianne, I fear your concerns may be misplaced. If anything, you should be concerned that he will be the one hurting me."

Raising her brow at the statement Arianne stepped back towards a shaded section of the training yard and took a seat amongst the cushions on the ground. As she and her cousins got settled, she watched with rapt attention as Snow and Sand choose their respected training weapons before meeting back in the center of the yard. Daemon held his spear in both hands, the shaft crossing his body on an angle while the tip pointed slightly towards the ground. Jon meanwhile took a stance that she had never seen before. He stood with his sword level with his arm and pointed on an angle towards the ground while he turned his body slightly so that his side was facing Daemon.

"Begin!" Arianne shouted, signaling the start of the match.

Daemon struck first, letting go of the spear with his left hand while he thrusted with the right to extend the reach, trying to draw first blood. But before the spear could ever even get close, Jon parried the attack away before quickly countering by stepping in close to Daemon and placing the tip of his sword directly over Daemon's heart. The entire exchange lasted less than a few second, but there was no doubt that Jon had taken the first point in just two moves.

"Didn't realize he was a water dancer," Nymeria commented as she leaned forward, suddenly very interested in the fight going on before them as Daemon and Jon reset themselves.

"He isn't," Obara countered. "I have watched Jon and the sorcerer spar for hours on the ship. From what I've learned, Jon prefers two forms of fighting. This one he and the sorcerer call…'makashi' I believe it was. It focuses on quickness, precision attacks, and counters. His other style is called…'juyo'. I – I fought him once when he used that style and…that was one of the few times I truly feared for my life. Even though we were only sparring."

Now Arianne was even more impressed than she already was as she watched Jon and Daemon trade blows with one another. This time Daemon, after losing the first point so quickly, had adapted a more cautious approach as he tried to figure out Jon's fighting style. 'Jon Snow,' she thought, licking her lips. 'You are just becoming more and more of catch with each new thing I learn about you.'

Holding his wine glass in one hand while swirling the dark red wine around, Nox carefully examined the board resting between himself and Prince Doran. The various pieces on both sides of the board were scattered throughout as both players carefully moved their pieces across the board as they tried to kill the king on the opposing side. Seeing a path to victory, Nox leaned forward and moved his heavy horse piece across the set number of tiles, placing it near Doran's dragon piece, which was nestled up against a mountain terrain to block the path to his king piece.

His move made, Prince Doran went to immediately counter his move, only to pause as he truly looked at the board. "Impressive trap," the Prince muttered, retracting his hand from his dragon piece. "I almost fell into it headlong. I didn't take you for an expert cyvasse player, sorcerer."

"Never played a game till our brief stay in Volantis," Nox admitted. "But my homeland has a similar game. And strategy is strategy. No matter whether you're partaking in war, politics or a simple game like this."

"Some would argue differently," Doran stated, moving his catapult around the mountain terrain to flank Nox's heavy horse piece. "While they all require a level of strategy, the nuances of each are vastly different."

"Perhaps, but they all boil down to the same basic principle," Nox admitted, taking his dragon piece and using it to remove Doran's elephant from the game. "In order to win, you must get your opponents to think they know what you are doing, and then do something they do not expect to take their victory out from under their feet."

Looking down at the board, Doran went to take his move but then stopped. Even without sight, Nox knew the game was over. His dragon was poised to take Doran's king piece, which meant that he would have to move his trebuchet in order to prevent the dragon from moving into a killing position. But if he made such a move, then his light horse would be able to move to the spot that would be vacated, and the game would be over anyway.

"Well played," Doran nodded, tipping over his king piece in admittance of defeat. "Well played indeed, sorcerer."

"It is but a game, Prince Doran," Nox shrugged. "In the grand scheme of things, you are perhaps one of the best players in all of Westeros; on level with Tywin, Olenna, and Jon Arryn, if my analysis is correct."

"Flattery," Doran chuckled. "I'm but a crippled man stuck to this wretched chair."

"Your body may not be in it's prime, but your mind is far above almost all others," Nox countered. "Your play with your brother in Essos speaks volumes to your abilities to play the game."

