Chapter 31: Passage of Time (2) part 3

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Riding her horse with her head held high and her back straight Val of the House Norfolk, the family name she'd decided to take to honor her people North of the Wall, eyed the keep that was to be hers with a growing lump in her throat. She'd been learning the ways of the kneelers from the Lord Wolf and Lord Sorcerer for some moons now, and she'd been a chieftain of the Free Folk for years before that. But now that she saw the impressive keep that was to belong to her and her children should the gods bless her so… Her nerves were finally starting to get the better of her. The Dreadfort, and by the gods she couldn't wait to change that name to something more suitable, was aptly named. The walls surrounding the fortress were tall and thick. Not nearly as tall or thick as the Wall nor the ones surrounding Winterfell, but she knew from experience that the walls would not be easy to overcome. Especially not with the tall towers scattered along their length giving archers a perfect view of any attackers.

But as she rode through the gate, she realized that it wasn't just the keep itself that gave this place it's foreboding name. The moment she rode through the gates with Karsi at her side, she could sense…darkness. For that is the only way she could put it. It was as if the gods had abandoned this place and taken any light or joy with their departure. And then there were the people living within the walls, the few that remained anyway as Lord Stark had informed her that many of the castle garrison and small folk had all but abandoned the place after the Boltons had been executed and exiled. They looked…dreadful. As if sorrow was the only state that they knew how to exist in.

"By the gods…Lord Wolf warned us about the state of this place…but I thought he was just fuckin with us." Karsi sighed as they watched more than a few mothers pull their children into their homes so that they were not in their way.

"As did I," Val answered honestly as they made their way into the center of the fortress. Standing before a large squat building, which she assumed was the main keep, was a man who immediately set her teeth on edge. A man wearing thick grey robes with a heavy chain around his neck. "Karsi…see to your children and get them settled. Then I assume you have a letter to write and send south. I'll deal with this fuck."

Karsi nodded before responding with no small amount of mirth. "Aye, Lady Norfolk."

Cursing under her breath and vowing to geld Rayder the first chance she got for convincing her to become some 'southern lady', Val urged her horse forward towards the grey cloaked man. Surprisingly, he wasn't nearly as old as she expected. Though he was still shivering, even in the summer heat, well at least what she considered heat. "Lady Val Norfolk," the grey cloaked man bowed lowly to her as she dismounted from her horse, "I am Maester Yeoman, the Maester and temporary custodian of the Dreadfort. My lady, the Dreadfort is yours. I trust the roads were not much of a bother for…one such as yourself?"

Stretching her neck, Val eyed the shifting Maester. "And what do you mean by 'one such as yourself'?"

The Maester's shifting became even more obvious, something Val took a small amount of pleasure in, seeing the man squirm just from asking a question. These kneelers, well at least those not of the North, were all so squeamish. "I – I just meant that one from – well, given your former people, I –"

"Not my former people, Maester," Val countered with a hard look. "I am still of the Free Folk. I am just now also a…Lady of the North as well."

"Of – of course my Lady, that was what I meant," she was surprised that the Maester hadn't fallen over by this point, given how badly his body was shaking.

"Good," Val nodded, looking around she noticed a severe lack of people, be they guards or just regular folk. "I thought this place had more people to it than…this."

The grey rat nodded nervously, wringing his hands together as he spoke. "I–I have only been in the North for barely two moons, my Lady… The Citadel has been hard pressed to replace the Maesters who were exposed to be part of the Order of the Guiding Hand. When I arrived, the keep was already much depleted. Part of the reason is because it is still the summer years and many in the North stay outside the walls. But the reason for the lack of guards is simple. After Lord Stark exposed Lord Bolton as a traitor, many of the guards feared they would be held complicit in their former lord's crimes. Because of that, the guards mostly fled. Some went north to take the Black. Others turned brigand. And others still went south to seek other fortunes. There were a number of smallfolk who called the Dreadfort home…but I fear that when news reached them that my Lady would be taking Ladyship of the Dreadfort…many fled due to their fear of your…history."

'Fearful fools,' Val wanted to growl. Even with the Lord Wolf's backing, peoples fear still didn't allow them to see past the fact that she was born north of the Wall and not south of it. "Is there a Commander of the guards?"

