章節 22: Northern Ally
Oberyn Martell - 289 AC
The sound of his soldier's footsteps reached his ears as they marched through muddy ground, as well as the clatter of armor. He could hear the spears of Dorne behind him, Obara riding close by, and Oberyn riding with the Spears of Dorne; despite marching to war, the prince of Dorne could only think about the family left at home, especially his son Jon.
After his son had inquired about his mother, he went on to say...
Oberyn was aware of Jon's question, but he was still perplexed as to whether or not his ears were playing tricks on him.
"What?"
"Can you tell me who my mother was?" The question came up again, and Jon was perplexed as to why his father's face had suddenly turned pale. He had considered it before, but knowing who his father spent his time with, he assumed she was...perhaps no longer alive, but now he wanted to know who that woman in his dreams was and why he was dreaming of strange old men on trees and Dragons, beautiful Dragons, he quickly added at the end, but he was jolted out of his thoughts by his father's hand on his shoulder.
They turned and walked away, not saying a single word. Upon entering his bedchamber, Oberyn was filled with many thoughts and questions, including whether or not he knew the truth about his heritage. If so, how does he know? Will he despise me? Oberyn asked himself these questions and not a single answer.
When Oberyn entered the bedchamber, he walked silently towards a cup filled with wine, drinking the entire cup before pouring more wine. As he drank, he turned to look at his son, who was standing near the bed and raising an eyebrow at him.
"What's wrong, father? You don't usually drink like this unless it is about..." he trailed off, knowing mentioning anything about Aunt Elia was a sour subject for his father. Jon was concerned because he had never seen him like this before; well, he had seen him drinking, but he had never seen him sweating and looking pale as milk.
'I'm starting to think that maybe asking about my mother wasn't such a good idea.
"Jon, You asked about your mother; what prompted you to bring it up?" Oberyn asked, who was perplexed as to what could have prompted his son to ask it. Oberyn knew there was a good chance Jon was simply asking out of curiosity; after all, it was his right to know. Every child who didn't know their mother would naturally want to know who she was.
"Aegon the Conqueror and his two sisters appeared in my dream, and in most cases, I was the Dragon, flying free and around the entire world," Jon explained, a look of awe in his eyes.
The Viper Prince listened attentively as his son described his dreams until he mentioned a woman lying in a bed of blue roses, with the scent of blood permeating the air.
'I'm not sure what to do,' Oberyn thought, feeling his throat dry, drinking more wine, yet his throat was still dry. He knew Jon wasn't a stupid child; he'd seen him ask him questions about various topics, demonstrating that he was paying attention to everything; with that kind of attention, he was confident Jon would figure it out or, at the very least, have doubts about the whole thing; he might start by asking questions, which would gradually reveal small pieces of the puzzle until the entire picture was shown.
'Dragon Dreams!' Oberyn reflected on the fact that Arthur had warned him that Jon might have those dreams and that, even though Oberyn had personally traveled the world and seen many things and who actually believed in prophetic dreams, hearing Jon speak about it as if he were actually there flying like a dragon was something that amazed Oberyn.
"Jon, I've never told you about your mother. I-I need to concentrate on this rebellion; I don't want to get involved in a war with- what would reopen old wounds" After saying the last part, he remembered Elia and her children, whom he referred to as "Jon's siblings," a smile on his face as he told himself.
Jon wondered aloud if his mother was someone his father had perhaps loved dearly and found difficult to talk about; while he would like to think that he knew where his father and Ellaria spent the majority of their time, he had accepted the possibility that his mother...
But Jon decided to think of something else, and he was perplexed as to why he had dreamed about a dragon.
"Father, was my mother, a Descendant of Valyria?" Jon inquired, his voice rising in pitch. Asking whether or not he was of Targaryen blood, even though his father was not the biggest fan of House Targaryen, despite being his son, Jon always enjoyed reading about dragons.
Oberyn said nothing as he walked over to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. After pulling the cup down.