"Oh?" Doran asked, leaning back. "And what was my play with my brother?"

"To find out if there is anything that you can use to sway me to your side when you make your move against the Baratheons and the Lannisters. As well as to set up a few other parts of your long-term plans." Nox replied casually.

Doran didn't appear fazed, not that Nox expected him to be. The man was a master politician after all. "I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're talking about sorcerer. Yes, I did send my brother to Essos to try and learn if you were in fact from that region, but House Martell and Dorne are loyal subjects to the crown."

"Ha, if anyone actually believes that, then I have a wonderful plot of land to sell them in the middle of the Bite." Nox chuckled. "You want vengeance, Prince Doran. Do not try and deny it. The Mountain killed Prince Aegon by smashing his head in with his bare hands. Then raped your sister to death with the boy's blood still on him while Lorch stabbed your niece over a hundred times. Then both were presented to Robert Baratheon, who not only smiled at their deaths, but released and rewarded the two men responsible for their demise. If you weren't planning on taking revenge, then I would be disappointed in you. Such an insult cannot go unpunished."

Picking up his own glass, Doran took a long drink. "Robert. The Mountain. Lorch. You missed one if revenge was truly my goal."

"Tywin, while complicit, is not guilty of the murder of your sister and your niece. Aegon yes, but not the women." Nox answered, holding up his hand to stop Doran's response as he continued. "While ruthless, you and I both know that Tywin is smart. Elia and Rhaenys were far too valuable. Ideally, he would want Elia to be married to his son Jamie after leveraging his release from the Kingsguard. And then Rhaenys would be betrothed to Robert and Cersei's heir to the throne, thereby easing the tensions amongst the loyalists with the knowledge that the dragon's blood, however diluted, would still be on the throne. The only woman he truly wished dead was Lynna Stark because if she were to be alive, even 'soiled', Robert would name her his queen and there would be nothing he could do about it."

Doran seemed fairly interested in his words now. Not surprised but interested in Nox's point of view. "Then why did he not condemn the actions taken by the Mountain and Lorch and have them executed?"

"Because, to a man like Tywin, being seen as not being in control is worse than being seen as guilty," Nox answered, to which Doran nodded. "Plus, he never outright said that he had or had not ordered the attack on Elia and Rhaenys. He more than likely gave the orders for the two to be captured. But more than likely the two put up a fight and due to the bloodlust from battle, the Mountain and Lorch lost control and killed them. That left Tywin with one of two options. One; admit that his bannermen went against his orders and appear weak. Or two; say nothing and let people come to their own conclusions. So that is what he did. He counted on Robert's well-known hatred of the Targaryens to blindside the people so that no one would ever suspect that his own men went against his orders."

Setting his glass aside, Doran folded his hands in his lap. "Your thoughts mirror my own. Tywin is a prickly sort. One who would rather be found guilty than not in control. And it is not wrong to say that I hate the Lannisters and the Baratheons for what was done to my family. But I am not engaged in treason against the crown."

Nox smiled at the word play. He had missed this verbal sparring. The North, for all its charm, did not care for politics or verbal sparring on this level. It reminded him greatly of his time on the Dark Council. "An interesting turn of phrase to say that you are not 'engaged in treason'." Setting down his glass, Nox decided it was time to pull out his trump card, so to speak. "My apprentice ran into two interesting individuals before we met with your brother in Volantis. A young girl and a young man, both with silver-gold hair and violet eyes. And the young man seemed most…aggravated. As if he was expecting something to happen but was denied what he thought was his due. No doubt he was hoping for an alliance through betrothal of sorts…But the father of the potential bride must've made the proposal provisional, based on certain elements regarding what could happen in the future."

Doran's friendly demeanor, as well as the atmosphere, disappeared completely as Nox dropped his proverbial bomb on the Prince of Dorne. "Before you make any rash decisions, Prince Doran," Nox said, holding up his hand. "Know that I have no loyalty to the Iron Throne. And what I heard can be considered merely hearsay or conjecture. Therefore, I have no intention nor desire to spread it beyond just the two of us. Unless someone was to act…rashly, of course. Then I would be forced to do what I must to protect myself and those I care about."