The grey rat quickly shook his head. "No, my Lady. He left with the young former Lord Bolton with his exile."

"Then Karsi will take up the position." She said quickly. Karsi was a fellow chieftain and a good warrior. She knew that she could trust her to handle the guards.

The Maester however just frowned. "Forgive me, my lady, but… Do you mean to say that you are appointing a…woman as your Commander of the Guards?"

"Is there a problem with that, rat?" Val asked, narrowing her eyes at the man who immediately took a step back from her. "Karsi is a fellow chieftain and a warrior that I would put up against any man in the North or north of the Wall. She will take up the position and that is final."

The grey rat swallowed nervously again but nodded his head. "As you wish, my lady."

Moving to walk into the keep, Val stopped once she was shoulder to shoulder with the man. "And one last thing," she said lowly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Should you betray me or the North as the others in your order have…then I will make the death the Lord Wolf brought to your order seem merciful in comparison to what I do to you."

She could feel the man shaking under her hand. "Y–You can trust me, my Lady."

"Trust is earned, not given freely, Maester," Val said with a hard edge. "Now come. We have a lot of work to do and I am not one to sit idly by and wait for others to do what needs to be done."

Easing into his seat at the head of the Small Councill, Robert Baratheon marveled at just how easy it was to move around now that he had lost a fair amount of his girth. He still wasn't anywhere near where he was when he was heralded as the 'Demon of the Trident'. At least he was once again able to make the walk from his chambers up to the Small Council chamber without having to stop at least once to catch his breath. That honor was now reserved for the Grand Maester Jeorge and the fat Spider himself. Both of whom were the last to arrive in the Small Council Chambers, drawing a displeased look from Stannis, who'd just returned from his trip to the North and brief stay in Dragonstone.

"Finally," Robert drawled, motioning for both to hurry up and take their seats next to Baelish and Renly. "Sit your asses down and let's get going. Stannis, what news of the North? Varys here has heard some word that Ned and Nox have once again managed the impossible, but he hasn't been able to figure out what that 'impossibility' is. And how are these new batch of acolytes coming along under Nox's tutelage?"

Varys's face twitched at the slight against his ability to gather information, which just went to show how many steps ahead Ned and the sorcerer were. Next to him, Stannis remained his normal expressionless self as he began going through his time in the North. "The Acolytes, including my daughter, are coming along well. Already they can stand in the yard against grown men and hold their own. And their powers are developing along acceptable patterns…at least according to the Sorcerer that is. It is difficult to tell their current abilities or just how powerful they will become in the future. But they are progressing. As for this 'impossibility', I know exactly what they achieved as I was there when it was presented to Lord Stark."

Shifting in his seat, Stannis produced a sheathed dagger from his waist and set it down on the table before pushing it towards Robert. Normally, it was against the law for an individual outside the Kingsguard to carry a blade in the presence of the king, but Robert had made exceptions for his brothers. Taking up the dagger by the hilt, he pulled out the blade and was immediately met with a bright red, rippled steel that was shining brightly even in the dim light of the room.

"Looks like Valyrian steel," the fat Maester said, leaning towards Robert slightly to get a better look at the dagger. "But it's unlike any Valyrian steel I've seen before. Have they figured out how to reforge it to brighten the steel?"

"No," Stannis replied immediately. "That is not a piece of reforged Valyrian steel. That is newly forged Valyrian steel from Winterfell."

It took a moment for Stannis's words to sink in, but once they did there was such a shift in the air that it was akin to a ship that was taking on water. "What?" Robert gaped, staring from the blade to his brother and back. "You're telling me that the Sorcerer managed to figure out how those dragon-sister-fuckers managed to forge their steel?"

"Yes," Stannis replied plainly. "Though while the Sorcerer does deserve most of the credit for figuring out how the Valyrians were able to create their steel, he made a point of including the fact that without one of his acolyte's help, he wouldn't have been able to complete the task."

"And which of the Sorcerer's chosen do we have to thank for this marvelous rediscovery?" Renly asked with none of his usual lighthearted tone. Apparently, the shock of seeing newly forged Valyrian steel was what it took to make his youngest brother take things seriously.

