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Much had changed in the years since Mance had taken the chance and set upon the path that would, in Mother Mole's own words, 'bring about salvation through death'. Death. Death of thousands upon thousands of Free Folk, though in truth few shed tears for the passing of the likes of the Lord of Bones, Harma, or Crowkiller. But there was also the death of what they knew of their way of life. To a degree. Many followed Val south of the Wall. Many who shed their past and knelt, swearing themselves to Val and Lord Stark. Death. Yet through death came their salvation. Many now safely south of the Wall. And the Wall opened to the rest of the Free Folk, both for trade and for when the day came that the White Walkers and their ilk came for them all.
The Crows on the Wall no longer hunted them down, at least not north of the Wall. In fact, it wasn't unheard of now for trade to be frequent between the Crows and the Free Folk. They were not friends, and they never would be. Thousands of years of hunting and killing one another had ensured that. But for now, at least there was an understanding that as long as the Free Folk did not bother the Crows, so shall the Crows not bother them. There had been dissent, on both sides, regarding that decision. But Mance, and surprisingly Lord Commander Mormont, had been quick to deal with any dissenters who sought to upend the fragile peace that hung between them on a knife's edge. And now, that peace was about to truly be put to the test.
"So…the Northern Kingdom is at war. A war against you Force users and against the true gods. And you want me and mine to join you in fighting this war?"
Across from sat none other than the one who was the sole reason that the Free Folk and the Starks of the North even came to speak to one another. The Sorcerer Alim Nox. And by his side sat Starks son, Jon Stark, while Ygritte sat close by Jon's side. "Yes."
Mance turned his head towards those that sat with him. His woman, Della, sister to Lady Val of the North, and the last major chieftain that still held allegiance to him, Tormund. "When the deal was struck with the Starks, we were told that those who stayed north of the Wall would not be forced to kneel nor heed the call of the Starks should the need arise."
Nox's expression didn't change, not that Mance expected it to considering a good portion of the man's face was covered with the strip of cloth that hid his ruined eyes. A tale only a few knew the truth of, though many had their theories. Each one more outlandish than the last. "Robb Stark has called the banners, aye, and Val will answer as she has sworn to do," the sorcerer agreed. "And you are right in saying that those of you here have no need to heed the call."
"Yet you are still here to enlist our men and women in a war that is not our own," Mance countered. While he hoped to sound strong, in truth he was terrified. He'd seen what this man before him could do with a mere flick of his wrist to those who angered him. "And besides, given what you and yours are capable of doing even an army of a hundred thousand sent against you should mean little more than a swatting away a hundred thousand gnats."
The Sorcerer didn't so much as twitch. "If all of my enemies were lined up nicely before me, then I could swat them like gnats. But this war is not something that will be decided on a specific field of battle. It will be a war ranging from the snow of the far north to the sands of Dorne. Even with how powerful I and my apprentices are, even we have our limits. And one of those limits just happens to be being able to be at multiple locations at once."
Mance would give him that. Wars were not simple things.
"There might be som that be willin to fight for ya," Tormund said from beside him. "Fuckin-hells, I'd be willin to fight with ya just cause I been bored as shit up here lately with all this peace between us and da Crows. But those here in the True North won't kneel to ya or the Starks."
Nox turned his unseeing sight towards Tormund. "I don't need you to kneel to me in order to fight."
Mance furrowed his brow. If he wasn't looking for them to kneel, then how was he to gain their allegiance to – oh! "You mean to use us as if we were sellswords."
"Sellswords?" Della repeated, his wife staring at him. "What da fuck be that?"
"Men and women who do not fight out of allegiance to a Lord or King. But rather to one who pays them." Mance answered.
Tormund perked up even more as the towering man leaned forward. "Hold yer shit. Ya mean ta tell me dat not only would ya be takin us south of the Wall, but we'd get to fight those fancy southern kneeler shits…and ya'd pay us for it? Fuck. What are we waiting for?"
"Figured that would get your blood going, Tormund." Ygritte sniggered from beside Jon.
Mance leaned back and stared at the Sorcerer. The man had them. He knew it, and the Sorcerer knew it. The moment word left this tent that the Sorcerer would not only be letting warriors south of the Wall to fight against the kneelers, but would be paying for their strength as well…? He doubted that there would be many left in his camp come morning. "Gold would serve us well, but it is not what keeps us as a people alive," he said, trying to see just what the Sorcerer was willing to offer for their warriors.