Doran relaxed slightly, but not much. The man was still on edge, and rightfully so given what Nox had laid out before him. "And what would it take to ensure such hearsay did not spread? I wouldn't want such unsubstantiated rumors about Dorne spreading through the rest of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Nothing," Nox replied, waving the concern away. "Nothing is happening to myself or those I call my own, so no word need be spread."

The underling meaning to his words were clear to Doran. Nox had him, and Dorne by extension, by the balls. If Doran left him alone, then the fact that Oberyn met with the exiled Targaryens would stay with him. But should Doran try anything, then word would be spread. And given the King's general mentality towards anything related to the Targaryens, well, Dorne's peace probably wouldn't last long.

"And if things were to change?" Doran questioned. "If, for some reason, those in exile brought war to come home, where would you stand?"

"Depends," Nox shrugged. "My allegiance is not one that can be bought. But if I'm left alone, then that is that. But do keep in mind: while I do not owe direct allegiance to the Starks, I do consider Ned Stark to be a friend. And a friendship to me is indeed a rare thing. It is something which I have only acknowledged to less than ten individuals in my entire life. Thus, I would be most aggrieved if something were to happen to him or his family."

Doran didn't seem to like that answer, but it appeared as if he was resigned to it. "Then the future will indeed be interesting should the unfortunate develop."

"Indeed, it shall," Nox nodded, rising to his feet. "But I feel that is enough politicking for the day. I sense something amiss in the training yard that I fear will need to be addressed soon. And while we are making our way there, perhaps you can indulge a question of mine. Just what is the purpose of the Kingsguard?"

Ever since she was a little girl, Arianne had always been fascinated with displays of skill, particularly on the field of battle. In fact, her first infatuation was with her Uncle Oberyn and had come to be after watching him spar and utterly humiliate no less than a dozen men in the yard on his own. Later, her attention had turned to his squire Daemon Sand who was quickly becoming one of the better spears in Dorne. But while she'd always enjoyed watching a good spar, she had never experienced a reaction quite like the one she was having now watching as Jon Snow thoroughly trounced one of the best spears in Dorne.

Her entire being felt like it was on fire, and not because of the heat of the sun bearing down on her. After Snow had managed to take two points on Daemon, a familiar warmth had started to pool within her. By the time Snow had taken a five to one-point lead, the warmth had grown into a raging inferno and had started to coalesce between her legs. And now that the boy, no, the young man had taken a nine to three lead and was on the match point, she was having trouble sitting still. The fire within her was all but demanding that she take the object that had stoked such passion within her. Even if he was still a slight bit younger than what could be considered proper for such activities.

And she wasn't the only one who was drawn to the display. Beside her, her cousins were all staring at the two men with undivided attentions. While she wasn't sure just how word of what was happening had spread throughout the palace, but to be sure it had. For all around the training yard, both the ground and upper levels were packed with visiting nobles and servants alike, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of the man that was being trained by the Northern Sorcerer and was a potential son of Dorne, if the rumors of his mother were true.

Biting her lip, Arianne watched with rapt attention as the two squared off against one another. Daemon was panting more than slightly. His spear was held at a slightly lower angle than when they started as the toll of the training the two had gone through and now the fight began taking its toll on his body. Jon though did not seem to have the same difficulties. To be sure, his breath was labored, and his body was covered in sweat, but his stance was still just as strong as it'd been when the two had started their duel.

Letting out a loud yell, Daemon lunged forward, his spear aiming for the center of Jon's chest. Jon moved almost impossibly fast as he sidestepped the lunge and batted the spear tip away. Daemon, having seen the same move before, quickly countered by trying to strike with the butt of his spear. Jon though had apparently seen the move coming and quickly moved to block it before kicking Daemon in his unprotected chest, doubling him over and ending the spar as Jon brought his training blade down, stopping just a hair's width from making contact with Daemon's head.