Stannis, in a rare showing, hesitated and appeared uneasy with the answer he was about to give. "The acolyte's name is Gendry. One of the ones he took from King's Landing when he visited…and the boy is one of your bastards, your grace."

Robert's mind went blank upon hearing what his brother said. One of his bastards. His…His son…was an acolyte for the Sorcerer… He hadn't even known the boy existed in the first place, let alone that he was now in the North with Nox and his brother in all but blood. But while Robert was at a loss for what to say, the others on the Small Council were not.

"And how do we know this boy is a bastard of his grace?" Baelish asked pointedly.

"The boy has the Baratheon look to the point where he and Renly could use each other as shaving mirrors," Stannis replied.

"Gendry…That was the lad that was apprenticed to one of our best blacksmiths here in the city, was he not?" Jon asked curiously.

Stannis nodded. "Yes. The bastard said that he was an apprentice under Tohbo Mott here in King's Landing before the Sorcerer noticed his potential and took him north to train him."

Robert watched as Jon nodded, seemingly lost in thought. "Then he is indeed your bastard son, Robert. I have been making a point of keeping track of them over the years. Gendry showed strength beyond his years while he was still but a child, so I convinced Tohbo Mott to take the lad in. Last I heard, he was one of the man's best until Nox scouted his potential."

"Them?" Robert questioned, trying to wrap his mind around everything that'd been revealed. He had a son. Well, he knew that… But he had more than just the two with the bitch, Cersei. "How…How many are there, Jon?"

The look Jon gave him was one he knew well. It was the look of disappointment. "Somewhere between ten and twenty. I've tried to keep track of most, but many were the children of whores. Therefore, it is difficult to tell if they are truly yours or not. And given the queen's state and her family's history, I felt it best not to draw attention to them as only your recognized bastard Edric Storm can claim some sort of protection behind nobility."

If Robert hadn't already been sitting down, he was sure he would've dropped. Sure, he knew that he wasn't always that careful when he was with a woman. Who was, honestly? But to think that he had that many bastard children? And his own true born children.

"I know of at least one other that is in Winterfell as well," Stannis said, either not noticing or not caring of Robert's current state. He would be willing to bet it was the latter. "There was a former whore that Lord Nox brought North with him. But it was not her that drew his attention. It was her daughter named Barra. Another child with the potential to learn this Force magic. After pressing on the former whore, I learned that the girl is another of your bastard children, your grace."

Robert's shock at finding out the true extent of just how many children he had unknowingly fathered suddenly gave way to pride. "Two of my bastards have the ability to become like the Sorcerer? …Ha! Fucking wonderful!" he laughed, a laugh which slowly died as a thought struck him. "But what about my trueborn children? Why the fuck didn't the sorcerer take any of them north to train?"

The members of the Small Council all looked at one another. "During the time the men of the North and the Sorcerer were in King's Landing, the Queen made sure that her children were kept away from the Sorcerer and the Northern retinue at all times," Varys spoke up as the others all refused to say anything.

Rage slowly ate away at his joy. "That fucking bitch," he cursed lowly. "First, she gives me nothing but golden-haired children. Now, she hides them away and prevents them from potentially learning from the Sorcerer. If my bastards have this magic, then my trueborn children should as well."

"That may not necessarily be the case, your grace," Jeorge said slowly, his right hand coming up and tapping one of the links on the length of chain around his neck. "Part of my studies into the deeper mysteries was to study the patterns of inheritance of magic. What records remained of the Valyrian Empire gave significant insight into this, and they discovered that magical inheritance was mostly by chance. Even if a father or mother or even both had magic, there was no guarantee that their offspring would have the ability. And there were even a number of documented instances where a child of magic was born to parents who had no magic affinity. Families like the Starks, where all the children have magic to some degree, were considered a rarity to the point of almost being mythical."

