The Wizard of Fury Chapter 20

The sands slowly shifted into arid, dry, pale grasslands as Arianne and her family neared the Red Mountains. The grand steppes loomed high above the bridge that allowed safe passage into the other kingdoms of Westeros.

For a brief moment in her life, Arianne had been grateful for the segregation that the Red Mountains had provided her and her family. Those who lived in Drone understood matters in a different way than the rest of Westeros had. Bastards were a sign of pride and not of shame. Life was left to be lived upon your own terms, not those of the liege lord who bared down upon you so dominantly. Dorne is a place of freedom and hope.

And yet, few saw it that way. The harsh sands slowed foreign travellers, and those that managed to travel beyond the initial barrier were struck by the lack of obvious prey to hunt down for nutrition. It took a clever eye to spot that which could be salvaged for a meagre meal.

Those of true Dornish blood knew the places to search for food and water, but they tended to stockpile such resources before undertaking a trip across the treacherous sands.

Far too many men had died here defending Dorne from foreign invaders. Their bones rested in the dirt beneath Arianne’s horse’s hooves as they climbed the slope up through the Prince’s Pass. The Red Mountains bordered Dorne, and with so few safe passages through it, it was inevitable that they would be surrounded by the dead protectors of this land.

The climb to roads above were easy, and Arianne was left with a bitter disappointment over that fact. For years she’d believed herself trapped within a home that was not entirely a home so long as her father controlled her life, and to see such a simple escape into the wider world bit into her ego.

While her father, mother, and brother spent time in a carriage, Arianne preferred to ride amongst the men who would one day be hers.

At least, they should be.

Arianne feared that her father had warned his men against becoming too close with her. She’d tried to ingratiate herself with them through offering ale and wine, but few had taken her up upon her offer. And those who had weren’t seen by her in the days passing. More than likely they were being hidden away near the back of the train of carts and horses.

Once again, Arianne was frustrated by the lack of agency she exuded upon the men who’d eventually become hers. Unless her father deviated from tradition and instilled another heir in her place, Arianne couldn’t account for the strange behaviour of these Dornish soldiers.

Perhaps they expect her uncle to take the crown after her father’s demise. Prince Doran’s gout had left him bound to a wheeled chair as of late, and many speculated upon his passing. While women often rose to the top position of Dorne, many smallfolk still believed men to be inherently superior rulers. As insulated as Dorne was from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, their misguided beliefs still seeped in like trickles of water flowing through the cracks in a fortified structure.

“Be careful, cousin,” Elia commented. As the oldest bastard of her uncle, Oberyn, with his paramour, Ellaria Sand, she maintained a position of respect amongst the Sand Snakes, the bastard children of Oberyn. “The sands grow deeper here, and they can be treacherous to the unprepared.”

Arianne mustered a sardonic smile and waved away the few servants who hurried to her side, as though she were somehow incapable of navigating her horse by herself. “I can manage it safely enough myself. While Sand is your name, you must understand that I am born of it too.”

The slight would’ve been better felt by anyone born outside of Dorne. Their distaste of bastards was foreign to Arianne, but she understood its nature from studying the histories of the other kingdoms in Westeros.

Nymeria Sand laughed loudly at Arianne’s rebuke. “Be careful now. We wouldn’t want to upset our dear princess.”

“It is good of you to finally have realised this,” Arianne retorted with a fire in her belly. Only Tyene was allowed to tease her like this. “Keep your sisters in check and perhaps all of you will survive this trip.”

Her relatives all bristled the moment her words left her lips. There was no room for softness or weakness in Dorne. At the very hint of insubordination or satirical replies to one’s own comments, you were expected to reply with the clearest words. They need not be the harshest or the sternest, but they must be clear in their message. It was such a phrase that left her cousins in a state of fuming, yet her uncle, Oberyn, merely laughed when he came trotting by on his steed.

“Our Princess doesn’t need to be coddled like some sweet swine,” he joked, winking at her as he said the mocking nickname that Perros Blackmont, an annoying boy, had given her in her youth. She’d been afflicted with redspots, which had left her skin covered with red dots and pink all over from the incessant itching she did to try to ease the discomfort. Arianne had been quick to shut down the joke by giving Perros a walloping that he wouldn’t soon forget, but the nickname had stuck within her family, half as a term of endearment and half as a teasing one.

Arianne rolled her eyes at the man she’d once been infatuated with as a child. Even now, his charming smile was hard to resist. She didn’t feel the same sort of love for him as she once had, the type she dreamt of finding in King’s Landing, but she did still love him all the same.