All around the yard, people started clapping, congratulating the two on their performance. For her part, Arianne couldn't keep the smile off her face as she watched Jon hold out his hand to help Daemon. 'Oh yes…he is perfect. And give him a few more years…he will be beyond perfect. I need to talk with Obara, and soon. I need to know if I can expect any competition for his eye or not.'

As the clapping slowly died down, there was one set of claps that did not. Even after everyone had stopped, the one set continued to clap slowly, almost mockingly, as the owner stepped out from the crowd and into the yard. "Well, well, well. The squire of Prince Oberyn, bested by a foreign boy. How low the Red Viper's standards must have become."

Arianne wanted to curse as she quickly rose to her feet, recognizing the man making his way towards Jon and Daemon. 'Damn it,' she cursed, holding her head high. 'Father did not tell me that Ser Gerold 'Darkstar' Dayne, of all people, would be in the palace today!'

The Knight of High Hermitage was from a cadet branch of the House Dayne and he was cousins to the infamous Ser Arthur Dayne, the last Sword of the Morning, and Lady Ashara Dayne. But while Ser Gerold may have inherited House Dayne's striking features with his purple eyes and gold almost silver hair, he had not inherited their temperament. Ser Arthur was a man of honor and Lady Ashara a woman of grace and generosity. Darkstar was neither. He was a cruel bastard at heart at most generous of times. 'And to think, there was a time I entertained the notion of tying myself to him to affirm my hold on Dorne. Thank the gods I learned of his true self before I did something incredibly foolish.'

"Ser Dayne," Arianne said out loud, drawing attention to herself and hopefully away from Jon. "This is an unexpected pleasure to have you within Sunspear once more."

Gerold's smiled brightly as she approached, a look that might've once thrilled her, but now filled her with nothing more than dread. "Princess Arianne," Gerold smiled, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "Your beauty continues to grow and shine brighter and brighter than the sun with each passing day."

"Flatterer," she smiled, but felt disgusted with herself for even having to act halfway interested in the man. "But I must confess curiosity as to the reason for your visit."

Gerold's smile slipped only slightly before reaffirming itself. "Why, because of this young man here, of course," Gerold smiled unkindly while beckoning at Jon. "I came to speak with your father on the matter and imagine my surprise to find the supposed ill-gotten bastard of my whore of a cousin here in Sunspear. And not only is he here, but apparently also humiliating the squire of the Red Viper himself and under the watchful eye of the Princess of Dorne. My, my, how far House Martell has fallen. Has House Martell already forgotten that it was the barbarians of House Stark that were instrumental in during the war against the Targaryens? The same war that saw to the death of our beloved Princess Elia and her children? Yet here you now stand with the son of the very dishonorable man who not only apparently fucked, impregnated and then abandoned my cousin, Ashara. But also murdered my cousin Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning. Your ancestors would be turning over in their graves if they were to see this insult to their memories."

Arianne wanted to slap the man. But before she could utter any defense, Jon beat her too it. "My father is not dishonorable," Jon stated clearly and loudly. "And I do not know if Lady Ashara Dayne is my mother not. My father has never spoken of her. My father fought Ser Arthur Dayne on equal footing. But, regardless, you should not speak of your kin so unkindly, Ser Dayne. In the North, we have a saying. 'When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives'. In the North, family is everything, Ser."

Arianne just barely managed to hide her grimace. While Jon's words had some weight and good meaning behind them, she really wished he wouldn't have said anything in the first place as he didn't truly understand just how to deal with a man like Ser Gerold.

"Is that so, bastard?" Ser Gerold asked, his eyes narrowing. "Then, tell me, where was your fathers' sense of honor and family when he married that whore fish after fucking my cousin and putting you in her womb? Most honorable man in the land? Ha! Stark wouldn't know honor if it came up and bit him in the ass. And the day I believe a northern barbarian can defeat a son of House Dayne in a fair fight is the day I kiss my own ass."

This wasn't good. She could see exactly what Gerold was doing. He was winding Jon up, provoking him into doing something rash. Something that would give Gerold reason to bring harm to him. And that was not something that she could allow. Thankfully, Jon seemed to be able to handle his emotions well enough as he, mercifully, didn't rise to the bait Gerold was laying out for him. Instead, he just closed his eyes and took several long and slow breaths, his visibly tensing body starting to relax. This was something that Gerold obviously wasn't pleased with.