Robert ground his teeth together. The Maester's words aligned with Nox's own words when the two had had the chance to speak briefly on the matter. But the fact that he'd missed out on finding if his trueborn children had magic just like his bastard children… Gods damn that spiteful harpy to all Seven hells and back! And he couldn't very well just send his children to the North. Sending the royal children to an unlanded Lord was one thing, having them sent back home because they failed to impress upon the unlanded Lord? He may be a shit king with no care for the workings of the court, but even he knew that that was not a situation he could afford to put his family in. Which made getting the Sorcerer to King's Landing so that he could take up the post waiting for him all the more important.

"Send word to Winterfell," Robert grumbled. "The moment all of Nox's current Acolytes are at an acceptable level, I want his ass here in King's Landing taking up the seat of Master of the Arcane on the Small Council."

"I will see to the raven personally after the meeting, your grace," Jeorge nodded before falling silent.

Nodding, Robert turned to Jon about to ask what was next, but Varys spoke before he could. "If I may speak next, your grace. I have news that I feel you will be most interested in. News of the exiled Targaryen siblings."

Thoughts of his children having magic and of the newly forged Valyrian steel fled his mind immediately, replaced with hatred that burned so hot he was sure it could smelt iron. "You found them?" he all but demanded, leaning forward in his seat.

"I have, your grace," Varys nodded with almost agonizing slowness. "Or more precisely, I have found where they were and can theorize as to where they will be going next."

Robert wanted to bash the man's skull against the table. "Out with it! Where are they!?"

Varys seemed completely at ease, despite Robert wanting to tear the cockless bastard limb from limb. "They were in Pentos for a time, your grace. As for who was sheltering them while they were there, I do not know. But what I do know is that they recently left the city and headed east after Daenerys wed Khal Drogo, the leader of a Dothraki horde of over forty-thousand strong. And perhaps even more concerning, there are rumors spreading that the young girl may in fact be a sorceress herself with powers similar to those that are growing in the North."

Robert felt…conflicted at hearing the news. Part of him felt the rush of excitement that only the prospect of war could bring. But another part, a part that'd been growing within him as of late, felt a small tingle of anxiety. For years, the Beggar King was no threat to him or his reign because he had no army nor the coin to purchase an army. But now, by selling his sister to a horse lord, he'd gained an army of over forty thousand overnight. And the little cunt had magic as well?

"This news is…concerning," Jon muttered as he turned his head towards one of the open windows in the room.

"Concerning?" Renly gaped. "That's the only thing you can say about this? Is that it's concerning? Viserys has just gained an army of forty thousand strong by selling his sister! An army he no doubt intends to drag across the Narrow Sea and use to wage war against us! And that incest-born cunt has fucking magic as well!"

"You didn't listen very closely to what Varys said, did you, Renly?" Stannis asked of their younger brother, leaving him sputtering. "Varys. You said that they were heading east, did you not?"

"I did, and they are," Varys nodded.

Nodding, Stannis fixed Renly with a hard look. "East, Renly, not west aboard ships. East. Meaning they will not be crossing the Narrow Sea for some time. And, as I'm assuming you have already forgotten from your lessons. The Dothraki, while strong warriors and ones to be feared, fear water which their horses cannot drink. Even if Viserys finds the coin to purchase enough ships to ferry forty thousand Dothraki across the sea, he still must find those ships and convince their captains to take the coin and convince the Dothraki to cross the sea. None of which are an easy task. And even if he does, he will not be able to hide such an armada easily. Our replenished royal fleet, along with the Northern fleet and the Redwyne fleet will be able to sink them at sea well before they can reach landfall where they are the most dangerous. As for the girl having magic, she is still but a girl. A single untrained girl against the likes of Lord Nox and those he is training? Perhaps ten years ago her having magic would be concerning. But now? Now it means nothing against the power the Iron Throne can command."

"But is that a chance we wish to take, my Lord?" Baelish asked, leaning forward calmly, and placing his elbows on the table as he leaned his chin onto his hands. "Such a sea battle will be costly, both in terms of ships and coin. Perhaps it would be far better for us to ensure that such an instance never comes to pass. We know who the Targaryens are with now. And it is not so easy to hide such a large force. A brave man with a sharp dagger or a potent poison could end a potential war before it ever reaches our shores. The keystone to Viserys's army is Daenerys. Remove her, and everything falls apart for him. Then we can kill Viserys at our leisure later. And not to mention, it is well known that the Sorcerer likes to collect those who have the same power as he. What is to say that he does not spare the girl and take her under his tutelage? If that comes to pass, how long would it be until she truly became a threat? Killing her serves multiple purposes and prevents much."