The man didn't hesitate to answer. "You and yours will be allotted one-tenth of all battlefield spoils, including weapons, armor, furs, coin, and horses. Against the likes of a southern castle, that will go to one-twentieth. The only exception will be women and men. No daughters or sons will be stolen by the Free Folk. And as I have made clear with any army that marches under my banner, there will be no rape. Any who do will only be able to wish they could die quickly."
Mance had never been in a true battle south of the Wall, but he was a learned man thanks to Maester Aemon. He knew well the type of spoils that were being offered. And he had a good idea of just how much was being offered as well. "One-fifth of all battlefield spoils and one-tenth of castle loot."
The Sorcerer didn't move. "One-tenth of battlefield spoils and one-tenth of castle loot. And you know full well those numbers will allow the Free Folk to be better armed and armored than ever before. And no heirloom weapons or armor."
Mance could practically tell that Tormund was practically ready to leave the tent right now and begin his march to the Wall. And he wouldn't be the only one as soon as Mance spread the word of the offer.
"We have an accord," he said, reaching over and grasping arms with the Sorcerer. "One-tenth of battlefield and castle loot. And I will make sure that my warriors know full well that the stealing of men or women will result in them answering to you. Unfortunately, I only have at best five thousand here with me that will be ready to march. The rest of my people are at Hardhome under the eyes of Mother Mole. It will take them some time to gather them and march."
The Sorcerer nodded. "Time you will have, Mance. But I do not have the luxury of waiting. I will take Tormund here and the five thousand you have ready to march. You will gather your forces and make ready for your part."
Intrigued, Mance leaned forward. "And what will be my peoples part in this war, Sorcerer?"
The Sorcerer's response was a slight grin that more than slightly unnerved Mance. "I plan on using your people for what they do best, Mance."
Riding at the head of ten thousand men, Jamie Lannister fought against the boredom that was so common with an organized march. Though 'organized' was not necessarily the term that he would use to describe the march that he was leading. Most were mere smallfolk that'd been conscripted from within King's Landing. Young men, and even old men, were pulled from all walks of life and made part of King Joffrey Baratheon's Exalted March. Either by force or through their own volition on the promise of favor with the Seven or coin. There were a few courtiers and lords from the court that were riding with him. But those few and their guards made up a small minority of those he led.
"Try not to look so glum, Ser Jamie. We are here to do the work of the Seven and bring honor to King Joffrey Baratheon, your own nephew. You should be proud."
Fighting against the growl wanting to escape him, Jamie turned his eyes towards the man who'd decided it was his right to ride alongside him. The newly named 'High Inquisitor' was a mystery to almost everyone. In fact, until Joffrey named him to the position, no one even knew who he was. Not even the Spider apparently knew about him. Though how he gained Joffrey's favor quickly became a well-known secret throughout the Red Keep. The man, despite being a Septon ordained by the High Septon himself, was a well skilled torturer. In fact, in the sennight it took to organize this many men at arms, it was said that the black cells were filled constantly with the screams of those that'd been condemned by Joffrey and this new High Septon. The mere thought and memory of which brought back more than a few unpleasant memories of his time serving the Mad King.
"The Seven don't give a shit about us, High Inquisitor," Jamie responded, wanting to avoid any and all conversations with the man.
Ramsay shrugged, a grin on his face. "That is quite…heathenistic of you to say, Ser Jamie. You may wish to be careful with such words. After all, it was the King's own words the declared any who follow the old gods are heretics and to be converted by us inquisitors accordingly."
"I am no follower of the old gods," Jamie ground out through clenched teeth. In truth, he didn't believe in any gods. If the gods, old and new, existed then why would they let creatures such as Ramsay or even the Mountain live?
Mercifully, before his unwanted traveling companion could open his vile mouth again several of the outriders that Jamie had sent ahead made their way back to the column. "Ser Jamie," the lead rider wearing a red cloak greeted him, though Jamie noted the large Seven-star pendant on the man's chest. A true believer despite being one of his father's men. "We've spotted a small hamlet a short distance off the road. No more than twenty, maybe thirty men, women, and children."
Jamie was simply ready to pass the hamlet by, but before he could give the order, Ramsay opened his mouth. "A small hamlet, you say? Well, this is quite a fortuitous situation. A chance to replenish some supplies. Preach to the smallfolk, and perhaps find a few more volunteers to join the King's grand march."
Gritting his teeth, Jamie kept his focus on the outriders. "Gather two dozen men. We ride for the hamlet to see if they have anything of value to add."
