Capítulo 2: Chapter 2 - Early Life and Growth
Edit: There was a discrepancy pointed out by a reader that being born in 26 BC, at 16 BC he was only ten and not fourteen. Changed the birth year to 30BC.
Chapter II: Early Life and Growth
30 BC
Arsalm
When Arin Rada was born, celebration broke out in the Keep of Arsalm for a few days, the people feasting and making merry, drinking away their worries for a while. Raunchy interactions followed as, true to Dornish ways, enthusiastic and eager couples took to the trade of the flesh to satisfy their desires and curiosities.
Yet even as little Arin was cleaned and swaddled in cloth, news came to the Lord and Lady Rada that a group of the Orphans of the Greenblood had come to visit them in the dead of night.
Cautious and curious about their intentions, Arris permitted them entry into the Keep, eager to meet with their leader Garen and talk further.
Garen bowed before Arris, slightly clumsy and nervous.
"My humblest respects to you, Lord Arris," Garen greeted.
"At ease," Arris gestured, "So you are the leader of the group of Orphans with you?"
"I am, My Lord. My name is Garen, and I come to talk with you about a vision blessed to us by Mother Rhoyne," Garen explained.
Almost instantly, Arris felt his suspicions heighten.
"And, pray tell, what sort of vision did you see?" He questioned, eyes hard and posture taut.
Garen raised his hands in placation, "It's up to you whether you believe me or not, My Lord. However, I beg you to lend me an ear for a while."
Arris was not truly satisfied, but his eyes slackened just so slightly, now reflecting a growing curiosity.
"Go on," He beckoned.
Nodding at this with slight relief, Garen said, "In our vision we saw a dark, bleak future awaiting our kind and all of Dorne should things refuse to change. Not only would we remain a weak and defenseless Kingdom - despite the Martells claiming otherwise - we would be embroiled in strife and conflict which could see all of Dorne engulfed in flames. I need not say that this includes us Rhoynar and all the Water Wizards, whom the Andals would rather see exterminated."
Garen's eyes turned hard, his hand clenching his staff hard until his knuckles turned white.
"And what sort of future did you see, if things change? Furthermore, what is the catalyst supposed to be?" Arris asked.
"...Your newborn son, My Lord," Garen answered.
"What?" Arris said, his posture suddenly tense.
"Yes, according to our vision, your son is the catalyst for a brighter future," Garen reiterated, "The vision never showed us exactly how he would achieve it, only that he did; that he achieved the complete downfall of House Martell and the securing of Dorne as the Rhoynish heartland."
Arris heaved a heavy, suffering sigh and Garen inched back slightly, keeping his head bowed.
"Is that the kind of answer your vision gave you?" Arris inquired.
"Yes, Lord Arris. It is," Garen answered.
Arris turned away, his hand covering his mouth. It was exceptionally tempting to believe Garen's words, his 'vision' of a brighter and better future for all Rhoynish kind. If the vision truly came to pass as he claims, not only would the sun set on House Martell and all Andal Houses in Dorne, the future of the Rhoynish culture and religion would be secure.
And yet, his son Arin was just a newborn babe. To foister this prophecy nonsense upon him when he could barely walk? He could not bring himself to do so, at least not when he was unprepared and still so young.
Yet one would be a complete and utter moron to believe Garen's vision was the sole reason for his being here.
"Then can you tell me your real reason for coming here, seeking my attention?" Arris questioned, "I cannot imagine you being the religiously devoted type, to be honest."
Garen heaved a deep sigh.
"I'm sick and tired of the status quo, I'm sick and tired of having to live like a pariah in my homeland when we should be walking free and practising our culture and religion," He growled, "I just want things to change for the better, for all us Rhoynar. I admit… I myself am unsure about this vision granted to us by Mother Rhoyne. For all I know, we could be digging our own graves already."
"Then what's stopping you from abandoning such an endeavour altogether?" Arris pressed on, "Or rather, do you believe this path of yours is worth all the risks and dangers that lay ahead?"
Garen took a deep breath.
"Even if we do fail, one way or another, at least we get to die free men, die doing something rather than nothing," He admitted, his expression reflecting both doubt and vulnerability, "And even if it's a fool's hope, I still hope for a brighter day ahead."