The members of the Small Council went quiet as they considered what was before them. Renly was the first to break the silence, "I can't believe this…but I'm agreeing with the flesh peddler. Best to just kill the Targaryen bitch before she starts whelping out little horse lords."

Robert didn't like it. No. He hated this. He wanted to fight the Targaryens on the field and kill the bastard just like he'd done with Rhaegar. Assassins in the dark and poisons…? Those were women's weapons and left a bad taste in his mouth. But Baelish had made a point. And Renly agreed with him. Stannis obviously didn't as his distaste for assassinations was just as strong as his own. But looking across the table, he could see that even Jon was agreeing with Baelish.

"If I may your grace, I would offer a dissenting opinion."

Chairs creaked as all eyes in the room turned towards the Grand Maester. "I didn't take you for a dragon lover, Maester," Robert growled, his voice coming out in a low rumble laced with anger.

Jeorge shook his head. "I am not, your grace. My loyalty is to the Iron Throne and the one who sits upon it, not to a single House. And while I can admit that Lord Baelish's suggestion of assassination does have some merit in potentially stopping a war from reaching our shores, I do not believe that Daenerys Targaryen should be the target."

Leaning back, Robert eyed the Maester warily. "Explain."

Nodding, Jeorge idly fingered one of the links on his chain. "Part of my studies at the Citadel was into different cultures across the known world. While there are many interesting cultures, I found the Dothraki particularly fascinating. By marrying Khal Drogo, Daenerys Targaryen has gained the rank of khalessi, a queen of Khal Drogo's horde if you will. And as such, she will be protected by the horde as steadfastly as our own Queen Cersei is guarded by the Kingsguard and the Goldcloaks. Even a skilled assassin will find difficulty in getting close to her, and that is without even taking her magic into consideration. Launching an attack against her, even from the shadows or with poison, would be suicidal. I doubt your grace would be able to find any who would be willing to undertake such a risk. I doubt even the Faceless Men of Bravos would be willing to take such a contract. And I can say more as to why she would not be the target. Khal Drogo is currently moving back east, which means he is returning to their city, Vaes Dothrak. And Khal Drogo will not move his army again, no matter how much Viserys protests, until he feels the time is right. However, an attack against his khalessi and the potential mother of his khalakka, his child, would enrage him to the point where he would immediately order his entire khalasar back west to wage war against us."

Robert had to admit, much to his chagrin, that the man was right. "So, what do you suggest then?"

Jeorge paused, seemingly thinking over his words before saying them. "I can think of two targets that would be better suited and more accessible than Daenerys. The first would be Khal Drogo himself. Without the Khal, his khalasar will break apart as those of skill will begin cutting their way through everyone in their attempt to take over leadership. Killing Drogo will turn Daenerys from a Khaleesi to a dosh khaleen, a widow of a Khal. Becoming such would make it so that no Khal would ever think of laying with her, nor marrying her. And she would be expected to live out the remainder of her days in Vaes Dothrak, by force if need be."

"But your plan has a problem, Grand Maester," Baelish interjected. "Killing a woman is one thing. Killing a Khal who lives for little more than bloodshed is quite another. And even getting close to the Khal would require an assassin to make their way through the horde."

"You are correct, Lord Baelish." Jeorge nodded. "Which is why I believe the best choice would be to target Viserys, who is traveling with the khalasar, is he not, Lord Varys?"

"He is," Varys nodded.

Nodding, Jeorge turned and locked eyes with Robert. "Drogo's deal was with Viserys directly. That is the way deals work amongst the Dothraki. And while Drogo will not bring harm to Viserys unless the man does something incredibly stupid, Drogo will not go out of his way to protect him either. And should Viserys meet his end before Drogo orders his khalasar to march. Well, Drogo will no longer have any reason to keep to the bargain struck. And even if Daenerys manages to convince him to make war on Westeros, who amongst our nobility will stand with her? She is married, and therefore unable to make anyone a King. And she would be looking to put a horse lord's son on the Iron Throne, a savage. Even the most loyal of those to House Targaryen would be hesitant to join such a cause."