The outrider gave him a salute, and within no time at all, Jamie was leading a small company of two dozen men on horses towards the small hamlet. Unfortunately, Ramsay and two of his Inquisitors, one a woman of all things, decided to join them as well. Arriving at the hamlet, Jamie found it to be exactly as the outrider had described. A small settlement with maybe thirty living within the few buildings. And the central point of the hamlet appeared to be a small sept that was nearing completion.
Approaching the hamlet, the residents quickly spotted them before trying to make themselves scarce. Understandable. Though what was surprising was when a Septon came out from the nearly finished sept and approached them. He was a tall man, older. Yet surprisingly had no fear in his eyes despite staring down nearly two dozen well-armed men on horseback.
"Good sers," the Septon called out in greeting, inclining his head. "This hamlet does not have much. But we—"
"What is your name, Septon?" Ramsay cut in, moving his horse forward so that he was beside Jamie.
The man's eyes went towards the High Inquisitor suspiciously. "I am Septon Meribald, good ser. I wander the Riverlands and have recently begun walking the Crownlands to—"
"Then as a fellow Septon, you will appreciate what I am about to say," Ramsay smiled, nudging his horse forward so he could command the attention of all the villagers. "His grace, King Joffrey Baratheon with the support of the High Septon has declared an Exalted March against the heathens of the North and their vile magic. With the backing of the Seven, we will remove all who worship the old gods and practice their vile sorcery. All men of age are expected to aid in this March against the nonbelievers of the North! And each village is expected to contribute however they can. Be it coin or food…or warmth for those marching. Septa Myranda, take a few men and see what sort of tithe this Seven abiding villagers can manage to support the great work of the Seven and their chosen King."
The lone woman who came with them smiled at the High Inquisitor before easily sliding down from her horse while four men followed her. With barely any heed for the villagers, the five began going from house to house, pulling out anything and everything of value from food to coin from the house. All tithes to be given to the Exalted March. Some of the villagers protested, but their protests died quickly as the men with Jamie put their hands on their swords. As for Jamie, he was bored with the display. He'd seen it more than once. Soldiers taking anything and everything they needed for a war effort. His own father's army was known to leave villages completely barren whenever they passed through. And the villagers here at least knew their place as, after a few half-hearted protests, none tried to stop them.
The Septon watched on with weary eyes as the small village was turned upside down as the men and Septa looked for anything of value. Just as they were clearing out the last of the buildings, leaving the mostly completed Sept alone, the Septa came rushing out of one of the houses. As she drew closer to the horses, she threw something up to the High Inquisitor. From his spot, Jamie could see that it was a coin purse.
Pursing his lips, the High Inquisitor upended the contents into his hand. Revealing a shining silver moon as well as three shinning silver stags and a handful of copper stars. A hefty sum. But it was not an unusual amount if the home was the place where the village kept their coin. However, the High Inquisitor seemed very interested in the silver moon. Even going so far as to hold it up to the sun and even to clench it between his teeth.
"Interesting," Ramsay said, smiling at the villagers before him. "This is a freshly stamped silver moon. Something that would take moons to reach this far out from King's Landing…unless someone from King's Landing has recently come this way. Tell me…the ones who gave you this coin…was it a woman with dark hair? Accompanied by three young girls. Another woman and an imposing man in full armor?"
The villagers all started whispering together, yet the Septon did not say a word. Jamie caught on to the implication of what was going on quickly and turned to two of the men that rode out with them. "You two, back to the column. I want ten search parties formed and riding before we return. Nyra Nox and the Stark girls are nearby. Turn over every leaf if you have to, but I want those women found. As for Sandor and the sworn sword of the Starks, we have no need for them."
The two men saluted and turned their horses to gallop back to the main column. By the time Jamie turned his attention back to Ramsay and the villagers, the High Inquisitor had nudged his horse closer to the Septon. "You knew, didn't you?" Ramsay asked, his smile still present. "You knew who they were. And you aided them anyway?"
The Septon didn't say a word. He just stood his ground before the High Inquisitor. "They paid for what they needed. Spent a single night, then left. They made no threats, and we had no reason to suspect ill intent from them."
Ramsay turned his horse around and faced Jamie and the others. "King Joffrey has declared any that aid the Starks are traitors. Put the villagers in the Sept so they have a good view…and get a strong rope."
