Seaswift

Wylam

Waves crackled and pushed more and more, softly as they went further to the south. It would be no longer than a few hours now until the Seaswfit would arrive at Sunspear, where he would then begin his new life as a consort.

He threw himself to the side of the ship, emptying what little was still in his stomach; whether due to sea sickness or simply the potential fate, he was unsure.

"You're going to spend your life with a beautiful Dornish girl. All you'll have to do is have her bounce up and down your cock and look pretty – which won't be hard for you. Yet you act as if you've been made a Eunuch and sent to the wall" Bronn had seemingly lost patience with his constant unhappy mood that had endured the entire voyage; Wylam would be lying to himself if he didn't agree with some of what Bronn was saying, and he knew he was borderline whinging at this point. Even still, this did little to shake him of his unhappiness.

"That's not the point, I'll be husband to a wife who may very well despise me. In a country that will want my head on a spike based simply on my name and blood. All she needs is one heir – regardless of whether it's a boy or a girl, and she can quickly and quietly dispose of me, and everyone will be more than happy to say nothing and toast openly to my demise."

As much as he held a distaste for the way the Andal and First Men laws reduced women to little more than property, at least here in this instance, they would buy him time if he was to only produce girls. In Dorne of course, a woman is regarded to have as much right and ability to rule as a man.

Wylam had done just about everything he could in order to pass the time and keep his mind off the present situation; games of Cyvasse with the crew members, with Bronn occasionally joining in. They made attempts at sparring, though the constant shifting and movement from the ship made this both difficult and impractical, as well as being what would often cause him to empty the contents of his stomach. The weather – which was only getting hotter and hotter as they went along – did not help either. Whilst the days were few on their journey, Wylam felt only that they now bled into each other, constantly. Sleep had never come easy to him regardless. But never the less, at this level especially, it was not improving his mood one bit. He would have wished for a servant girl to share his bed with to pass the time, but the few women aboard did not take his fancy, most being old, and the one who was young enough had an off-putting mole on her nose. Any longer on the ship though, and the Mole girl could very well begin to resemble a certain Desmera Redwyne...

Those sweet freckled breasts... that smile...

He began to resent the close confines of the ship itself, though sizeable, it did not provide the open and free space Wylam often enjoyed. Back in King's Landing, he'd often take long rides around the King's Wood when often during the height of summer, the rancid smell would become deeply overwhelming to bare, there was one spot he enjoyed in particular; a wide hill, near a local mill, old and aged in its white paint which had half crinkled away. The area was surrounded fully by huge trees, yet offered a view on which all of King's Landing could be seen, sometimes he'd bring along whatever girl he had been seeing to enjoy a fuck in either the sun or moonlight.

Standing aboard the side of the ship's left upper deck, he stared out at the blue sea. He must have been standing there for more than an hour, daydreaming about less better times before now.

He thought fondly on his time in the Stormlands, even as a Westerman on his mother's side – heritage which Joffrey had fully embraced – he himself loved and preferred the lands of his father. The almost never-ending rains and storms would get his blood pumping like nothing else; the woods held all sorts of abundance of wildlife which he would love to hunt or simply just spot, and spend hours watching from afar. They were better times as far as he was concerned.

What is there in Dorne? Sand, sand and more fucking sand.

A crew member at the top of the ship's mast put an end to his reminiscing very quickly

"My Prince, we're almost ashore, Sunspear and a welcome party are in sight! "

Indeed, it was. He spotted alongside the others on the ship the huge and impressive set of towers that were often touted as the first sights a visitor would see upon nearing the seat of the ruling House. These must have been built around Nymeria's time, either during her reign or in the time after by her daughter or recent descendants at that time. The unique and distinctive Rhoynish inspired domes contrasted yet complimented each other very well. The left tower was shorter and thicker and more pronounced and distinguishable, with a short but sharp spire. The other stood out the highest, the spire tall and shaped like the spear that adorned the banner of House Martell itself, piercing the sky. A testament indeed to Rhoynish ingenuity.

He also noticed the small army ahead, all covered by the banners of Dorne's Houses. Seemingly in every colour as they flopped in the light breeze. They presumably had been sent in order to escort him to the Palace.

Oh Fuck

Sunspear

Arianne:

The heat seemed unbearable at this mid-mourning period, for Arianne, this was usually unthinkable. Brought up in the almost never-ending sun.