Robert couldn't help but stare at the Grand Maester, seeing the man in a new light. "The fat Maester has the right of it," Robert grumbled, unhappy with the idea of leaving any dragon alive, but realizing that perhaps the Maester's plan was the best path forward. "Spider. Send out your little birds. I want Viserys dead at the first opportunity. I don't care what the cost is or who you have to hire, see it done."

Varys nodded. "As you wish, your grace."

"Damn right," Robert grumbled before pushing thoughts of the Targaryens forcibly from his mind to focus on something better. "Jon, we cannot wait any longer for your plan to bring the Dornish back into the fold. Varys, I seem to recall last meeting that your little birds have said that Jon Stark and that wildling girl have gone to Dorne right?"

Varys nodded, "that is correct your grace."

"Good," Robert nodded, meeting Jon's eyes. "You and I are going to send a letter to Ned. You say the Dornish will baulk if betrothal comes at a request from the crown, so we'll stay out of it. We'll tell Ned everything, you're plan to bring the Dornish back into the realm by marrying Jon to Arianne. And we'll ask him to arrange the betrothal. If Varys's little birds in the North are worth anything, and I'm starting to doubt that, then the two have already fucked. So getting them married shouldn't be too much of a problem. And if Doran makes requests that the North cannot meet, then tell Ned that the Crown will, descretly, aid in meeting any demands of Doran."

Jon nodded, "as you wish, your grace."

Nodding, Robert got around to the next topic, and one that he had been looking forward too for some time now. "Now, I've decided that is high time we had a Tournament and a celebration."

He didn't miss the uneasy looks that crossed Stannis's and Jon's faces. "For what cause, Robert?" Jon asked.

"Three hundred years of a united Seven Kingdoms," Robert replied with a smile on his face.

Jeorge coughed uneasily. "Um…Your grace…The year of 298 since the conquest is less than a half past."

"Which means we have plenty of time to plan and find the fucking coin to make this a tourney to be remembered," Robert countered, which seemed to surprise Jon as he usually called for tourneys at the last possible moment. "I want jousting, melee, archery, strength competitions, and games of wit. We'll even take a note from my own namesake, Robb Stark, and add in an Inventor's Fair to the celebration as well. And I want all the Houses of Westeros to make an appearance. All of them. Even the fucking snakes. It's high past time they remember they are still subject to the Iron Throne."

Baelish was immediately writing down notes, no doubt counting coppers already. "And where will we be holding this celebration, your grace?" the copper-counter asked.

"Where the downfall of the dragons began," Robert answered. "Harrenhal."

Sitting in his moveable chair within his private chambers high in the Tower of the Sun overlooking the grounds of the Sunspear, Doran Martell idly stretched his legs and rubbed at his knees as he watched people of Dorne go about their daily lives as he played out the moves he'd made in the great game, trying to reconcile as to whether he had made the right decisions as of late or not.

Sending his daughter and Oberyn to the North had indeed been the right choice. His only wish was that he'd made the move sooner as their visit coincided with visits from the Tyrells and the Lannisters. Each House had tried to quickly grasp onto the Starks to tie themselves to their growing power. And much to his chagrin, both Houses had succeeded to a degree. The Lannisters had managed to place one of their own amongst Nox's acolytes. The girl was a bastard, but Doran knew Tywin well enough that he would overlook her status in favor of what she could offer the Lions in the future. And the roses had managed to snag themselves one of the wolves by betrothing Willas to the eldest Stark girl Sansa.

And while both developments were unfortunate to his long-term goals, the disappointment was offset by what his daughter had brought back with her. The plans for the new system to move water long distances without the need for transport was a major boon. But it was the magic that'd been awakened within her that was the true boon. The ancient magic of the Rhoynish, a magic last truly seen within the Rhoynish warrior Queen Nymeria. And already the people were beginning to spin the tale that Arianne was Nymeria reborn. Perhaps not in terms of martial prowess, but in influence. And even more, Arianne had managed to gain the full attention of Jon Stark, the secret child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Though that bit of information was proving to very well be a double-edged blade.