"Next time we see each other, We're going to talk about your mother," he promised before hugging him as if it were the last time.
Two Weeks Later
Right in time for the party, Oberyn arrived just as everyone else did; tents were everywhere as far as the eye could see, and the solid ground had turned to mud, with the smell of shit and alcohol permeating the air. Flags of the major houses of Westeros could be found everywhere, particularly the Golden Lion of the Lannisters.
Oberyn took a few steps forward, his daughter close by, who was trying her hardest not to vomit. Arthur stood behind with the soldiers because he was concerned that someone might recognize him; despite his beard and helmet, people like the Kingslayer and Ser Barristan would recognize him just by looking into his eyes once; Oberyn had even planned to have a private discussion with Ser Barristan about Jon, perhaps the Old Knight would want to serve his true King. Of course, he didn't plan to bluntly tell him that a son of Rhaegar Targaryen was alive; that would be foolish and dangerous; he prepared to leave small hints; it would be Ser Barristan's duty to follow the hints like pieces of bread until he reached the full meal.
He noticed that the camp was divided into groups, with one for each of the Kingdoms: StormLands, DragonStone, Lannisters, The Reach, RiverRun, and The North.
Oberyn didn't bother to look at the soldiers' surprised expressions because he knew they hadn't expected him to appear so soon after The Robert's Rebellion. Still, a Whisper needed to stop Whispering, so he ignored them.
A short time later, they arrived at the King's tent, where they were fortunate that a meeting was taking place. Oberyn could hear the voice of Lord Stark saying something about the Fight, perhaps giving the king a piece of his mind.
The guards stood in front of him, denying him entry. Oberyn was half-convinced that he should gut them right then and there, but he decided against it.
"I'm here to see the King; do you really want to disobey him?" Oberyn inquired, more in the manner of a threat, as his hand slowly grasped the hilt of a hidden dagger he was trying to conceal.
"The King is in a meeting, and you must WAIT," the soldier bragged, his voice full of arrogance.
"What the hell is going on here?" A voice shouted, and they turned to see none other than Ser Jaime Lannister in all his Golden Glory. After sticking his head out of the tent and catching a glimpse of Prince Oberyn, the Kingslayer's eyes widened like plates before he took the final step outside the tent.
"What exactly is going on here?" Jaime inquired once more, shifting his gaze away from the Prince and toward the guards, who had the audacity to snort in his face.
"We are not allowing the Viper into the tent, Kingsla..." He didn't finish before Jaime punched him in the face, causing his nose to snap as he fell to the ground in the mud with blood streaming from his nose.
The other guard remained deafeningly silent, refusing to say anything or attack Jaime.
Oberyn was taken aback by The Kingslayer's actions; he hadn't expected someone like The Kingslayer to stand up for him, or perhaps he was enraged by the prospect of being referred to as a Kingslayer in front of him.
"Forgive the fool, Prince Oberyn; you may enter," Jaime said respectfully to him, and Oberyn said nothing as he walked into the room, signaling to his daughter and Ser Deamon to remain outside for the time being.
As he entered, his gaze was drawn to the Old Lion of House Lannister, who gave him a cold stare and what appeared to be a small smirk on his face.
Oberyn felt his blood boil as he considered simply cutting the man's head off and being done with it. Still, he decided against it because his children and Ellaria would be devastated, his family had already suffered too much, and he didn't want his name to be added to the crypts.
His gaze was drawn to Lord Stark, and standing close by was a figure who he assumed to be Benjen Stark, who was dressed in Bear Skin as a coat.
However, when his gaze fell upon The Demon of the Trident, The King, he discovered that, in contrast to the others who were standing, he was sitting. Instead of a powerful man deserving of the title 'Demon,' what stood in front of him appeared to be more akin to a pig dressed up in clothes with a crown on top of his head. He almost burst out laughing.