It's this thrice-damned latter, why can't this just be easy... She took a calming breath and leaned back against her chair. For the last hour or two, Arianne had been sat at the writing desk of her room. She had already broken her fast earlier and now she was desperately looking for the right words to say in her letter. It would not surprise her if Father already sent his, he always seemed to know the exact right words at the right time. The thought was bitter to swallow, but she knew it was true, as well as a quality she envied at times like this.

"Here I am and I can't even think of any words to tell my own Mother" It was draining, for her own Mother to be a stranger in all but name now since leaving to return back to Norvos not more than two years ago. Trepidation, anxiety – these were emotions she was not usually accustomed to feeling, now they gnawed at her like a kitten to milk.

The short notice on which this entire betrothal had been arranged would likely make her mother even more furious with her father, though at this point, it would amaze her if it was humanely possible for two people to be any angrier with one another.

"In a week or so, we'll find out" she reflected cynically.

The day was here. Scouts and letters had been coming and going with their messages keeping track of the Seaswift as it straddled alongside the coast of Dorne. Her future Consort would arrive in a matter of mere hours now. Excitement and apprehensiveness ate at her in equal stride.

"Ughh... very well then, maybe it will come to me later" with that, Arianne decided she was better off socialising with the growing number of House Martell's bannermen who so far arrived for the so-called welcome ceremony tomorrow, most would stay for up to a week for the feast until departing soon after. For her betrothed's sake, she could only prey to the Seven that he was mindful of his tact. The Ullers, Qorgyles, Gargalens and Wyls particularly put her on edge, these were the Houses who were some of the most stubbornly devout in their loyalty to her family, all were Rhoynish; culturally or ethnically to the bone. While this devotion was appreciated deeply, it meant they would likely be the ones to attempt to stir up trouble if they were convinced it was in their Prince and Princesses' best interests. The realization made her rub the top of her head in frustration, Arianne knew that Father would also have seen this, and she imagined that he would likely be having words with each Lord at that very moment in time.

As of now, she decided to leave her letter to her mother for the time being; fresh air and time with her cousins and friends would do her well she realised. With this, Arianne got up from her chair and stretched, the prolonged period of none-writing having made her body stiff and aching all over.

Opening the door, she was immediately hit with the echo of distant voices and activity vaguely coming from downstairs where the Palace was being prepared for the arrival of Prince Wylam

My betrothed... my love... my other... those words had felt hollow in her mind thus far.

As she walked down the wide-open halls towards the stairs, adorned with tapestries that told of the past greatness of House Martell, and of Dorne: from Princess Nymeria and Mors Martell's subjugation of the Andals to the Dornish resistance against Aegon and his sisters. She smiled proudly. Even though she had browsed this wall of tales a hundred or so times over, the story on how for nearly ten years, under her family, Dorne and its way of life had stood Unbowed against the onslaught of men, metal and Dragons. The invaders had them outnumbered, with enemies from the Marches to the North descending on them. Yet in spite of this, even when there was no shame or dishonour in surrendering, every Dornishman and woman refused to yield. From House Dayne to Orphan, Dorne was united and stronger than ever before then.

These... "men", were shamed, whipped and humiliated time after time until Aegon realised his folly and left Dorne. Until that fool, Daeron, had to be reminded of the same lesson a hundred years later. They underestimated our resolve and paid for it.

And now, in their flurry to excuse their failures, they think to mock and belittle our heroes with insults and to call our resistance cowardly. "The Yellow Toad" is how they refer to Princess Meria... foolish boys. Dorne remained independent until we chose to join, even still we are Unbent, Unbowed and Unbroken. Theirs were all crushed and made thralls of the Dragons for hundreds of years, and now the Stags.

In all, who truly won?

Dragging her mind out of its state of musing, she descended downstairs, servants bowed to her in greeting who had been coming and going from downstairs to upstairs for most of the day. In any other event, it would be the Princess herself who would be arranging to upcoming feast – an activity and responsibility which she had begun to enjoy immensely, and one she found she was quite talented in.

Of course, as she was one of the beneficiaries, the duty had fallen upon a committee consisting of Lady Alyse Ladybright, Tyene, Ellaria and Nym. Though Nymeria had made a habit of helping out as little as possible, preferring to spend most evenings and nights in her room with Jeyne and Jennelyn.

I really need to tell them to keep it down at night, she thought amused, having been kept up by the certain loud noises emanating from Nym's room.

Only Ellaria and Tyene were present, talking amongst themselves regarding something. Her Uncle's Paramour was the first to notice her, she smiled and waved her over.

