Chapter 22

Marauder

Their ship was on the way to Sunspear. Martells and his mother were also coming with him. Some heavy talks were going to happen in Sunspear.

Currently, Aryan was having a private meeting with his people.

"We will reach Sunspear by tomorrow morning. But you will not be staying there for long. You will go in Lord Manderly's ship by the afternoon." Aryan told everyone there excluding himself and Marwyn.

"But I want to see Sunspear? You promised me?" Arya cried indignantly.

"Uncle Ned had written that you are needed back. Robb is going for fostering. Don't you want to see him off? But don't worry you still have a couple of hours to explore Sunspear." Aryan told her who brightened up hearing the last part.

"Sam why don't you take Arya to her rooms." Aryan told Sam.

Sam quickly nodded. Arya had grown fond of Sam as he used to tell them stories. Soon they left.

The room grew quiet again, the only sounds being the gentle rocking of the ship and the distant murmur of waves against the hull.

"My Lord. Please consider your decision. I must come with you. Your protection is my duty." Ser Rodrcik said. The man seemed to be very upset since Aryan told him that he will not be coming to Essos.

"Regarding that, Ser Rodrick, my decision is final. This is not meant to insult you," Aryan said firmly. "You have a far more important duty in the North now. Roose Bolton is dead—murdered by his own bastard, Ramsay Snow, in the presence of his guards. Ramsay also poisoned Domeric Bolton. And beyond that, Roose was planning to betray me."

Aryan let those words settle, watching the older knight's reaction before continuing.

"With House Bolton extinct and considering Roose's treachery, I am naming you the Lord of the Dreadfort. Some of the Bolton lands will go to the Karstarks and the Umbers, but House Cassel will still hold enough to live comfortably. I am sending a letter with you—it contains my judgment on Ramsay Snow, as well as my final decision regarding the Bolton lands and the Dreadfort. See to it that this letter reaches my uncle, Lord Cailstark. There are further details in the letter, and he will explain you everything in detail. Ser Rodrick, you are an honorable and loyal man. I can think of no one better suited to restore the reputation of the lands I am giving you."

He smiled as he finished, knowing that this was a very good strategic decision. House Cassel had been loyal to the Starks for generations—placing the Dreadfort in Rodrick's hands was a wise decision.

Rodrick's mouth opened and closed and again he opened and closed his mouth trying to form words. "My Lord I cannot find words to thank you."

"There is no need for that." Aryan said.

Roose Bolton's killing had now assured the Stark's supremacy in the North. It pleased him to see his death by his own eyes. Jaqen is also did a wonderful job to make sure his name was not linked with anything in this whole incident.

Aryan leaned back slightly, looking at the faces before him. They were all processing the information, understanding the weight of what had been done. With that snake dead, the North was now more secure than ever.

After making their future plans they all dispersed for the night.

Sunspear, Dorne

Sunspear reminded Aryan of the grand, magical Persia of his past life. The architecture, with its domed palaces, sun-baked sandstone walls, and intricate mosaics, bore a striking resemblance to the cities of the East. The arid climate, the scent of spice-laden air, and the sight of silk-robed merchants moving through the sunlit streets all added to the illusion. And yet, despite its beauty, Sunspear paled in comparison to the larger, more prosperous cities of Westeros in both population and size.

The decline in maritime traffic due to the Northern Canal had been the cause of this. It was a harsh lesson in why a city—or a kingdom—must never rely too heavily on a single source of wealth. The canal had redirected trade routes, cutting off Sunspear from its usual flow of merchants and sailors, which caused the decline of the city. He had no doubt that Doran would seek to negotiate new trade agreements to offset these losses in their upcoming talks.

Hmmm… he likes less risky and easy profit, he mused. For some reason, all his trade ventures with the Riverlands, the Reach, and Dorne have been smooth. The formula was simple: buy at a low price, sell at a high one. Basic economics. But, of course, Doran was no fool. Unlike the likes of Olenna Tyrell and Hoster Tully, who underestimated him, Doran Martell understood perfectly well what he intended to do with Dornish goods. Doran insisted to make the deal in such a way that he has to share a portion of the profits from the Dornish goods he sell, which, kept Dorne's economy afloat.

More importantly, Doran avoided the kind of resentment brewing among the lords of the Reach, the Riverland, and the Westerland—lords who felt cheated and exploited by sudden shifts in wealth and power. Doran, ever the patient strategist, had secured a mutually beneficial agreement: Aryan's profits soared, and Dorne's economy remained stable.

Still, discontentment simmered within House Martell. Many viewed Doran's inaction as weakness, as if he were letting the past slip away without seeking vengeance or retribution. Aryan doesn't envy the man's position. Balancing duty, ambition, and survival was never easy. But given what Doran wants to achieve, he'll need allies. And considering what Aryan want to achieve, he'll need them too.

There was a saying: "When two people's backs are itching, they help each other."

That, more than anything, summed up Aryan's relationship with Doran Martell.

______________________________________________________________________

They had arrived in Sunspear early in the morning. Doran had yet to arrive—he would reach the city by tomorrow. Gods, I wouldn't want his fate, Aryan thought Bound to a wheelchair, unable to act freely…

So far, nothing eventful had happened, and Aryan had already sent off The Merman, Lord Manderly's ship, with Arya back to the North.

Before that, he had a discussion with Lord Wyman. The Lord of White Harbor had been informed that Aryan had important matters to discuss with Prince Doran and would be staying in Sunspear for a few days. Lord Wyman had chosen to remain on the ship, citing his distaste for Dornish food. Thankfully, his mother wasn't around when Wyman said that.

At present, Arianne was showing him around the palace of Sunspear. It was a striking place—lush fruit gardens filled with trees laden with ripe oranges, their sweet scent hanging in the warm air. Pools were scattered throughout the palace grounds, helping to keep the temperature cool.

Arianne led him into a room that resembled a solar. Sunlight streamed in through arched windows, casting a glow over the polished stone floor.

"This is my father's solar," Arianne said, walking over to a wooden chest. She opened it and carefully lifted out a crown, holding it up for Aryan to see.

"This was the crown Queen Rhaenys Targaryen wore when she tried to conquer Dorne," she continued, her voice carrying a note of pride. "Sadly, she perished."

Aryan observed the Valyrian steel circlet, its dark metal gleaming under the light, the embedded gemstones catching the sun's rays.

"It's beautiful," he murmured, tracing the fine craftsmanship with his eyes.

Then his gaze shifted to Arianne, noticing the slight tension in her posture. Something is bothering her. Should I ask?

After a brief hesitation, he decided to speak. "Arianne, has something been troubling you?"

For a moment, she said nothing, then shook her head. "No. Everything is fine."

Aryan looked at Arianne, his voice gentle. "That day, after my fight with Gerold, when I wasn't feeling good… you told me you just wanted to be there for me. Even if only to talk. I want you to know that I feel the same. I may not have all the answers, but I can listen."

Arianne let out a small breath, hesitating. "It's silly, actually."

Aryan reached out, cupping her cheek lightly with his palm. "What happened?"

She leaned into his touch before speaking, her voice quieter now. "Do you remember when you swore on your mother? I told you I had nothing sacred like that. But there was a time when I did." She paused, her dark eyes filled with emotions. "I loved my mother. And then, when my father sent Quentyn to the Yronwoods as their ward, she… she left us. I begged her not to go. I was on my knees, Aryan. But she didn't listen. She went to Norvos and never looked back."

Aryan didn't interrupt, letting her words settle between them.

"In time, that love I had for her… it just faded," Arianne continued, her voice almost bitter. "And then I saw you and your mother. Even after losing so much she left behind everything she knew—her home, her family, her entire world—just to be with you. She stayed with you." Arianne swallowed. "And ever since then, I've wondered… why couldn't my mother do the same? Would she have stayed if my father had spent more time with her instead of burying himself in his schemes?"

She let out a shaky breath, trying to hold herself together, but Aryan could see the pain in her eyes. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms.

For a moment, she stiffened—then, she broke down, she hugged him tightly. He felt her hands clutch at the fabric of his tunic, and then he heard it—shuddering sobs. She buried her face into his chest, her body trembling.

Aryan held her close, resting his chin lightly atop her head. He said nothing, only running a hand gently over her back. Sometimes, words weren't needed. Sometimes, just being there was enough.

After a while, her sobs quieted. She pulled back slightly, her eyes were red.

"Arianne, I don't know what was in her mind when she made that choice," Aryan said softly. "But I'll tell you this—I'll try to bring your mother back. Not for Doran, but for you" I can easily make a detour and visit Norvos when I will be in Essos.

Arianne let out a sad, humorless laugh. "She won't listen."

Aryan gave her a reassuring look. "Don't worry. You have my word. I don't make promises lightly, but when I do, I make sure to fulfill them."

This time, Arianne didn't argue. She just looked at him, then hugging him again. And for the first time, she allowed herself to believe—just a little bit—that perhaps she wasn't as alone as she had thought.

___________________________________________________________________

"Doran spends most of his time in the Water Gardens. His condition makes it difficult for him to move around," Oberyn said.

"It's alright, Oberyn," Ashara reassured him. "Aryan is staying here for a few days, so there's no issue. In the meantime, he can enjoy his stay."

Aryan nodded. "Mother is right. This gives me a rare opportunity to relax without the burden of work. Not many know this, but sometimes I do miss Dorne. People forget that it was here I spent my carefree days."

With that, he placed a few vials filled with a concentrated pain-relieving potion on the table, along with a parchment containing the list of ingredients and the recipe.

"These were made by Grandmaester Marwyn. They should help relieve Prince Doran's pain, at the very least."

Oberyn's eyes narrowed slightly before he reached for one of the vials. "Truly? But Maester Pylos already gave his verdict—he said there was nothing to be done. Sometimes, I hear Doran crying out in pain when we move him to bed. If this works, I will personally thank Grandmaester Marwyn."

"This potion has only recently been release after it was perfected," Aryan explained. "It was tested extensively on numerous... subjects before reaching its final form. Now, it works without any side effects."

Oberyn gave him a sharp look. "And what happened to those who were given the earlier versions of the potion?"

Aryan met his gaze evenly. "Sacrifices must be made in the pursuit of knowledge."

The room fell silent. Other than Ashara, everyone looked shocked. She, however, had known about it for a long time and had already come to terms with what went on in Qyburn's and Marwyn's laboratories.

Ashara sighed. "He, Marwyn, and Qyburn are like three peas in a pod. I stepped into their lab once—that was enough for a lifetime."

Aryan only shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "All of them are criminals. And what better way to atone for their crimes than to contribute to the betterment of society?"

Oberyn studied him for a moment before chuckling dryly. "Well, whatever brings results." He picked up the vials. "I'll make sure Doran gets them."

Before Oberyn could thank Aryan, Obara strode in, clutching a rattlesnake by its head.

Trusting his instincts, Aryan scanned her surface thoughts and immediately caught onto her plan—she was going to accidentally release the snake on him to see his reaction.

"Have you seen the snakes of Dorne, Lord Stark?" Obara asked with a smirk.

Aryan met her gaze, completely unbothered. "I have seen the Sand Snakes. Quite beautiful, all of them."

Oberyn had introduced him to all of his daughters—Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, Sarella, Elia, Phelps, Dorea, and Loreza, the last three being his daughters with his paramour Ellaria Sand.

Obara narrowed her eyes slightly at his response but continued. "This is one of the most poisonous snakes in Dorne." She held the snake up for emphasis before suddenly dropping it right in front of Aryan.

The Martells gasped and scrambled away from the table. Oberyn tensed, his hand moving toward his belt. Arianne took a step back. But Ashara?

She burst out laughing.

Meanwhile, Aryan sat perfectly still, unfazed. He merely glanced at the snake, which had coiled itself in front of him, tasting the air with flickering tongue. Then, in a quite, soft, hissing voice, he spoke:

"Sss… wrap around my hand… sss."

The snake turned its head, staring at him with unblinking black eyes. After a few seconds, it tilted its head slightly before obeying—slithering up his arm and coiling itself neatly around his wrist.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Aryan, still completely unconcerned, kept eating with his free hand and as if nothing had happened.

"How did you do that?" Ellaria asked, clutching Oberyn's arm.

Aryan simply smiled. "I just spoke to it."

Martells gave him deadpanned looks. Some people wouldn't believe the truth even if you told them outright.

Arianne turned to Ashara, still in shock. "Why were you laughing?! Obara just threw a venomous snake at Aryan!"

Ashara wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. "Because this is nothing compared to what he used to do as a child."

Obara's eyes darting between Aryan and Ashara.

"The first time I saw him carrying a poisonous snake—he was three—I screamed and ran toward him, thinking he was about to die."

Obara paled slightly.

"At Starfall, he used to play with snakes like they were toys," Ashara continued. "He would drape them over his shoulders, let them coil around his arms, stroke their heads, clutch them in his hands and jump, running, even going to bed one time. And they never harmed him. Not once. I almost had a stroke the first time I saw it. After witnessing some of his antics, I even started questioning his sanity."

The Martells gaped at Aryan, who merely shrugged nonchalantly.

Then, in one smooth motion, he grabbed the snake and casually threw it back at Obara.

"Take back your snake."

Obara let out a piercing scream, stumbling backward and falling onto the floor. She scrambled away in terror before bolting out of the room. The snake, meanwhile, slithered off in the opposite direction.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Nymeria and Tyene burst into laughter. The younger Sand Snakes giggled behind their hands.

Tyene wiped a tear from her eye, grinning. "Never in my life have I seen Obara so frightened!"

Oberyn changed the topic Let's check if the rumors are true and said, "I've heard that the Boltons are extinct and there are rumors that Roose was planning to betray you. Considering what you did on the Iron Islands and Skagos, most who hear it think those rumors are nonsense."

It's still too soon to become a rumour. ARRGGG... I hate it when people get drunk and deep in some whore's cunt and can't keep their tongue in control. I am going to find who it was and teach them a... sharp lesson that will stick. Thankfully the list of people I will have to go through to find out who it was is quite short.