"Your Grace, Dorne has come to assist you in these difficult times," Oberyn said, a note of flattery in his voice that Robert didn't seem to pick up on as he laughed.
Despite the fact that his mouth smelled like a pig and that he was holding a cup of beer in his left hand, Robert burst out laughing. "Thank you, Prince Oberyn, we appreciate it, and we will soon march to crush the Rebellion," Robert exclaimed, holding a cup of beer in his left hand.
Before addressing The Prince, Jon Arryn shook his head slowly, a look of disappointment on his face.
The Hand of the King suggested, "We are grateful, Prince Oberyn; perhaps we can talk later," to which Oberyn simply nodded his head, not wanting to turn down the opportunity to talk with him.
After a long meeting of talking about nothing productive, it finally ended when the king shouted in front of everyone that he needed to piss.
When they were about to leave, Ned gave him a sideways glance that essentially said, "We need to talk."
Soon after, he left the tent, following Lord Stark in his footsteps but not exchanging any information between them. Ned remained silent as he observed the soldiers surrounding them.
Soon after, they arrived at his tent, with many of the lords of the North giving the prince a suspicious look. After leaving Ser Deamon in front of the tent and entering inside, he noticed Lord Benjen already inside, sitting and looking impatient, while Lord Stark, on the other hand, maintained his composure.
"It's good to see you again, Prince Oberyn," Lord Stark said as he poured three cups of beer, eager to learn how his nephew and daughter were doing.
He leaned closer to Ned as he took a sip and coughed a little before putting the cup away. "It's been six years if I'm not mistaken," Oberyn replied.
"Can you tell me how my nephew and niece are doing?" Benjen inquired before anyone else could say anything. He was still wary of The Viper, and he had discussed with Ned the possibility of visiting Sunspear after the Rebellion or perhaps even fostering Jon in some way at Winterfell.
Ned gave him a sideways glance before returning his attention to Prince Oberyn and waiting for him to respond.
"Your nephew is doing well; he's a very bright young man, perhaps a little too bright for his own good," Oberyn said, a slight chuckle in his voice as he spoke proudly.
Ned speculated that Jon had already begun to have doubts about a few things, and he questioned whether his nephew would be able to put the pieces back together on his own.
"He has grown, you should see him, he may only be six name days old, but I can already tell that he will grow to be handsome, his sword fighting is far superior to that of other children his age, hell, he can beat even children that are older than him," Oberyn stated with a proud smile as if he were speaking about his own son, which may have been what Oberyn perceived Jon to be.
Ned and Benjen were amused by the tone the prince used when he was speaking about Jon; his voice didn't sound angry, or like he was pretending to be happy.
Ned smiled, pleased that his nephew was happy; given his generosity and intelligence, he could one day rise to the position of a good king.
"What about Alyanna?" Ned inquired, a tinge of fear in his voice; he hadn't gotten the thought out of his head that his daughter might hate him for abandoning her, not that he could blame her if she did.
When Oberyn finished his beer, he wiped the beer away from his lips with the sleeve of his shirt.
"I don't know her well, but she's a good kid, and Jon is friends with her. She hasn't said anything negative about you, and Ashara hasn't said anything negative about you either." Ned's heart skipped a beat when the subject of his love was brought up; he wondered how she was doing, whether she still loved him, or whether she didn't. Is it possible that she despises me?
Oberyn continued his conversation with Lord Stark about Jon and Alyanna, focusing primarily on Alyanna, until their conversation turned to the subject of an alliance. After all, Ned has already begun making deals with Essos, including selling a mineral from The North in exchange for gold in order to rebuild Moat Cailin and begin building a fleet of warships.
"You know, even in the Free Cities, some people use the Stark surname, and my brother informed me that you're doing business with Starfall," He shifted his gaze to Ned at this point.
Ned just shrugged his shoulders. "It's a win-win situation for both Houses."
Oberyn smiled and nodded. "That is something I am well aware of. This is one of the reasons why I came here to maximize the benefits for both Dorne and the North; an alliance must be reached."