"Nothing to say, boy?" Gerold asked, leaning towards Jon. "Or perhaps your supposed 'victory' over the squire of the Red Viper has given you a false sense of skill? How about a real challenge then? A spar between the two of us. And I'll even give you an incentive. Should you managed to land a single point on my person, I will apologize for words I spoke against my whore cousin, your possible mother, and that dishonorable barbarian limp dick man you call your father."

"I accept," Jon said immediately, his voice solemn and drawing a wince from Arianne.

"Splendid!" Gerold's smile was positively vicious.

"I cannot allow this, Ser Gerold," Arianne said, trying to get between the two of them. "Jon has been training and sparring all morning. He is exhausted while you are fresh. A match betwe—"

"Making excuses for the boy's defeat already, Princess Arianne?" Garold sneered. "I didn't realize your tastes ran so young or along the lines of barbarians."

"I am fine, Princess Arianne," Jon said, stepping forward. "Even after my spar with Ser Daemon, I am still more than capable of handling Ser Dayne in a spar."

Chuckling, Gerold began loosening the ties of his clothes to free up his movements. "You have a quick mouth, bastard. Let us hope your sword is just quick, or I won't enjoy it as much in shutting it permanently."

As Gerold made his way to collect a training sword, Arianne rounded on Jon. "What are you doing?" she hissed in a hushed tone. "You've done exactly what he wanted. You had my father's protection and mine. But now that you are in a spar, he can harm and even maim you without repercussions!"

Jon turned to her, and when he did Arianne felt the breath catch in her lungs. His once dark gray eyes were slowly turning a dark yellow before her very eyes. "The same applies to him. And while I don't care about what he may say about me, I will not stand for someone insulting my father, their own family, or…you, princess. Don't worry. I can handle the likes of him easy."

Moving aside, Arianne watched helplessly as Jon marched to the center of the yard where Ser Gerold stood waiting. A not-so-small part of her wanted to stop this farce immediately. Gerold was twice Jon's size and age, had been fighting for years, and had garnered quite the reputation for his swordsmanship and his ruthlessness. But it'd been Jon's confidence and the…well, aura for lack of a better term that was coming from him. When he told her that he could handle Ser Garold, she believed him. 'Don't make me wrong on my assumption, Snow,' she thought, returning to her place next to her cousins.

Nymeria, Tyene, and Elia all had the same worried look on their faces. But Obara was…calm, as if she didn't have a care in the world. "There is no need to worry." Her eldest cousin said softly the moment she returned to them. "Snow will win."

Arianne was about to ask how her cousin could be so sure, but then she noticed it. Jon had changed his stance from what it had been when he'd been sparring against Daemon. In fact, his entire demeanor seemed to have changed. The calm look he wore while sparring against Daemon was gone, and in its place was a look that she could only describe as pure, unadulterated, seething rage. Even Ser Gerold seemed taken aback, though he tried to hide it as he pointed his wooded training blade towards Jon. "Nice trick with the eyes, bastard. But yellow eyes don't make you a w—"

Jon seemed to move in a blur as he rushed at Gerold, his sword arching downward towards the taller man's shoulder and chest. Gerold just barely managed to get his own blade up in time to block the strike. While he was able to block it, the sheer force behind Jon's attack defied all logic as Gerold's wooden training sword was pushed back into his chest and the large man was forced to take several steps back as he tried to regain his balance. But Jon didn't allow that as he rained down a relentless barrage of attacks on Gerold, each one forcing the older man to backstep further and further away as he struggled to absorb the powerful attacks.

With his back pressed against the edge of the sparring yard, Gerold finally managed to get his footing under him and began trying to launch a counterattack. With his base set, Garold was able to start holding his own against Jon and even started pushing the younger man back away from the edge. As Jon started backing away, Arianne's concern grew as she started to notice something about Jon's form. He continuously left his front leg forward, a clear weak point that she hoped Gerold wouldn't notice. But, to her distress, Gerold did notice and as Jon made to step back, Gerold slashed down towards Jon's exposed front leg.