The boy had clearly become infatuated with his daughter. But as strong as his attraction to her was, it was returned in equal measure by his daughter. If that wasn't concerning enough, then the fact that they'd also added a third to their interactions in the form of a wildling girl was just aggravating in the tediousness such a coupling would cause later on. 'I sent her North to seduce Jon…and in the end she is the one who ends up being seduced. And not only by a boy slightly younger than herself. But by a wildling as well.' Upon her return, he'd sought about testing just how strong her attraction to the boy was, and it was during that talk with her that he realized that he would have to alter or completely abandon many of his plans. Arianne had made it abundantly clear to him that she knew just who Jon's mother was, and that she knew that he knew as well. And that she would do everything in her power to help protect him from anyone seeking to use him for their own means.

It was a powerful declaration, and an annoying one at that. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd once again been played by the Sorcerer. While Jon may have helped Arianne discover her abilities and aid her in learning her foundation, he was under no delusions that the Sorcerer played no part in the discovery. It was even a possibility that Nox had had a direct hand in Jon's seduction of his daughter. Though now that he'd met the boy, he tossed that idea out the window. The boy was a good sort, if more than a bit oblivious to the subtle art of seduction and politics. No. It was indeed his daughter that seduced the boy. But then the question remained: how did she become so infatuated with him and the wildling girl in such a short time?

Setting aside thoughts of what could have happened in the North, he focused on what had been happening within his own domain since Jon and Ygritte arrived and were welcomed with open arms by Arianne. The two had been given separate rooms in the guest quarters, but it was clear to everyone within the palace after the first week that the rooms were merely a formality and that neither spent any nights within them. Another action of his daughter no doubt. But what had surprised him was the fact that Lord Stark and the Sorcerer's reasoning for sending the two to Dorne had been genuine. The wildling girl Ygritte had, somehow, come into the same type of Rhoynish magic as Arianne. Albeit where Arianne excelled at controlling water, the wildling girl excelled at controlling fire. The two had immediately put their heads together and spent nearly every spare moment Arianne had in trying to learn and control their newfound magic.

And as they did, Jon Stark did not just sit idly by. True to his upbringing in the North, the boy had immediately set about trying to find a way to make himself useful while he was not…entertaining his daughter. He'd found his calling, unsurprisingly, in the yard training not only the men at arms of House Martell, but also by training with the nobles who came to Sunspear to call upon either himself or his daughter. The boy was a complete natural with a blade and in training. And he thoroughly trounced everyone who crossed blades with him. But to Doran's surprise, and pleasure, the boy did not gloat in his victories. Instead, he worked diligently with those he defeated, showing them their weaknesses and how they could improve. He had no doubt that had things played out differently, that Jon could've one day become the most sought-after Master of Arms in all of Westeros. 'But that is not to be his fate,' Doran thought with a note of finality.

"Prince Doran. Your daughter is here to speak with you and – Wait, Princess, your fa—!"

Doran just barely managed to get himself turned around in time to see the doors to his chambers be flung open, revealing a clearly irate Arianne who marched into his room just far enough to turn around and slam the doors shut behind her. And she wasn't alone either as the great white direwolf managed to slip into the room right alongside her before planting itself firmly in front of the door as if to act like a sentry. "Why did you do that, father!?" she asked harshly through gritted teeth as she rounded on him, her eyes alight with a fury he truthfully did not know she possessed. 'So, this is the fire she has within her when she is properly motivated. Good. Now, we just need to work on harnessing this fire.'

"Arianne –" was as far as he got before she started in on him.

"Don't give me 'Arianne' father," she hissed, marching towards him. "You've been in Sunspear for three days. Three days! And already you've sent Jon and Ygritte away from the Tower of the Sun!"

Keeping quiet, Doran waited to see if that was all she had to say before answering her. "Yes. I have only been here for three days, daughter. But if you remember clearly, I did not send them away from the Tower of the Sun. They went of their own accord with your Uncle Oberyn, might I remind you."