Ned had not changed his mind. A working trade agreement that covered the entire kingdom of Dorne would be a huge source of income... but what if Robert became suspicious of him?
"What about Robert? What if he thinks something is going on?" Ned inquired, knowing Robert wasn't interested in politics or secret plans, but he couldn't help but be a little wary.
"Don't be concerned about The Pig King; the only thing we have to be concerned about is a small bird that likes to whisper, but the snake will soon show his poison teeth," Oberyn said with venom seeping through his teeth like a viper.
Ned nodded, acknowledging that he understood what he was saying.
Then Benjen looked at them both and said, "If you want, we can seal the deal with marriage." He suggested.
Ned hummed softly. That appeared to be an excellent idea... a trade agreement, if done correctly, has the potential to make both regions extremely wealthy. And, more than anything else, an engagement would be the best way to seal the deal.
Arianne was too old for Robb, and both of them were next in line to be the leaders of their respective Houses. He didn't think about it, Sansa... 'Well, this might be a good idea. 'All I hope is that neither of them will hate me for this.'
"Perhaps we can, but I want to wait until my children are a little older." He said, not fully agreeing yet but neither being against it.
Oberyn looked like he was thinking about it before nodding. "I agree with you, Lord Stark. What about our line of work?"
Ned shifted his gaze to his papers, which were stacked to one side. "We would require large quantities of glass for our glasshouses, and I would also request that some of your traditional Dornish spices be shipped to us. Silver and other ores, which we mine, as well as a few specially designed weapons, would be exchanged for the goods."
Oberyn smiled and nodded. "Good. What kind of weapons are those?"
The Lord of Winterfell said nothing but instead told his brother to bring it; Benjen left the tent quickly before coming back a minute later, holding a dagger made of gleaming steel.
Handing it to his big brother, Ned showed it to Oberyn up close. "This is a new metal we use to make weapons; it is an excellent and very durable material; we call it White Steel," he explained, handing it to the Prince, who examined it from up close.
Oberyn's pupils dilated as he heard this.
"We were successful in forging weapons that are both stronger and sharper than conventional weapons."
The Dornishman examined the blade more closely, touching it and allowing it to draw blood.
"Without a doubt, the product is of high quality. Would you be able to make spears as well?"
Ned bowed his head, anticipating the question. "If you give us the specifics of the spears Dorne uses, I'm confident it can be accomplished."
Hearing that, an evil smirk reached his ears. "I believe, Lord Stark, that we have reached an agreement."
Jon Sand
As Jon was training with Ser Os, the older knight tripped his feet, and Jon fell flat in the face.
"Very Good, Jon, but you need to watch your footing," Ser Os adviced as he helped Jon to stand up; Nymeria was about to take Jon's place to train herself after he lost, but her eyes went to the unwelcome prince walking towards them.
She wondered what a frog like him would want in a training yard.
Jon noticed him as well, wondering what the prince wanted.
"Prince Quentyn, what can I do for you?" Ser Os asked respectfully as he stepped forward; despite thinking that he didn't deserve to be called a prince, to his surprise, the cocky smile that the prince usually wore was not there. Instead, he looked saddened and even ... shame?!
"A-ah, Jon. Ca-can, you P-Please, t-train Me," He stuttered out, much to the surprise of everyone.
Jon didn't show surprise on his face, but inside he was quite curious about what could have changed.
"Why would you want a bastard like me" "I apologize for what I said," Quentyn interrupted, looking down in... shame.
"I'm sorry for speaking like that. I know what I did was wrong; I would be honored if you could teach me," Quentyn almost pleaded, looking at Jon.
Jon glanced at his sister, who sighed before nodding, glancing at Ser Os, who looked at The Prince before looking at him and giving a nod. Jon turned his look at Quentyn.
"Very well, let's start," Jon immediately said commandingly.