But just as the training blade was about to make contact, Jon shifted his feet quickly, letting Gerold's attack pass harmlessly by and leaving the older man exposed. Which Jon took immediate advantage of as he delivered a quick and devastating down cut onto Gerold's chest with enough force to make the older man stagger back and drop to a knee. A killing blow.

Gerold immediately threw out a blind backhanded strike, which Jon easily swatted away, as he tried to give himself time to scramble back up to his feet. Time which Jon seemed to allow as the younger man started pacing back and forth with his training sword held loosely by his side. 'No, not pacing,' Arianne quickly corrected herself. 'Stalking. Like a predator stalking its prey in the wild.'

The look on Ser Dayne's face was one of absolute fury as he readied himself once more. Letting out a cry, Garold brought his sword into a high guard with the intent of bringing his sword down on Jon's head. But Jon merely raised his sword to block, arresting Gerold's strike before it could gain too much momentum. Then Jon did something she wasn't expecting, and certainly something she hadn't seen him do against Daemon. He kicked out with his front foot, catching Gerold in the side of his knee and dropping him. As he was still falling, Jon's sword came down and caught Garold on the back of his shoulder. But, unlike his spar with Daemon, Jon didn't stop his swing before he made contact. No, he brought his sword with far more strength than a young man his age should've been able to possess and dropped a man twice his age, size, and experience face first into the ground.

'Two killing blows,' Arianne thought with a growing smile, watching as Jon backed off and began to stalk his prey once again while Ser Dayne half crawled half rolled towards the edge of the yard. 'If I thought he was impressive before, then this is – oh shit!'

The sound of metal scrapping against leather echoed throughout the near-silent courtyard as Gerold grabbed hold of his sword, which he'd left at the edge of the yard, and quickly pulled it out from its sheath. This was no longer a spar. Live-steel had been drawn, and from the look in Gerold's eyes, he was thirsty for blood and wouldn't stop till he had his fill. Jumping to her feet, Arianne felt a cry leave her throat as she called for the guards to intervene, but her voice was muffled in the screams of those watching as Gerold ran at Jon with live steel.

But Jon didn't even bat an eye. Sidestepping Garold's thrust, the Northerner swung his training blade around in a tight circle before bringing it down on Gerold's exposed right hand. The sound of bones breaking and Gerold's pained screamed broke through the noise of the spectators as his sword fell from his now injured hand. But Jon wasn't done. Instead of hitting Gerold again, an easy target as the man was currently defenseless, Jon thrusted his right hand towards Gerold, his palm open and facing his downed opponent. Then he slowly began to clench his hand into a slight fist.

Whatever doubts remained in Arianne's mind about the validity of Jon having sorcerer-like powers were dispelled as Gerold's cries abruptly cut off. Ser Dayne's eyes bulged as his hands started pawing at his neck. And then, without being able to comprehend just what was happening, Arianne could do little more than watched in befuddled amazement as Gerold as lifted into the air until the tips of his toes were dangling just above the surface of the ground.

"You call my father a man without honor?" she could barely even recognize Jon's voice, but it carried through the yard as if he were standing right next to her, and the very sound of it sent a chill through her body. A chill, and a renewed warmth that would not go away. "You insult the memory of your cousin! Both of them! And you insult a Princess in her own palace. You, Ser…No, you do not have the right to that title. You, Gerold Dayne, are the one without honor!"

"Enough!"

The single command resounded throughout the courtyard with such force that many of those who were present immediately dropped to a knee. Even Arianne felt the need to stop whatever she'd been doing and lower her head in submission, a feeling she was highly unaccustomed too. It took almost all of her willpower to keep herself still as she looked around for whoever had issued the command as an unnatural chill shot through her body, making her feel almost as if the Stranger itself was standing over her.