To Jamie's mild surprise, all of the men behind them immediately dismounted and drew their swords. The villagers cried out in protest, but their words fell on deaf ears as they were forced into the Sept while the Septon of the village was brought over to where a strong tree was located near the village. A rope was brought forth and thrown over a thick branch of the tree and tied into a noose. Through it all, the Septon did not fight back nor give any word of protest as he was forced up onto a chair and a noose was put around his neck. Once the knot was tightened and the rope tied off to the tree, the men who'd pushed the villagers came forward carrying several lit torches.
"High Inquisitor, the villagers are secured in the Sept and we are ready to burn the village when you give the word."
Ramsay turned his attention away from the soon-to-be-dead Septon and towards the men. "Burn the village? Why? It would serve no purpose. No. Burn the Sept."
Jamie felt like he took a battering ram to the gut. Turning, he found Ramsay staring at him with that same smug smile on his face. "These villagers—"
"Aided the Stark bitches and the Sorcerer's whore," Ramsay immediately countered, nudging his horse forward so the two men were nearly within arm's reach of each other. "The King himself has decreed that any who aid the Starks or hold to the old gods are traitors to the Seven and traitors to the realm. And traitors deserve a traitor's death. Now, Ser Jamie. Are you a man loyal to the Crown? To your own nephew, the King? Or…are you a traitor as well?"
Jamie wanted to take his sword and run it right through the man's smiling face. This…This wasn't right. This–This was just like the days of the Mad King. Standing in the throne room watching men, women, and children burn for their crimes much to the Mad King's delight. Yet even as his hand itched to grab the hilt of his blade, he chanced a look around at his men. All of them were gripping the hilts of their swords. But their attention wasn't on Ramsay, but rather on him. And all of them were proudly wearing a pendant of the Seven-pointed star on their chest, worn proudly over any symbolism showing their allegiance to House Lannister. These were not his men. They were men of the Faith.
Fighting to keep himself from shaking with fury and ignoring the cries to stop from the strung up Septon behind him, Jamie roughly grabbed a lit torch from one of the men and rode forward towards the nearly finished Sept. Stopping just before the Sept, Jamie glanced at the wood structure, the villagers inside, and then the torch in his hand. 'Come back to me, Jamie,' he heard his sister's voice in his mind. 'Come back so that we can be together as we were always meant to be. Come back to me so that we can watch and guide our children as they rule the Seven Kingdoms. Just as they should.'
Tightening his grip on the torch, Jamie tried desperately to drown out the slightly panicked voices coming from inside the Sept. 'The things I do for love.' And with that thought, Jamie brought his arm back and threw the lit torch onto the thatched roof of the Sept.
The men around him acted immediately, running forward to secure the door of the Sept by putting a spear through the handle, preventing it from being opened before running around and forcing shutters on two windows closed. More torches were quickly added to Jamie's. Soon, the fire grew and engulfed the entire roof. The begging within turned quickly from frightened to pleas for mercy and cries of agony. He forced himself to remain as he watched the shutters rattle from within as the villagers fought to escape the flames eating away at the building. He even saw a small opening being forced in the wall, where someone tried to force a child through. Yet the child did not get far as one of his men with a maul bashed the child's head in, using the child's broken skull to plug the chance for escape.
As the fires swept down the walls of the Sept, the screams and pleas grew in intensity. Sounds he remembered all too well as men, women, and even children met their end to the flames eating away at the Sept. Any who tried to escape were met with a maul or spear to force them back into their deaths. And through it all, Jamie forced himself to stay and watch. His hands were shaking as he watched the fire eat away at the Sept and those within. The same sick feeling he felt every time he'd been forced to watch the Mad King burn someone alive came back, yet far worse than ever. As, this time, it'd been he who'd thrown the first torch on the pyre.
"You've indeed proven your loyalty to your nephew the King, Ser Jamie," Ramsay said from beside him. And again, it took everything Jamie had not to end the whoreson then and there. Only his sister's voice pleading for him to return stayed his hand. "Spread the word. The Stark bitches and whore of the Sorcerer are nearby, and they slaughtered this village before taking what they needed and fleeing."
Jamie's eyes snapped towards Ramsay, who held his head high and dug his heels into his horse's flanks. "Come, Ser Jamie. We have a lot of ground to cover if we are to reach Riverrun in any reasonable time."