She passed through the hallway to the banquet hall, noises, from simple chatter to outright yelling from the overseeing servants. Banners from all of Dorne lay proudly atop the walls across the entire hall. The top space was reserved for House Martell and the soon to be arriving House Baratheon.

Ellaria spoke while holding out her arms in the motion of a hug, which Arianne gladly accepted. Her Aunt figure smelled of delicate fresh spices and cinnamon: expensive perfumes made and sold in the south of Dorne and sold to Tyrosh. Though it was well-known how her Uncle loved to spoil his beloved Paramour, regardless of her insistence that he did not have to.

"Princess, it's good to see you, how goes your day?" Ellaria placed a warm kiss on Arianne's right cheek, an act which Arianne also gave in turn.

"As well as one can expect I suppose. How goes the preparations?"

Arianne's attention was taken from Ellaria as the sweet voice of her cousin was heard

"Wonderful dear sister! Isn't it all so romantic? A foreign and handsome Prince arriving to marry you under the eye of our dear Lord Father and Mother above. The fair maid in me blushes in reverence at the sweet songs the bards will sing, "The Sun and the Stag", they'll call it" Tyene placed the back of her hand over her head in emphasis like the sweet Mummer she was. Had it been anyone else but Arianne, they would have likely bought the act.

Arianne giggled at her Cousin's amusingly positive appraisal of the current upcoming situation. Both Cousins embraced the other as they had a thousand and one times before. She neither the less decided to play along with the act. Ellaria looked on amused.

"It seems you have changed your mind quite fast, sister. What has happened to have caused such a rapid change in judgment?" Arianne folded her arms in apparent confusion.

"Well... as I said before, circumstances change depending on the character of one of the aforementioned protagonists. You don't need to be concerned. He will either grow up into respecting you and your rule as a consort should... or he won't get to grow up at all" Tyene's pure and innocent eyes changed ever so briefly. For a flicker, they burned, burned with an intensity and a promise like the Viper's coil before the final killing strike.

Ellaria immediately spoke up before the already deadly conversation could get out of hand. Even in their own homeland and their own palace itself. There was no guarantee as to who might be watching.

"Which is why all of us will work to make this betrothal successful" Ellaria smiled at Tyene who backed off with a similar sweet smile. Each of the three eldest Sand Snakes respected and held affection for their father's lover even if she was not their blood mother. The Princess remembered how it had not been an easy relationship initially. No woman had ever managed to keep to their father's bed – each of their own mothers included – for more than the length of a week at most. Yet Ellaria was not only able to tame the Red Viper, but show a strength and incredible character that each of the Sand Snakes had eventually given way to respect, which gave way to seeing Ellaria as a part of their own family. Arianne felt just the same. Happy for her Uncle, who benefited greatly from his Paramour's influence.

Nevertheless, when her cousins were convinced of something, they were as stubborn as Uncle could ever be. Tyene spoke up once again.

"Father is still undecided as to what he thinks. "This Stag Prince can show us if the rumours are true."

Ellaria rolled her eyes "I'll handle your Father as best as I can. But you know him. I hope the poor boy is ready" Tyene only looked blithe in response.

Arianne gave a short cough to remind the two of her presence.

"I can fight my own battles. Whilst I appreciate my Uncle's support, it will be my own future husband, and I will be the one to approve or disapprove. Where is Uncle by the way?"

Tyene answered.

"He left to go on a riding trip to pass the time, you know how he gets in times like these. Obara, Drey and Deziel, Lord Harmen Uller, Lord Gargalen, Lord Allyrion and Daemon, Lord Fowler, Lady Blackmount, her Paramour, Lady Clara Toland, and her daughter and son, Lord Jordayne and his daughter all went with him.

Arianne was again more than slightly annoyed.

"Seems my Lords and Ladies have chosen to abandon their Princess. Was it not prudent to give me an invitation?" Arianne was baffled at why her Uncle had decided now of all times was the best choice to take most of her planned retinue to meet her betrothed.

"Does Uncle plan to leave the Manwoodys, Wyls and Qorgyles to bring him here?" Just the thought and concept of that was insane in itself. The Baratheon Prince had a higher chance of a "riding accident" on his way if that was to be the case.

"Father thought you were busy?"

Ellaria gave her a reassuring smile

"Even Oberyn doesn't have that terrible sense of humour. He'll be back on time or I'll ride out myself and drag him, father and the rest of them myself if I must"

Arianne giggled and thanked her Step Aunt and cousin before she took her leave to allow them to attend to the last details before the Prince's arrival.

With the knowledge she had some time before the arrival – Riccasso informing them that with the current winds, the Prince's ship would arrive very soon- Arianne promptly decided to go and see to any remaining guests, as well as Trystene, who was briefly returning from fostering at Lemonwood. Then, reluctantly, she'd try to talk to Father...

Time skip

Seeing her Father had not done much for her increasingly anxious mood.

It seemed that her Father had not been in a mood for any talk as to her soon to be arriving betrothed. Her question as to why Quentyn and delegates from House Yronwood were not here had been rebuffed as predicted. Though it did give her a vague clue as to the nature of their absence.

You choose to protect my brother and Lord Anders from having to face any questions, Father? Most of Dorne's Houses – from the biggest noble houses to the Orphans were here. All except House Yronwood, the second largest in Dorne in terms of power.

Aside from her immediate anger, she knew this lack of appearance would be noted by all. As to what it all meant, Arianne had yet to discover. All she could do for now was to wait and see for House Yronwood to make the next move, on that, she was ready.

As well as the issue of her brother, she had also tried in vain to get more information on the Prince himself. His reputation was already well known, he loved to fight and fuck in equal measure and was not ashamed of it. But what was there, was he ugly or handsome ? She assumed he must be the later: to have bedded that many women across the Seven Kingdoms at such a young age, and coming from a mix of Lannister and Baratheon stock. As much they were hated, everyone at the very least concedes that most Lannisters were handsome beyond most normal mortals. Robert Baratheon was also said to have been a Maiden's dream in his prime. Such a combination could only produce a comely man who Arianne would gladly take to her bed. If not much else, the act itself would be satisfying. At least her Father no longer seemed bent on marrying her off to a man who could be her Grandfather.

"You wished for a suitor your own age, now you have one" her Father had recalled, not even looking her in the eye.

She also wondered if perhaps he liked both girls and boys. The idea gave her many images and scenarios that made her feel very exhilarated between her legs.

Aside from the potential of a pleasant to wonderful sex life, how this boy would be and take to her did bother her in a small way. Such thinking immediately made her angry with herself:

You are a Princess of Dorne, not a weepy willow tart. He should be the one on his knees begging for your favour and affection.

The prompt self-reminder perked up her mood. She had nothing to be nervous about. She had the whole of Dorne at her back, while the Prince would be a stranger in a foreign land. Her Uncle and her retinue had been seen on its way back to the main palace as predicted. Conversely, a messenger had informed all those present that a ship bearing the banner of House Baratheon of King's Landing had been spotted closing in.

This is it

Arianne was currently inside her room. Her maids were inspecting her chosen dress for any ill-timed rips or dirt in view of the mirror.

She knew she wanted to make an impression, to show this Prince just how much the Gods had blessed his good fortune. In that order, she picked a dress that showed off the best of her assets: orange silk that covered the left shoulder, leaving the right bare. It left her belly bare, below covered by a matching orange skirt that went down to her knees, but also allowed her feet to be free and show off her jewel encrusted sandals. With everything done. She quickly made her way down towards the outer gate.

After some time of waiting around near the Palace entrance, her Uncle and retinue finally showed up. With Daemon riding next to him, who made sure to avoid eye contact as best as he could. Atop his red Sand Steed, wearing his finest clothing, swagger and confidence unmatched by any other she knew. Arianne walked out to greet him and the others. The soft, gentle breeze flapping at her dress.

"With your flair for dramatic entrances, Uncle, it is a wonder why you never became a Mummer at the theatres of Braavos in your travels."

Her Uncle only laughed, genuinely amused.

"A shame indeed. My dear niece. Alas it is my duty as a Prince to escort your betrothed here." He gave a mischievous smirk. One which only he could make.

"I will try my best not to scare him off too badly" he looked over to Lord Uller and Obara who had trotted alongside to meet see him. The Yard was a slight buzz of activity with the returning nobles and the stable boys and other attendants who had come out.

"My Lords and Ladies, should we take the normal route, or would you rather I, as your Prince, introduce you to another, more adventurous path?" all assembled lords and ladies laughed at the implication that this. Particularly Lord Harmen, who's laugh sounded like the deep, biting growl of a wild cat. She had always known the Lord of Hellholt has a grandfather figure to her, as well as his granddaughters who were her cousins. She and her cousins loved Grandpa Uller and his warm affectionate smile reserved only for them and Ellaria. For outsiders, and those he considered a threat to Dorne however, he made sure to play up his facade of an unpredictable madman, she pitted the Prince already. Why her Father and Uncle had chosen Lord Harmen instead of Ser Ulwyck, the much more reasonable of the two, she could not understand. Was this all some elaborate jest just to spite the Baratheons? To purposely detour and leave the arriving party stuck in the baking sun for Seven knows how long. The implication and idea alone infuriated her. This was her future and she was going to take it as only a Martell could – with passion and sheer will.