It didn't take her long to find the man. And the moment she laid her eyes on him, she knew exactly who he was without needing to be introduced. The man was tall and handsome with a close-trimmed ashen beard, pulled back silver hair, and a black cloth covering his eyes. His black robes billowing behind him as he marched into the yard despite the absence of any wind. This…This was Lord Alim Nox, the Northern Sorcerer. The Breaker of the Pyke. The Storm God's Avatar. The Stranger Incarnate. The Will of the Old Gods of the First Men. And just behind him was her father, being pushed in his rolling chair by her Uncle Oberyn with Areo Hotah right behind with his axe draw. All three of whom were looking positively murderous, but not at Jon, rather at Dayne who was still on the ground from where he'd collapsed.

In the center of the yard, almost forgotten due to the legend's arrival, Gerold Dayne hit the ground hard as Jon released whatever hold he had on him, leaving the knight to clutch at his throat as he coughed violently, trying desperately to get some air back into his lungs.

Backing away, Jon made to speak, but the sorcerer merely held up a single finger, silencing the young man before he could say even a single word. She was prepared to step forward and defend the young man, but that proved to not be necessary as the sorcerer bypassed Jon and made his way over to where Gerold was still trying to recover on the ground. As he stood above the downed man, Arianne felt a chill go through her just from standing in the man's presence. She couldn't imagine what Gerold must've felt like to have been at the center of the sorcerer's apparently sightless focus.

"You insult a man I consider a friend," the sorcerer's voice was calm and steady, but she could hear the underlying tone of anger clear as day. "You insult your own family. You insult my apprentice. You draw live steel during a spar because you were losing against a boy less than half your age. Your jealousy has turned to anger. Your anger has turned to hatred. And now, you've allowed your hatred to blind you. Letting it control you."

A scraping noise drew Arianne's attention towards the sorcerer's feet. Gerold's sword was…sliding across the ground without anyone having a hold of it. After just a moment, it stopped just before the downed Dayne. "You hated your cousin, Ser Arthur, because he was the Sword in the Morning. You hated Lady Ashara because she was considered a beauty of the realm and would never give you the time of day. You hate the Martells because of what you perceive to be inaction and weakness. You hate Lord Stark because he defeated Ser Arthur and had the affection of Lady Ashara. You hate me because I work with the Starks. Your hatred has consumed you to the point where it is now all you know. Even now, as you lay before me gasping for breath, your hatred is demanding that you pick up your sword and run me through. You believe killing me will make you a legend beyond anything your cousins, or the rest of your family, could ever hope to overcome.

"Which leaves you with two paths to take. The first: you leave and begin letting go of your hatred and set yourself free. Or the second: you let your hatred run its course, pick up your sword and run me through. But I best warn you; should you take the latter path, you had best make your strike count. Because you will never get a second chance. You've already lost the usage of your right hand thanks to your actions. I would hate to see you lose more."

From his spot on the ground, Gerold glared up at the sorcerer before grasping the hilt of his sword with his left hand and using the blade to help himself rise to his feet. Even from across the yard, Arianne could see the hatred in Gerold's eyes as he met the sightless visage of the Northern Sorcerer. 'He's giving the fool an out,' she thought, as the two continued to stare one another down. Part of her, the part that recognized Gerold as her countryman wanted him to accept the offer and leave. He barely stood a chance against Jon. What chance could he stand against the man who trained him? But another part of her, the slightly more sadistic part that recognized Gerold for the liability that he was, wanted him to try his hand at the sorcerer.

Letting out a yell, Gerold made his decision as he lunged forward, the tip of his sword heading straight for the sorcerer's unprotected heart. Arianne could've understood it if the sorcerer had dodge or even blocked the thrust. Although with the distance between them and the frantic nature of the attack, she wasn't sure if the sorcerer would've been able to do either. But what she had not expected to have happen was for Nox to catch the sword point less than a hand's width from his chest and stop Gerold cold.

"Fool."

Arianne had no words to describe what happened next. The sorcerer, Gerold's blade still firmly in his right hand, raised his left hand, and then…thunder and lightning leapt forth from his fingertips and slammed into Gerold's chest. Throwing the man to the ground where he started writhing in agony as the lightning continued to crackle down upon him, screaming at the top of his lungs so loud that she was sure that even the denizens of Shadow City could hear him. The attack lasted but a moment. But when it ended, Gerold was left as a simpering wreck on the ground, curled into the fetal position as he whimpered and moaned while small wisps of smoke rose from his clothes.