Jamie was the last to leave. He couldn't leave. Not until the last voice from within the blazing Sept ceased. Turning his horse around, Jamie made the slow ride towards the still strung up Septon. The old man was still standing on the chair with a noose around his neck. Tears streaming down his face as his lips mumbled. "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to—"
Unable to take it any longer, Jamie drew his blade and buried his valyrian steel right into the Septon's heart. He hadn't even realized that tears were falling down his own face until a single drop fell from his face and landed on his outstretched hand, which was holding his sword now buried in the Septon's heart. "The oaths of knighthood…don't mean shit. Even if the gods old or new even exist…they don't give a shit about us. If they did…then men like us would not exist."
Pulling his sword free, Jamie wiped the blood off the blade before sheathing it and urging his horse to a trot to catch up with the rest of the men departing the village.
Arriving back at the main column, Jamie felt nothing but a creepy numbness. He didn't even realize that night had set in until a man came to him, asking if they should make camp. After camp had been built, Jamie found himself alone in his tent. His armor still on. His pristine white cloak still on his shoulders and his valyrian steel sword in hand. He could still hear them. The screams of the women, children, and men as they died in the flames of the Sept. He could still see the child that'd tried to escape, only to have their head bashed in by a maul. And worst, he could hear the voice of the Septon, reciting the oaths of knighthood. The same words he'd repeated while kneeling before Ser Arthur Dayne while Dawn rested on his shoulder.
Shaking his head in a vain attempt to shake the noise, he spied a bottle of wine that'd been left out for him. 'Tyrion always said it worked well to drown out any ill wanted voices in his head,' Jamie reasoned, grabbing the bottle, and pulling out the cork, not even bothering with a glass. 'Time to see if my brother was right.'
Arianne's feet moved swiftly as she marched quickly through the halls of Sunspear towards her father's solar. She didn't run. No, that was beneath her. But she was moving quickly enough that the purple silken dress she was wearing was pressed against her front with the looser ends trailing behind her. It'd been more than a sennight since those terrible feelings had started. They kept her awake at night, making her snap at anyone and everyone who even slightly bothered her. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew that something bad had happened. Something that involved Jon and Ygritte as she could feel their anger as clearly as if it were her own. So, after nearly a sennight of demanding to see her father, and being rebuffed with each attempt, she was practically running now that her father had summoned both herself and her uncle to his chambers.
Seeing her father's chambers looming before her, she didn't even hesitate nor wait for the guards to open the doors and announce her presence. Instead, she raised her hand, a sphere of water forming in her outstretched hand before speeding towards the door. The water struck the twin doors where they met with the force of a battering ram, throwing both doors open and leaving the two guards that were standing watch scrambling to get out of her way.
Marching into her father's solar with her head high, she saw both her father and uncle standing near the balcony. Her uncle had a dagger drawn, ready to skewer the one who interrupted them. Raising her hand, she created two more snakes of water and snapped her fingers. The two snakes slithered through the air to each door and forced them shut with a slam before dropping to the floor and disappearing.
"Put your dagger away, uncle," she said calmly, far calmer than she truly felt. "There is only one man who gets to skewer me. And you are not him."
Her uncle smirked, and with a flourish put away his dagger into a hidden sheath up his sleeve. "You are getting far more open with your magic, dear niece."
He wasn't wrong. Ever since Jon and Ygritte left Dorne some time ago, she stopped hiding what she could do. For sure there had been more than a few rumors that she had been blessed by Mother Rhoyne with the magic of old. But she had never openly admitted or shown her abilities. But after Jon and Ygritte left, she no longer cared about hiding what she could do.
Ignoring her uncle, she kept her gaze focused on her father. "Father, enough stalling. What is happening?"
Her father moved slowly away from the balcony, his gout while better than it was still hampering his movements. Reaching his desk, he pulled out a raven's scroll. "This arrived from King's Landing some time ago. Robert Baratheon is dead."
The news shocked Arianne. One of her family's greatest enemies was dead! Her uncle was similarly stunned, but he recovered far faster than her. "Ha! The fat Usurper has finally met his end! Wonder what did him in? Did he choke on his wine or try and swallow too much meat at once? Oh, what I would have given to watch as the life left his eyes!"
"It was a hunting accident," her father continued. "Robert is dead, and Joffrey Baratheon has been crowned king before Robert's body could even grow cold. Ned Stark has been arrested and thrown in the black cells on charges of treason and attempted usurpation of the throne."
Her uncle's good nature disappeared instantly and Arianne felt a rush of cold pass through her. "Ned Stark? The Ned Stark…has been thrown in the black cells on the charge of treason at attempted usurpation? What fucking horse shit is this, brother?"