His words did not appear to appease his daughter, who began pacing. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you did not have a hand in this?" she asked, casting glances towards him as she spoke. "You spend moons at the Water Gardens, and now only return with the tale that brigands are wreaking havoc to the north of Sunspear. You call for an assembly, which Jon and Ygritte are invited too, and you announce publicly that you are looking for able-bodied men and women to deal with the brigands. You knew before you even spoke the words that Jon and Ygritte would both volunteer to help deal with the brigands."

"Yes, I did," he nodded. It'd been a ploy to see just how the boy and the wildling would react. And he'd been pleased. Neither had hesitated to answer the call to bring justice to the brigands despite the risks and despite Dorne not being their home. "Believe what you will, but I had nothing to do with the formation of these brigands. And they are something that needed to be dealt with. I merely used the situation at hand to get a better read on the boy and girl that have apparently captured your heart and mind."

Arianne stopped her pacing and glared at him. "I told you before, father, when I first returned from the North. I know full well just who Jon is. And I know that you know. And I will not allow you to pull him into any of your games."

Frowning at her naivety, Doran motioned for Arianne to take a seat next to him. His daughter hesitated a moment, but in the end relented and took the seat next to him. "My daughter, as nobles we do not have a choice when it comes to our participation in the game. The only choice we truly have is whether we are a simple piece to be moved. Or a player who moves the pieces."

"You've said that to me before father," Arianne muttered. "Several times over."

"And it still holds true, daughter, only you're just now starting to realize it instead of just ignoring my advice."

Arianne folded her hands in her lap, her eyes downcast. "I know what you want, father. I'll tell you again. I will not allow you to use Jon, Ygritte, or myself as mere pieces in your game."

"Then you'd best become a player of the game, dear daughter," he commented back, drawing another harsh look from her. "It will not be just I that tries to use the boy, Arianne. There is an old saying, my dear. 'Three can keep a secret, if two are already dead'. How many know of Jon's parentage? I can count seven, perhaps more at least that know the truth of him. It will not be long until that number grows, Arianne. And when it becomes known, make no mistake others will see him as a piece within the game. Either one to use, or one that needs to be removed. The only way that he will survive is if he learns how to play. Or if he has someone by his side to teach him and to protect him."

Getting up from his seat and making his way across the room, a feat which took far more out of him than he cared to admit, Doran retrieved a raven's scroll from a locked box on his desk before returning to his daughter. "It wasn't just the brigands that encouraged me to return from the Water Gardens, Arianne. But this as well."

Taking the scroll, he saw her eyes bounce off the broken wax direwolf before quickly unrolling the scroll and reading its contents. "Father…this…"

"A request from Lord Stark to enter negotiations of a betrothal between yourself and his 'son', Jon Stark," Doran finished for her. "One that, now that I have a proper read on your intentions and feelings and after having felt the boy out as well, I am tempted to pursue."

For the first time since her mother left them, Doran saw tears starting to form at the corner of his daughters' eyes. Though this time they were not from sadness, but rather from joy. "I – I am in support of such a union as well, father. And…And those lessons you spoke of. Lessons on the game. I – I would like to begin them on the morrow, if that is acceptable."

"Of course, it is my daughter," he nodded. "Now run along, Arianne. I'm sure that you are itching to share this news with your cousins. And with your intended upon his return. Tomorrow at first light, I will begin teaching you how to truly be a player in the game, and not just a piece to be played."

Nodding, Arianne turned and left his chambers with the raven's scroll from the North still clutched firmly in her hands and Ghost trailing behind her, acting as her guard while the boy was away. As he watched her leave, his thoughts idly traveled back to the fool Rhaegar and his obsession with bringing about the return of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives. 'In the end, it looks like that bastard dragon Prince will get his way. Though not in the manner he'd thought. It will not be an Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya that bring about a newfound stability and peace to the Seven Kingdoms. But rather it will be Jon, Arianne, and Ygritte. Jon will be the figurehead to lead them. Ygritte will be the Warrior Queen to fight their battles. And Arianne will be the Queen that protects them from being swallowed whole by the great game. Now…the only question that remains is how to 'arrange' for such a future to come about.'