And then Garen fell prostrate to a knee, bowing his head.
"We are willing to offer our services, in exchange for food and shelter."
Arris nodded smilingly, patting Garen on the back.
"You're far braver and more daring than most nobles and 'heroes' I know," He said, "Arise, Garen. I accept your service."
Garen smiled brightly, rising and shaking Arris's hand with gratitude.
"We cannot thank you enough, My Lord," Garen beamed with joy, "We shall gladly serve to the best of our abilities.
IIOII
20 BC
If there was one thing Aimelia Rada learned in her six years of raising children, it was that motherhood was exacting upon mothers physically and mentally. Not only were her children bundles of inexhaustible energy who loved getting up to all kinds of mischief directed at each other, their parents or the castle servants, their endless curiosity landed them frequently in trouble.
She hated seeing them cry every time she or Arris reprimanded them, but if she did not, they would only continue making mistakes they should avoid when they grow into adults later on.
And yet, her eldest son was an enigma neither she nor the rest of her family were able to unravel.
He was shockingly quiet most of the time, and though prone to fits of casual laughter and humour, whenever he made a mistake and she (gently) reprimanded him, he simply nodded and bore it stoically, never crying, never whining. At times, he would remember certain things with great clarity, as if it were the day he first committed them to memory, yet other times he was surprisingly forgetful most times and had to write down notes to remember important things.
Whenever he was given a task to do, he would obediently accomplish it however he could, though his endless string of complaints proved rather irritating. Whenever he was relaxing, he displayed exceptional laziness, showing a sloth's reluctance to perform even basic tasks.
And they say Princess Meria is too lazy to perform such 'menial' tasks, leaving it all to her servants… Aimelia thought wryly.
Walking through the castle corridors at night, she nodded towards passing servants and guards who greeted her curtly with due decorum. Soft steps echoed throughout the quiet halls, and Aimelia appreciated the silence and tranquillity dominating her home at this time of the night, the night sky and full moon shining with gem-like lustre.
She saw young Surion, her secondborn son, walk towards her with teary eyes while clutching his pillow, accompanied by a giantess of a woman dressed in servant uniform.
"Ma…?" Surion muttered, before moving to hug her leg, "Ma, I can't sleep."
"What's the matter, Son?" Aimelia asked, kneeling to pat Surion's head.
"My apologies, My Lady, but he's unable to sleep," The maid said as she bowed.
Sainalia, the giantess of a woman currently serving as a maid for House Rada, was a former freelancer mercenary who took all kinds of independent contracts for an innumerable number of employers. No one really knew why she suddenly chose to forgo the life of a mercenary in exchange for that of a castle maid, save for Aimelia, Arris and Sainalia, but the former chose to respect her wish for secrecy regarding this matter.
"I'm alone in my bed… I don't like it," Surion complained.
"It's alright, Surion," Aimelia reassured, "But you need to sleep well, you know? It's not good if you don't sleep enough."
"I know…" Surion mumbled, "But…"
"Surion? You here?"
Aimelia saw her eldest son walk towards Surion, patting his back.
"You okay?" He asked, eyes soft and warm.
Surion shook his head, "Don't wanna sleep alone."
"Share a bed with me?" Arin offered.
"Really?" Surion asked, eyes brightening with relief.
Arin nodded imperceptibly, and Surion smiled slightly as Arin escorted him to his bedroom, Sainalia following in tow.
Aimelia smiled at this, then moved towards her study, where she began browsing the bookshelf for something to read. Her fingers danced along the thick leather tome covers, eyes scrutinising the labels for her favourite titles. She heard knocking on the door, and turned to face Sainalia at the entrance.
"My Lady," The maid greeted.
"Are the children asleep?" Aimelia asked.
"Yes, My Lady," Sainalia bowed, "Young Master Arin has been an immense help in this regard."
Aimelia nodded smilingly, though she soon frowned as thoughts arose in her mind, her fingers freezing momentarily.
"Beg your pardon, My Lady, but is something bothering you?" Sainalia asked.