“I’ll order Areo to knock you from your horse, uncle,” Arianne said in a sugary-sweet tone. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Areo Hotah was the captain of her family’s household guard and a dear friend of hers. When she was little, she’d love to sit atop his broad shoulders as he walked by her father’s side through the streets of Sunspear. Now that she was older, he still served as a protector to her, even though they both knew that he was ultimately loyal to her father above anyone else.

“And if he does, I’ll knock him flat on his back and remind him of why true Dornishmen are superior fighters to all others throughout the known world,” Oberyn grinned.

Arianne wasn’t sure of that. She’d seen her uncle fight many times in tourneys and in practice duels, but she’d also seen Areo cleave a man in twain with two powerful strikes. Even flat on his back, Areo wouldn’t be helpless with his impressive speed and surprising dexterity for one so bulky.

“Can’t defend yourself without calling others to your aid?” Nymeria asked Arianne with a mocking tone.

Unlike her cousins, Arianne had little interest in becoming a warrior herself. Oberyn had taken her out alongside some of the Sand Snakes before on training exercises, but Arianne had contented herself with daydreaming about handsome men rather than learning to milk the venom from a snake or how to accurately throw a dagger into the eye of a foe over twenty paces away. She honestly didn’t see the point. She’d always have knights around to protect her, and if they were all to fall in combat, then how likely was it for her to be able to best whatever opponent she would be faced with?

“I’m destined for greater things than being a mere fighter, cousin,” Arianne retorted sharply. “One day, I’ll be ruling all of Dorne.”

A lie. But none save her, Prince Doran, and her brother Quentyn knew the truth of it. Perhaps a few others, those closest in her father’s confidence also knew, but they would’ve kept it a tightly-guarded secret.

That stupid smirk on Oberyn’s lips made her suspect that he was one of those who knew the truth. Damn him.

The days that passed by as they rode into the Stormlands were as pleasant as could be expected. The lords there were more than happy to host the visiting Dornish dignitaries and their men. Arianne had no doubts in her mind that more than half of the hospitality came from the fact that it was the king who’d invited them to the capital. While many minor houses were willing to strike out on their own initiative and make a name for themselves within their own region, few, if any, were willing to go against the king himself. They were expected to maintain the security of House Martell, and so they would until they left their lands.

The lords and ladies who hosted them were all quite surprised to see Prince Doran in attendance. Evidently, knowledge of his gout was wider spread than Arianne had once realised. She’d hoped to be able to go to King’s Landing without her father’s meddlesome oversight, but some things couldn’t be prevented entirely. Arianne believed it was likely that he came specifically to keep her out of trouble. She hadn’t failed to notice Areo keeping a watchful eye upon her at night to ensure that she didn’t ‘accidentally’ stumble into another’s bedchamber.

Once they left Bitterbridge, a giddiness started to form in Arianne’s belly. They were close to King’s Landing, a little more than a week away along the roseroad at their current pace. The roseroad would take them through the kingswood, which sat just south of King’s Landing. Inside the capital, Arianne would finally be able to exercise her plan to find a suitable husband for herself.

The task was daunting enough to make that giddiness begin to feel twisted and sick inside of her. Her options would be incredibly varied, but she knew little of the culture of King’s Landing. This was only the third time that she’d been outside of Dorne. It would take time to gauge how best she ought to behave there.

But if she couldn’t even manage that, did she deserve to slip out from beneath her father’s thumb?

During the first morning that they entered the kingswood, Oberyn rode up next to her. He sat over a head taller than Arianne, and his receding black hair gave him a dignified and powerful look.

“Have you spotted them yet?” He asked her with a wry smirk on his lips.

Arianne cocked her head to the side in confusion. “Spotted who? We’re still a ways off from the nearest village, aren’t we?”

“Ah, what a shame,” Oberyn said. “I’d hoped for better from you.”

“Must you and your daughters all try to infuriate me?” Arianne replied in annoyance.

“We merely point out things as they are,” Oberyn countered. “It is your temperament that causes you to become so incensed over nothing.”

“That’s funny coming from a man known as the Red Viper of Dorne,” Arianne said, trying her best to keep her temper from tinging her words. “How many men did you battle in your youth over a simple drunken jest?”

“I own who I am, my dear niece.” His words sounded sarcastic. “But you are the one who is still taking issue over who you are. The fiery passion of Dorne boils through your veins. Use it, but do not let it overwhelm your good judgement as I once allowed it to do to me. Duck.”