"Why my Prince, it would be an act of dishonour to ourselves and turn down such an offer?"

Arianne spoke up before the Red Viper and her Banner men could make a decision.

"An enjoyable idea for a trip indeed, My Lords"

Her Uncle slightly coughed under his breath, as if to remind her not to forget his presence.

More chance of moving the Red Mountain to the Wall than that, Uncle, she cheekily thought in her head

"My Prince" he smiled again.

Arianne made clear her intentions "I will go too, in order to meet the Prince first hand myself off the ship. There is no point in delaying this suspense much longer. I wish earnestly to meet my betrothed as soon as possible"

That part was no lie, patience was a virtue she admittedly lacked. Another aspect inherited from her Uncle no doubt. She was desperate with bundled up energy and just the ride to the docks would be a relieve in itself at this point.

It was Lord Allyrion who spoke up and not her Uncle.

"Princess, it is our duty to escort this Prince to you. There is no need to ride with us"

"Thank you, Lord Allyrion, but I feel quite up to the task" she looked towards the stable master currently at work, he noticed her approach and bowed, with a mutter of "My Princess", she smiled at him and asked him to bring her Sand Steed, Chroyane, ready to ride.

Other Lords and Ladies who were not part of her Uncle's riding trip had joined and were in the process of mounting their horses: Nym and the Fowler twins had finally decided to make an appearance, Lord and Lady Wyl, Lord Symon Santagar with his Paramour, Lady Alrissa Wyl, Lord Quentyn Qorgyle and both his sons, Lady Nymella and her heir, Valena. Myles Manwoody, brother of the current Lord Manwoody, and Lady Ellaria.

After some time of preparing (and her Uncle trying and failing to convince Ellaria to co-share his mount. She laughed delightfully and gave her Uncle a looked that said much for later tonight)

The retinue was finally ready and promptly took off towards the approaching ship braced to arrive in no more than an hour's time.

Striding through the streets of Sunspear, it appeared the occasion was just as felt. Men, women and children lined the streets, cheering wildly for their Prince and Princess leading the huge group on horseback, even as local Guardsman worked to maintain order and distance. In not more than a minute or so in, cheering alone gradually phased into different frenzied chants:

"Long live our Princess and the Red Viper!" bellowed a big wide man.

"May the Seven bless you, Princess Arianne!" wailed a young woman with a babe in her arms

"May it be a Martell or no one else!" screeched a man, armless aside from his right.

"Stags don't belong here!" came an almost feral growl. Gender interminable with the loud noise.

"Death to the old Lion. Justice for Princess Elia!" screamed a group of adolescent boys and girls.

One weathered but handsome woman had gotten upon a stool down, drawing some eyes away from the parading retinue.

"To the spears, to the spears, to the spears!" anger and hatred echoing straight from the heart.

She looked to her companions. The usual suspects were enjoying this: her Uncle, Nym, Lord Uller, the Manwoodys, Qorgyles and Wyls in particular all sprouted amused smiles at the clear opinions of the Smallfolk.

"Had he been anyone else, I might have even had some pity for the boy..." though seeing her Uncle's joy, she figured that was another example of his "propensity for bending the truth" as he called it. She mustered her best Princess scowl at him.

"I'm sure he would appreciate it, Uncle. Though considering you would have let my betrothed burn in the sun as he awaited you. It seems prudent I go with you to keep you on track. I do not need you to humiliate him before I have even gotten to know him."

By now, they had past the majority of the crowds who would no doubt give Prince Wylam their full feelings on the matter of his potential place as Consort as he passed. A few stragglers were about, though these were more interested in whatever jobs they held rather than calling for war. Not that one or two didn't. The gates were opened as they left the main confines of The City, the desert and miles and miles of sand now more present than ever.

After some time, the caravan arrived to the port which was the biggest in the area. Aside from Planky Town, this huge wooden dock was one of the prime locations for sizable imports and exports to be moved directly to or from the doorstep of Sunspear.

The party mostly remained on horseback, though some lords and ladies had decided to dismount and take a brief respite from the boiling sun, and took to wooden stools that varies attendants had brought along. She herself had chosen not to do so. As a Princess to her future banner men and with Prince Wylam approaching, she could and would not allow herself to be seen as weak. Arianne instead readjusted the headdress she wore and sat proudly. Refusing to be seen as lazy.