Aimelia heaved an imperceptible sigh, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"That prophecy by Garen bothers me to no end," She voiced pensively, her eyes narrowed in suspicion and doubt, "To think my son, my flesh and blood, that young and innocent boy, must be embroiled in some sort of grand scheme to save our people and all of Dorne…"
"...From what I can tell, prophecy is exceptionally finicky and difficult to interpret," Sainalia put forth, "And I myself always preferred actionable facts rather than vague words."
"Mm."
"And Garen himself already admitted his own uncertainties about his vision," Sainalia added, "Although Master Arin's quickness to learn is rather shocking."
"And that's what worries me, Sainalia," Aimelia stated, "It's precisely because my boy's unnaturally smart that some of Garen's people might start doing certain things to convince him about the vision, that they might try to force the issue. They were a nomadic people desperate for any kind of salvation, and while I know that Garen won't force the issue, I can't say the same for those who follow him."
"...Should I tighten our watch on the Orphans?" Sainalia enquired.
"Do just that," Aimelia ordered softly but firmly, "I will not have my son become an unwitting pawn."
IIOII
16 BC
At ten-and-four years of age, Arin was considered the most intelligent boy in the entire Rada household.
Unlike most noble houses throughout Westeros, House Rada could not employ the services of the Conclave of Maesters. While in centuries past, they did employ Maesters to handle the education of young noble scions and medical treatment, during the time of Arris's father's rule, the then Maester of House Rada, Emeric Sand, was guilty of poisoning Arris's father Caswyn to death, supposedly due to being bribed by another party to do so.
Many believed the Martells or one of their loyal houses orchestrated the murder, due to House Rada's refusal to renounce its more Rhoynish ways. Others believed that Maester Emeric was blackmailed or framed by the other party, to sow discord between the loyal adherents of House Rada.
Whatever the case, Arris nevertheless had to deal with a lack of support from the Conclave when they sent him a letter, stating in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome to patronise their services.
Fortunately, he was able to recruit a disgraced Maester named Casimir, who was cast out of the Conclave for questionable experiments regarding the Human body. It was thanks to him that Aimelia was able to deliver their seven children safely without long-term complications.
Casimir informed Arris that Arin was possessed of sharp wit and intellect, and was capable of swift deduction, observation and memory recollection in a heartbeat.
"And if I might add, My Lord… he seems to possess knowledge of unheard-of ideas he wishes to see implemented in Ifarahoy," Casimir added, "He first proposed a four-field crop rotation method for agriculture which, once fully implemented, would see our food production jump by leaps and bounds."
"...Dorne has never claimed fame as a breadbasket, unlike the Reach," Arris frowned, "And yet Arin says this method can increase food production?"
"According to him, yes," Casimir nodded, "He never complains of it to others, but at times, he does complain to me of how Dorne could become a stable food-producing region if only it built dedicated irrigation canals and focused on growing food rather than 'cash crops', as he put it."
"Cash crops?"
"It's what he uses to refer to the olive orchards and flower fields for dyes, since they're more suited to making money through trade rather than feeding mouths, hence 'cash crops'," Casimir explained.
"And exactly where is he learning such things? I, for one, never heard of the term 'cash crops' until now," Arris questioned, "Or a four-field crop rotation either."
"That… I truly cannot say," Casimir added with frustration, "Or rather, I simply don't know. The Young Master always says that he learned such things from somewhere, that such ideas weren't originally his, but no book in Arsalm's library contains information about the ideas he has."
Arris frowned heavily, sharing Casimir's frustration at the lack of a definitive answer to such a confusing question.
"Furthermore, he displays exceptional talent in literature and arithmetics," Casimir continued, "He often likes to tell me that nobles should be graded on how well they govern their territories, not in how well they fight wars. For that, they need 'clerical' skills like arithmetics, so he says."
"Yet another term he spews out like water," Arris shook his head, "Honestly speaking, I don't know if he's truly intelligent or if he's just giving the appearance of such."
"Your guess is as good as mine, My Lord," Casimir admitted, "What should we do regarding his… unique ideas?"
Arris thought long and hard, and eventually said, "I will talk with him regarding his ideas, and depending on whether they work, I might give them a try."
"And if they don't work?" Casimir questioned.
"If they don't work, it won't cost us much," Arris replied, "But at the very least, I'd like to give him a chance to shine as my heir apparent."
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder