The Wizard of Fury Chapter 30

Arianne was walking in the summer market just outside of the walls of King’s Landing with her uncle and cousin when she heard the horns begin to sound. A ripe fireplum dropped from her hand onto the vendor’s stall when the horns did not cease. More joined the distant first ones; these came much closer to the city itself. Then, she heard the horn blasts coming from atop the city walls.

“Sounds like trouble,” Oberyn commented, his lips curled up in amusement. “I wonder what it could be.”

“Some rowdy knights getting into a bit of a tussle?” Nymeria suggested as she straightened her long robes. The slits in the skirt gave her plenty of manoeuvrability were she to fight, and Arianne knew that Nymeria never had any fewer than six daggers on herself at any time. “Could be a bit of fun to go watch. I’ve been so interested in seeing what the knights from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms are capable of.”

“Seems tedious,” Arianne commented tiredly.

“Don’t be so dour,” Oberyn chastised her playfully. “We—”

A great horn sounded from within King’s Landing, and then came the sound of a distant gate being raised.

“Now it is truly getting interesting,” Oberyn said. “Come, girls, let’s investigate.”

“Uncle,” Arianne whined, but her voice seemed not to carry as Oberyn and Nymeria swiftly made their way back to their horses. Arianne followed, knowing that they’d leave her behind if she dallied. Besides, it wasn’t like she had much else to do.

Ever since she’d first encountered Harry in the throne room, she’d felt like a listless boat out at sea without a clear direction to go. And it was exactly that lack of a clear direction that made her freeze up and make no progress at all, good or bad.

That mysterious woman had alluded to a potential future with her at Harry’s side… but such a thing seemed far fetched. Everyone had heard of his impending betrothal to Margaery Tyrell, the beautiful woman who rarely left his side. What other place could she have besides that of a paramour? Arianne knew that she’d never be satisfied with such a meagre position when she was destined to become the future ruler of Dorne.

It would’ve been easier to dismiss that woman’s words as mad ramblings had it not been for the few insights she’d given into Arianne’s dreams. And the fact that her uncle was wary of her only added to Arianne’s concern that there was at least some kernel of truth to everything.

Arianne mounted her horse as Oberyn and Nymeria galloped away. She was forced to dig her heels into her horse’s flank to spur it on faster as they raced down the dirt road, sending smallfolk darting out of their path. Before long, Oberyn pulled sharply on his reins and steered his horse out onto an open field in the direction of those incessant horns.

The longer the horns rang out for, the greater the excitement in her family’s faces. Oberyn looked as giddy as a child about to receive a present, but Arianne knew that a darkness loomed underneath that bright exterior. Oberyn loved violence, and any chance he had to get himself into a scuffle was a chance that Oberyn was going to take. Nymeria was much more composed, but Arianne knew that she had the same sort of vengeful nature that her father did.

In just a few minutes, they arrived at the edge of a forest. Half-a-dozen horses were tied up to trees along the outskirts, and they all looked anxious as more horns blared.

“It’s a different sort of thing then,” Oberyn realised upon not seeing any duelling knights or any corpses lying about. “Some brigands?”

“Or boars,” Nymeria commented. “I’ve heard that quite a few smallfolk die each summer to those beasts.”

“Whatever it is, it’s worth a look,” Oberyn grinned as he dismounted his horse. He unfurled what was a sleeping roll on the side of his horse, but its true nature was to hide Oberyn’s spear in public. It was far easier for an enemy to become focused on the obvious dagger at his hilt to miss whatever other weapons he had at his disposal, Oberyn had told her once.

He retrieved the spear and waited for Nymeria to get down as well before he turned to Arianne.

“Would you care to wait here, princess?” He said, sounding mocking as he so often did. “Or do you wish to see a real fight before the tourney?”

Slowly, Arianne slid off of her horse. She couldn’t find it in her heart to banter or bicker with her uncle as she normally would.

Oberyn and Nymeria walked forward confidently into the trees. Oberyn, with his spear at his side, and Nymeria with her hands hidden up her sleeves where some of her blades were hidden. Arianne had nothing to protect her, not that she felt that she needed protecting so long as the two of them were by her side.

Within moments, the cries of men joined the horns that were billowing less and less now. There was a strange rumble emanating from deeper within the trees as a battle took place. It was dizzying seeing hints of glinting metal briefly through the foliage as men rushed into battle.