It took a moment for his final word to register in Arianne’s mind, but once it finally did, she moved low just in time to avoid the light throwing spear that Oberyn hurled into the tree line. A scream came then, and suddenly the world descended into chaos.

Horses screeched and reared as villains burst forth out from the trees, bushes, and brambles that surrounded the road. The train came to a worried halt as sellswords of House Martell clambered off of their steeds and drew their weapons as swiftly as they could. For many, it was too late.

Arianne was paralysed whilst her cousins all joined the fray. Sarella’s whip disarmed an outlaw after a particularly poor thrust with a dagger that caught nothing but air. Obara’s spear pierced straight through the belly of that fool, showing off just how well the Sand Snakes worked together. On the far side of the road, Arianne caught sight of Nymeria slitting a man’s throat while simultaneously throwing a dagger into the back of another outlaw.

After his first spear landed true, Oberyn ended up in the centre of a sea of blood as he killed man after man. Too many were overconfident in their attempts to take him down, and those who tried to flee only caused confusion and irritation towards their allies.

Arianne wanted to call out, to say anything to cause this to end. Couldn’t the attackers see their numbers dwindling? Yet, nothing escaped her lips.

It was her mother’s cry that finally spurred her into action. The carriage that held her, Prince Doran, and Trystane was quickly being surrounded by more outlaws. It was a second wave, a group that’d hidden until the first wave had caught up the real fighters in combat. It didn’t matter how many of them died; their ultimate prize of getting to Prince Doran and his family was worth any sacrifice.

A handful of her family’s guards were the only ones there to defend the carriage, and Areo was in the midst of it all, wielding his longaxe with deadly proficiency. Still, even a man as strong and powerful as Areo could become overwhelmed all too quickly against such incredible numbers.

“Uncle!” Arianne cried out in a panic. “They’re going after mother and father!”

Oberyn made no sign of recognising her words as the shaft of his spear broke from the blade of yet another attacker. To her surprise, and the outlaw’s, Oberyn leapt forward with the broken shaft still in his hands. He wrapped an arm around the back of the attacker, getting close enough that the sword the outlaw had in his hands was near useless, and ripped off the young man’s helm. The young man cried out in pain as Oberyn grabbed his hair and yanked his head backwards. Then, he jabbed the splintered end of the shaft into the man’s throat and went off running towards Prince Doran’s carriage.

Arianne watched as the young man’s hands fumbled with the broken shaft, trying to grasp the wood that was now slick with his own blood. He managed it well enough, but pulling out the shaft only hastened the flow of blood out from his body.

His bright green eyes stared up into her dark eyes, begging for help in the moments before he died.

Those eyes stayed in her sight as the clash of battle continued to rage around her. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Whiskers sat upon his cheeks, the type of pathetic facial hair that young men grew when they wanted to try to show that they were more of a real man than their fellows around them. He had a cord necklace of sorts around his neck with some cheap wooden charms on it. Perhaps he’d carved them himself. Perhaps he’d received them as a gift from a girl who was sweet on him. She supposed it didn’t really matter anymore.

A call for retreat came moments later, but the accent wasn’t that of a Dornishman. Her family’s fighters chased down those who tried to run, but they didn’t pursue those who fled too far into the overgrown woods.

Only nine of her family’s men had died, she’d overheard Oberyn say to Nymeria when they passed by, but at least two dozen had some type of injuries.

Tyene Sand, one of the Sand Snakes who was like a sister to her, found her still staring down at the body. Unlike Arianne, Tyene didn’t seem shocked by the violence or blood. Perhaps she’d been fighting too.

“Princess,” Tyene said softly as her golden hair danced in the gentle wind that swept through the forest. “You should return to your family’s carriage. It will be safer there in case we are attacked again.”

“How could this have happened?” Arianne asked, her voice as quiet as a whisper.

“The King must not have enough patrols out keeping the kingswood safe,” Tyene answered her as one would a small child, with care and a slow tempo. “Please come back. We’ll be clearing the road and continuing on our way to the capital.”

Arianne didn’t move until the dead young man’s corpse was lazily dragged into a ditch at the side of the road. Her mother fussed over her as she entered the carriage, but she was also quite busy looking after Trystane. Prince Doran said nothing to her as he continued to stare out the narrow windows and watched his men clean up the mess around them.

When she sat down and closed her eyes, Arianne didn’t see what she normally dreamt of during the day. There was no golden sun in the sky, her form resting against the broad chest of some grizzled, handsome warrior. No, all she saw were those unsettling bright green eyes.