The Prince listened to Jon explaining sword fighting; he saw how smoothly Jon was moving, almost as if the sword was part of him. Quentyn tried to move just as swiftly but almost tripped himself.
Deciding it was a bad idea to try and keep up the circling, he charged his cousin; he crossed the field between them in three large steps.
As he swung down towards his cousin's shoulder, he felt his balance shift; before he knew it, he felt his arm slam into the ground. He sat up to see his cousin had resumed his stance and just staring at him; there was no smile or glimmer in his eyes. He did not laugh or jab as Quentyn had seen others do in the yard, as he himself had done. There was just a blank face; at that moment, Quentyn saw his uncle in his cousin, but there was something else. While he had dark hair, he looked nothing like his uncle or any of his sisters; Quentyn wondered if Jon had taken his looks from his mother, whoever she was.
He was pulled out of his thoughts as his side vision caught the spear tip coming for his head. He quickly fell to his back to dodge the weapon; as he jumped to his feet, he had to jump to the side to avoid a thrust. He then jumped to avoid a swipe at his feet and had little time to react as he felt the fist slam into his chest. His cousin had changed his grip as he swung and had quickly thrust the spear to where he would land.
He hit the ground hard; before he could even move, he felt the sharp blade pressed against his neck, "Dead." That was the only word his cousin said as he drew back and walked back to his side of the yard. He resumed his starting stance and waited; it seemed he wanted to continue.
Quentyn slowly stood up and grabbed his sword; he took his place opposite of Jon and resumed his own stance. He heard Ser Os give the count; as soon as he hit one, his cousin seemed to fly across the yard.
Quentyn could barely move to defend himself before he felt the fist slam into his sword hand. As he dropped his blade, he felt Jon kicking his leg before he could understand what had happened. Quentyn saw stars as he hit the ground again, "Dead." His cousin took up his stance and position yet again. Quentyn had to take several seconds to gain his bearings before he grabbed his sword and once more faced his cousin.
Ser Os count came and went, and his cousin charged again, this time rapidly thrusting his sword. Quentyn was able to deflect the first, but the second came before he could move his blade back. He was struck in the left shoulder, followed by his belly, chest, and right arm. Jon then punched his chin, "Dead." Quentyn flew backward and landed on his back again. It took several minutes, though it felt like hours, before he could gather his mind and move again.
"You did well, my prince; train like this for a few more months, and you might stand a chance," Jon stated, helping him to stand up.
"You think so?" Quentyn asked, smiling.
"Of course not; you should train for years because I won't stand at this level forever," Jon responded, deciding to walk away, but Quentyn called him.
"Jon, can you say to Lady Alyanna that I-I'm Sorry," Quentyn requested.
"You should tell her yourself," Jon stated before leaving.
Ser Barristan - Later
He had wanted to confront Prince Oberyn about his doubts, but he had refrained because he was aware of the dangers of asking such questions in front of a Viper like him.
The Dornish Camp was right in front of him as he walked around The Camp, admiring the soldiers marching and preparing for the war. He walked towards the Dornish Camp, knowing there was a good chance they would bite him the moment they saw him, not that he could blame them.
In the meantime, he came across two men practicing, the bigger man clearly winning; one of them was someone Ser Barristan recognized as Deamon Sand, practicing with someone; the other man had his back turned to him, so Barristan decided to approach them and question where Prince Oberyn had gone.
As he prepared to question them about Prince Oberyn, the old knight realized that whatever he was about to say would be ineffective, but it would be better than saying nothing at all...
The man disarmed Deamon by saying something to him that the old knight couldn't hear before turning around when he heard footsteps approaching them and turning to face whoever was walking towards them at the time.
It was as if Barristan was looking at a Ghost in front of him; his color eyes were unmistakable, and the old knight's eyes immediately analyzed his facial structure; despite the beard and helmet, he instantly recognized him as the man who he had known as his brother for many years, the knight whom he had believed to be the best knight they had for so many years.
"Ser Arthur..."
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