A light reflection was seen far out. He was here.

Anyone who had been sitting quickly made their way onto their horses again. Meanwhile it was left to her and her Uncle to get down and greet the Prince on the docks. The semi sadistic smile that came to her Father's features made her unsettled.

Uncle, please don't do anything rash...

The Seaswift made its way quick. Shipmates hooked it to the nearby bowlines. It was quite an impressive ship. Nothing at all compared to it in Dorne.

A bridge was set up, she listened to the sounds of the arranged escort. First a squad of swordsmen, all with the banner of the crowned Stag. They looked out of breath just walking down the ramp.

At the centre walked down Prince Wylam of House Baratheon.

By the Gods. He is handsome

He was clean shaven, with two beautiful light blue eyes, a strong jawline, warm and colourful red lips, and a perfectly shaped face and medium length hair as black as pitch. His body was all muscle, even beneath the dark red tunic, with a blue sleeveless jacket that was tied over it. His sword was fastened to his hip inside the scabbard, tied with a belt, which itself was among another holding the blue jacket into place

If he smiled, he'd look even more handsome. she observed the Prince's almost stone face.

Overall, she was impressed as far as his looks.

Maybe Nym might even forget her predilections for while she quipped to herself. Causing a smile to grace her lips.

She stepped forward to greet her betrothed. Taking his glance away from the crowd, he then looked eyes directly to hers, she knew the affect she had on men, he was no different, making his way down it looked as if the words to greet her were ready to jump of his tongue. Of course, her Uncle spoke first. Smug expression and all, the one she had seen time and time again. She knew what it meant.

"So, you are Prince Wylam, the new Rogue Prince. Yes?"

For the love of the Seven!

"The Rogue Prince" did not miss a beat to return the less than warm greeting. A smirk on his face.

"And you must be the infamous Red Viper. Well met. Prince Oberyn." Both men kept eye contact, refusing to give way to the other for what felt like an eternity.

Without taking his eyes away, Oberyn spoke again. His arm stretched, out in her directed.

"Prince Wylam, may I introduce my beautiful Niece, and heir to the Throne of Dorne, Princess Arianne" Oberyn backed off slightly, but kept up his challenging, predatory gaze. A warning that most men would heed no doubt.

The Prince, turned towards her, those stormy eyes were truly a sight to behold.

Control yourself, you are a ruler. Stop thinking with your cunt.

She offered her hand towards him. He took it and kissed her ringed finger.

"While I am certain you have heard this before, Princess, the tales and rumours of your beauty have... not done you justice. Truly."

That deep voice. Like sweet honey to the ears...

Fine, she would be perfectly content with having him in her bed. Time to put on the act.

She flashed her eyelashes and gently bit her finger.

"Charmed My Prince. Are you as... talented as they say?"

He laughed. And his eyes lit up, seemingly turning a lighter shade of green in doing so.

"They say a lot of things, Princess. We will have to see."

Her Uncle who had (surprisingly) remained silent throughout this back and forth, seemingly decided that was enough. He waved over to an attendant who had seemingly been on standby the whole time.

"We brought you one of our finest Sand Steeds. I am sure you've heard of how unmatched Dornish Horseflesh is. An early gift to you... my Prince." The sarcasm and lack of respect in her Uncle's tone could have been understood anywhere. Why was he trying to make this difficult? She felt like strangling him right then and there.

As likely as it was, he understood the subtle insult, the Prince seemed to ignore it.

"You honour me, Prince Oberyn"

As he mounted his Horse, as well as his companions, who were also provided travel. She looked towards the faces of her two cousins and Daemon and, various other banner men. None looked to too welcoming to say the least. Obara in particular looked prepared to say something rash, but still held her tongue. Though it seemed only barely.

This will take some work

Author's notes

This chapter was trickier than I thought it would be. Hence the rather long delay. Sorry about that, I admit that those type of stretches may be regular occurrences going forward (I hope not though, I'm fully committed to this story and plan on finishing it. And it will be quite a sizable story)

Upcoming chapter will essentially be if Wylam will sink or swim in the Dornish court. Great thing about the lack fully developed characters in Dorne other than the Martells, Sand Snakes, Daemon Sand, Dalts etc. Is that it'll allow me relative freedom to expand on Houses and figures from the story.

As I said guys, can't wait for the rest of this story to unfold. Reviews, ideas and criticism are appreciated deeply.

Stay safe.