The first man who came rushing towards them unveiled this mystery fight. The man wore the same armour that the bandits who’d attacked her family and countless other lords and ladies travelling to King’s Landing. Even now, no one truly seemed to understand how they’d become so organised or who was truly behind everything. But those thoughts quickly shifted to the back of her mind as she witnessed her uncle skewer the man like a piece of meat on the tip of his spear.

“Pitiful,” Oberyn commented as he kicked the man off of his weapon.

“These poor bastards won’t stand a chance,” Nymeria commented dispassionately. “They must be swarming through the woods, looking to cause trouble.”

“And trouble they have found,” Oberyn smiled. “Come, let us see what else we can find.”

Arianne hesitated, only following her relatives when she heard a cry of pain ring out deeper within the forest. They found a dying man on the ground wearing some very fine plate armour that’d unfortunately caved inward on his chest, crushing his ribs. Through delirious eyes, he tried to take a swipe at Oberyn with his blade.

“Calm yourself,” Oberyn said as he battered away the strike with the shaft of his spear. “You’re from the capital, no?”

It took a tremendous amount of energy for the man to nod his head. He opened his mouth and a croak came out. “Lor—”

A coughing fit wracked the man, and the brush around them trembled in response. Nymeria quickly spun around, wary of any more bandits coming closer to them. The fighting wasn’t as far away now, and it was likely only a matter of moments before someone stumbled upon them.

“Who?” Oberyn asked, kneeling down.

“Ba-theo-,” the man coughed again, cringing in pain.

“Baratheon?” Oberyn finished for him. “The king?”

The man shook his head ever so slightly.

“Lord Stannis? Renly?”

“Harry?” Arianne asked.

That sent a spark of recognition in the man’s eyes. He didn’t nod, but Arianne didn’t need him to in order to understand that she was right.

“You won’t live long like this,” Oberyn sighed, standing up.

There was understanding in the knight’s features. “Finis—”

The word hadn’t left his lips before one of Nymeria’s long daggers stabbed through his eye and out the back of his skull.

“He must be somewhere deeper in the forest where the fighting is thicker,” Oberyn said, unbothered about the death of the knight. “Nymeria, you should take Arianne back and—”

“No,” Arianne interjected sharply and firmly. She knew that this was no place for her, but something within her body told her to stay. It was a similar feeling to that of her beating heart, but it resonated all throughout her body without a clear point of origin. There was a comfort to it, but that comfort had turned into an anxious, staccato rhythm at the mere mention of her leaving. “I’ll stay.”

“My brother would be quite cross if you died at my side,” Oberyn replied. “This is worse than I believed, and I’m not willing to let an accident take you away before your time.”

Arianne could see that he wasn’t going to compromise with her on this point, so she ran. She ran straight through the trees towards the sounds of fighting.

“Arianne!” Nymeria called out in a hissed fury. She was trying to be quiet enough to not alert anyone else as to their presence, but Oberyn saw no such point.

“Get back here!” He snapped at her as he took off at a run.

Arianne burst through a thicket of trees to find a very small clearing with three bandits spread out. They all spun around at the sound of her entrance and were stunned to see a woman out here. They froze up just long enough for one of Nymeria’s blades to fly out over Arianne’s shoulder and into one of their chests.

Oberyn shot Arianne a look of pure annoyance as he leapt out to her defence. He lunged forward with his spear twirling, ready to block any incoming strikes. Nymeria came out next with a blade in each of her hands.

Neither side made a move for several moments until the trees behind the bandits rustled and four more stepped out to join them. That was all the confidence that they needed to leap forward with their weapons in hand, but before Oberyn or Nymeria could meet their strikes, another fighter entered the fray. He came flying in like a fighter possessed and cut down a tall, burly man with a single stroke of his blood-covered blade.

The prince that was promised. That was the name the strange woman had ascribed to Harry. She was meant to stand by his side upon the shores of Asshai with a massive fleet at their backs as they prepared for a final conflict. And yet, in that moment, she didn’t know how she was meant to stand by his side when she was no fighter and he was… all of this.

The mere sight of Harry fighting took Arianne’s breath away. He looked like a dancing shadow in the crackling firelight, never static and always moving in unexpected directions. It was like the shadows in her dreams come to life, only she didn’t feel terrified of Harry anymore. Perfectly fluid strikes slashed open the necks of outlaws who charged at him recklessly while heavy, impaling thrusts caught those who were winding back for a powerful strike of their own. There were few fighters whom Arianne had ever seen come close to matching the sheer grace that Harry battled with.

One was her uncle, Oberyn. He too twisted with a grace that seemed impeccable. His long spear lashed out and pierced straight through a man’s belly and out his back. Nymeria was right there alongside him with long, twisted blades emerging from her wispy sleeves to cut through any in her path. And yet, neither of them seemed to match Harry’s speed, power, or mere presence upon the battlefield.

If her uncle was a storm that sent men fleeing in his wake, then Harry was a raging inferno that consumed all within his path. He was the type of man that singers would write songs about and young maidens would swoon over.

His steel was hot with blood, and it splattered about wildly as Harry twisted and turned. But even a man as skilled as him was not immune to a light-footed man from creeping up behind.

The scarred man appeared from in between a pair of closely-grown trees—he had to turn his body sideface just to squeeze between them. It was the type of position that no one could expect a man to suddenly appear from, and he was poised right at Harry’s back.

Harry had to turn and kill him, Arianne though, for if he didn’t, then Harry would die. His green eyes would become those of the dead man who’d haunted her dreams, and then they’d return once more to dance amongst the shadows and leave her witless and feverish in the night. And yet, even knowing this, Arianne couldn’t open her mouth. She couldn’t conjure a single noise of alarm to warn him of what was coming.

In the last moment as the scarred man lunged forward with his blade ready to pierce through Harry’s back, Harry suddenly spun to the side and grabbed the man’s wrist. He redirected the thrust towards one of the bandits’ allies. The cut merely nicked the other’s arm as the scarred man fell face-first in the dirt, but the distraction was enough for Harry to press the attack.

High, low, right, low. The blows from Harry continued to rain down upon his target. Right again, left, then Harry kicked out with his heavy boot and the man was forced to leap backwards. Harry took the opportunity to plunge his sword down through the back of the skull of the scarred man on the ground.

The tip of his blade impaled itself in the cold forest floor, and when Harry tried to pull it back out, the blade wouldn’t give. He pulled a second time, but he didn’t get a chance for a third before the other man was upon him again.

Harry darted backwards carefully, and the bandit was wary enough now to not trust that a simple straightforward lunge would guarantee him the kill. He watched Harry warily, and the two slowly shifted their stances, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

As they shifted out of Arianne’s view, she found her feet pulling her forward. One step after the next, she moved deeper into the woods until she ended up right between those two trees that the scarred man had appeared from. The uneven open ground between all of the trees was littered with heavy roots and fallen branches, and a small, pitiful stream babbled along from somewhere in the east.

The bandit’s back was to her, but Harry’s eyes flickered up in recognition. It was that momentary distraction that she’d caused which allowed the bandit to dart forward.

Arianne held her breath as the bandit’s blade swung wide of Harry’s head. Harry tried to strike with his mailed fist, but it was little more than a glancing blow that allowed the bandit to kick Harry’s armoured shin. It threw him off balance, and then Harry went tumbling backwards over a root.

In a sense, the world seemed to slow down at that moment. Arianne felt as though she was staring at the scene for far longer than was possible. The bandit’s blade was angled down towards Harry’s face, and Harry’s green eyes were staring up at him with such intensity that it sent a shiver down Arianne’s spine. He was refusing to die even in this very dire moment, but what could he do?

Harry raised his hands as though they would offer some form of protection, but the bandit’s blade was falling closer and closer to Harry. The image flickered in Arianne’s mind, unable to proceed to what appeared to be its inevitable conclusion.

All sound faded from Arianne’s ears. Something built up inside of her chest. Something wild and uncontrollable yet utterly within her control.

It was wrong.

It was right.

And she felt that same storm in her chest resonate within Harry’s.

She flicked her wrist in the direction of the scene before her. There was nothing in her conscious mind that directed her to do this; her body acted of its own accord upon the feeling swirling around inside of her.

The air left Arianne’s lungs as the most pathetic spurt of water erupted from the stream. It was barely enough to fill up a meagre cup, but it leapt forth with the ferociousness of a viper striking down its prey. The bandit screamed as the water struck his wrist, ruining his grip and sending the blade in his hand clattering to the ground next to Harry.

In a flash, Harry grabbed the blade and speared it up through the bandit’s belly. The bandit croaked out something that sounded like a curse but was in actuality little more than a garbled jumble of sounds. Harry yanked the blade out and shoved the man aside as he stood up and stared deep into Arianne’s eyes.

The sound of hoofs and the cries of men from behind her signalled that more reinforcements from King’s Landing had arrived. Relief flooded Arianne’s chest. She let out a small smile as she stared at Harry, utterly incapable of comprehending anything that’d just happened or her role in it.

“Arianne!” Harry cried out suddenly, lunging towards her.

She hit the forest floor, unconscious, before he could reach her.