"Lord Sorcerer Nox," her father's voice cut across the silence, drawing all attention to him as he was wheeled out towards Nox by Oberyn with his ever-faithful guard Areo Hotah. "I understand your anger over his actions sorcerer, and I agree with your handling of the situation as it involved one sworn to you. However, I cannot allow this to continue, as I cannot allow you to kill one of my own bannerman in my halls. Ser Dayne will be educated on the penalty for trying to harm those I consider my guests, breaking the ancient laws of Gods and Men. You have my word on that."

She was half afraid that the sorcerer would press the issue, but to her relief the man simply nodded and backed off. "As you wish, Prince Doran," the sorcerer said, bowing his head slightly. "I apologize for the scene. If my apprentice and I have worn out our welcome, we will make our departure."

"Nonsense, Lord Sorcerer."

Arianne hadn't even realized she'd spoken until she'd already taken several steps towards the intimidating man. All she knew was that the sorcerer was threatening to leave, and that was something that she couldn't have happen. Not yet. She hadn't had a chance to firmly etch herself into young Jon's mind. And after seeing just what he could potentially become, that was becoming more and more of a priority for her. "Lord Dayne's temperament is well known throughout all of Dorne, and he was in need of a desperate lesson in manners," she continued, walking up beside her father and taking her place by his side. "Had it not been yourself, then I'm sure someone else would've taken him to hand soon enough. Though, I doubt their lesson would've been as…effective as yours, Lord Sorcerer."

"Princess Arianne," the Sorcerer greeted her. "Your Uncle has told us many a tale of your beauty during our voyage. But I feel as if he has greatly understated just how beautiful you are. Even to one without eyes like myself, your beauty shines like the sun of Dorne on a midsummer's day."

She felt a pleasant thrill run through her at the sorcerer's words. 'I do hope that young Jon was taking notes…eh, or not. Don't need him wooing and running into the first pretty skirt he comes across once he figures out how his cock works.' "My thanks, Lord Sorcerer. And may I say, the tales of your skill and power are as you have said: understated."

"My daughter speaks true, sorcerer," her father said, and she had the distinct impression that he was curious as to just what her play was while he motioned for this guards to pick up the still groaning Gerold and escort him out. "There is no need for you and your apprentice to leave. This incident will not be held against you or the North."

"In fact, Lord Sorcerer, it is tradition to hold a feast upon the return of a son of Dorne." She was stretching things, she knew that. It was tradition to hold a feast to celebrate a return of a member of the ruling family, but her Uncle hardly ever cared for such things. "And considering you traveled with my uncle, saw him through the horrors of Valyria, and brought him home safely, we would be remiss should we not offer you, your apprentice, and those you of the nobility you traveled with to join us for the evening."

"My dear niece speaks true, Nox," her uncle said, though whether he was following her lead or just having fun, she wasn't sure. "It would be our honor to have you as a guest tonight. As well as the others that we stood shoulder to shoulder with during our brief venture to Valyria."

Nox seemed to be pondering as he remained silent. "I was hoping to return North as soon as possible. But I suppose one night's rest will do our crew some good before we set sail once more. We accept your gracious offer Princess, Prince Doran, Prince Oberyn."

"Splendid!" Arianne smiled, glancing towards Jon. "Then we shall see you tonight. I shall have baths and clothes prepared, sorcerer, for those who follow you. And I look forward to seeing you both tonight."

Giving Jon one last smile, she turned with a slightly exaggerated swivel of her hips in Jon's direction before heading back into the palace proper. She had a lot of work to do. She had to see that word was sent to the bathhouses to be expecting the Northern Sorcerer and his party, and potentially send clothes as well for them to wear. Then there was what she was going to wear as well that needed to be taken into consideration. This would perhaps be the only night that she would have to get the attention of young Jon. And she was not about to let this opportunity slip her by.

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