Then his tone turned measured "Prince Oberyn, always remember—rumors are born from facts. I never trusted Roose Bolton. Keeping him close was like carrying a poisoned dagger at my heart. But I needed him to handle tasks that others found distasteful but still necessary. Some called me paranoid. In truth, I was just making sure that dagger never pierced my skin. The day I received the letter confirming his death, I celebrated. If his own bastard hadn't killed him, I would have soon gotten word of his betrayal myself—and then I would have taken care of him personally."

Oberyn thought Can the rumors about the Lannister mines be also true? considering Aryan's words, "You say rumors are born from facts. Then tell me, what do you make of the rumors that the Lannister mines have gone dry?"

Aryan smirked slightly. "I've heard Tywin is quite... irritable these days. Recently, he killed one of his lords for daring to question him. You should ask yourself why." He picked up his goblet and took a slow sip. "Prince Oberyn, the answers are usually right in front of us. Most people just don't see them. If you want to find them, think big. Consider the wider implications of a man's actions."

Oberyn's fingers curled into fists. Just the mention of Tywin Lannister was enough to spark a fire in his veins. "The Old Lion can do whatever he wants for now. But my day for revenge will come. He will answer for what he did to Elia."

Aryan tilted his head, watching the prince closely. He's always like this, he thought. No matter the conversation, if Tywin's name is mentioned, Oberyn always ends up here.

"I've heard the story," Aryan said, his voice quieter but no less firm. "Uncle Ned told me. How the Lannisters wrapped their bodies in crimson banners and presented them to Robert Baratheon in the throne room. You only saw what remained after months had passed, when Jon Arryn came to Dorne. But Uncle Ned saw them fresh. And what's worse—except for him, no one said anything. Not even the so-called honorable ones."

Oberyn's breath hitched. He turned away, blinking rapidly, but the tears were visible in his eyes. Across the table, his mother lowered her head, with sorrowful expression.

"Elia was so sweet," Oberyn murmured with grief. "She deserved better. So much better."

Aryan let them process their emotions before speaking again"I understand why you can't strike against Tywin yet. But why haven't you sought revenge against those who did the deed?"

Nymeria's sharp eyes flicked to him. "And hear the lions blame us."

Aryan held her gaze before leaning in slightly. "What if we divide the task?"

Ashara, who had been silent up until that point, looked carefully at her son. She doesn't want to get her hopes up "What exactly are you getting at, Aryan?' she asked

Aryan's smile was small, but it held weight. "I will capture and deliver Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch to Prince Oberyn."

"Just like that?" Ellaria folded her arms, unconvinced. "What do you want in return? And don't you think this is treason?"

Aryan scoffed. "I want revenge as well. I've seen what their actions did to my mother. But—" he turned to Ashara, his expression softening— "you must promise her that you will make them suffer. Make them wish they had never been born before you kill them." He straightened. "As for treason? I have not yet sworn the oath yet. Technically, my order will not be a treason. But even if it was treason, I would still do it. Happily."

Arianne tapped her fingers against the table, thinking. "And what if the Lannisters accuse us? We're the ones who want revenge, after all."

Aryan chuckled, a dark glint in his eye. "I spat on Jon Arryn's face when I quietly gave my men orders to do on Pyke what we did on Blacktyde and Orkmont. Later, I simply told him that sometimes, in the heat of battle, soldiers commit heinous acts without their superiors having knowledge of it. If Jon Arryn had reprimanded me, he would have been a hypocrite—because he said nothing to Tywin." He leaned back in his chair, his expression confident. "Play Tywin's game. Deny everything. Plausible deniability. Without proof, they can do nothing. And most importantly—the way this will be done, it will look like an accident. I'll make sure of that."

Oberyn exhaled slowly, shaking his head with a wry grin. "You're dangerous."

Aryan merely smirked.

"And when do you plan to do all this?" Oberyn asked.

Aryan considered for a moment. His journey to Essos and beyond the Wall would take at least a year. Best to play it safe "One to two years. It could be sooner, but… some of my future actions will drawn unwanted attention. I need the eyes on me to look elsewhere first."

Oberyn nodded. "It's long, but I have waited this long already. I can manage a couple more years." His expression darkened. "And I promise you, Ashara—I will make their lives a living hell."

Ashara's gaze lingered on her son. Her violet eyes, so much like his, held gratitude "You're giving me something I've longed for, Aryan."

"Just don't speak about what we have discussed here," Aryan said, his tone firm.

Oberyn assured him "You are giving me something my brother and the gods failed to give me. What was said here will stay here."

Aryan's gaze swept over the room as he read their thoughts. No one had any intention of speaking even a word about it.