Her father sat down in his chair, his face never changing. "It is no joke, brother. Ned Stark has been charged with attempted usurpation of the throne and his retinue in King's Landing has been slaughtered to the man. In response to the attempt on his throne, King Joffrey Baratheon, with the support of the High Septon, has declared an Exalted March on the North. And, henceforth, the worship of the old gods and the practice of magic is hereby considered heretical under the laws of gods and men."
Neither herself, nor her uncle, could say anything. "Madness," her uncle finally muttered before smiling. "Though he has done our work for us. The alliance between the Baratheons and Starks is now shattered beyond repair. The Lions and Stags have lost their most important ally in one fell swoop."
While Arianne did agree with her uncle's assessment, she lacked his enthusiasm. "Nyra? Sansa and Arya?"
Mentioning their names quelled whatever good humor her uncle had as his eyes went wide before searching out her father. "Unknown," her father answered. "They are not mentioned alongside Lord Stark. And my eyes in King's Landing have said that word has spread throughout the city that Lady Nox and the Stark girls fled the city in the confusion. Their whereabouts are currently unknown."
Before she could ask anything further, her father pulled a second raven's scroll from his desk. "Between this letter from King's Landing and hearing back from our spies, I received this missive from Tywin Lannister. The old lion has not only been reappointed Hand of the King, but also Supreme Commander of this Exalted March. He was wise enough not to demand our spears, but he calls for our neutrality. In return, he offers Tommen Baratheon to Arianne, a seat on the Small Council, and his assurances that once the North has been brought to heel, that Gregor Clegane will be dispatched to the Stepstones with only a small crew to deal with pirates near Dorne."
Arianne's rage coursed through her. "You cannot seriously be thinking of accepting this, father! They think they can take away my wolf and give me a mewing cub whose balls haven't even dropped yet! And for what? Clegane on a silver platter? And a place on the Small Council? Both of which we can easily obtain by going against the old lion!"
Her father held up his hand, demanding silence. "Your thoughts mirror my own, daughter. The realm is fracturing, far more than you know. According to my spies, Stannis is holed up on Dragonstone and he has been quietly moving as many ships away from King's Landing to the port at Dragonstone. No doubt he is building his strength through a naval force to push his claim. And Renly has fled King's Landing as well, neglecting to swear allegiance to Joffrey. Last sighting had him heading into the Reach. No doubt the fool intends to push for his own claim to the throne as well."
Her uncle Oberyn hummed. "So, the Baratheons are completely fractured. And while the old lion is distracted with a war his nephew started with the North, Stannis and Renly will march and make their own claims for the throne."
"That seems most likely," her father nodded before turning his eyes on her. "Arianne. We will have no better chance than this. Joffrey has proven himself a vicious little shit that is clearly unfit to be King with this one action. Tommen is but a boy who will end up being nothing more than a puppet for the old lion should he ascend to the throne. And given their recent actions, neither Stannis nor Renly will make for even a half decent King. No. There is only one option for who should hold the throne. And it will be up to you to make him see that."
Arianne felt her heart hammer in her chest. Jon. He meant to have Jon put forth his claim as Jaehaerys Targaryen, or Jaehaerys Stark. Doing so would put her on the throne as his Queen. And it would give Dorne their full revenge against the Baratheons and the Lannisters. She vowed that she would never push Jon to take the throne if he didn't want it. But…she could see her father's point. The Baratheons had proven that they were not fit for the Iron Throne. And she would be damned before she knelt to a Lannister on the Iron Throne. No. To keep the realm whole…there was only one option for King.
"I…understand, father."
"Good," her father nodded, pulling out another rolled up scroll and holding it out to her. "There are a few spies that I know of that report to both the Spider and the old lion in Shadow Town. I will ensure that they sing the tale that you and your uncle, along with a decent household guard, left a fortnight ago to visit your mother in Norvos."
Nodding, Arianne took the scroll from her father. "And in truth?"
"In truth, you and Oberyn will leave at first light at the head of a dozen ships and two thousand of our best." Her father stated. "You will sail towards Pentos before turning north towards Bravos and then west towards White Harbor, doing all you can to avoid Dragonstone and any prying eyes loyal to the Baratheons or Lannisters."
"Two thousand is not a significant sum, Doran," Oberyn countered.
Her father nodded. "Yes, but it is all I can assemble and transport on such short notice. Once at White Harbor, you will head to Moat Cailin, which is the most likely staging point for the Northern army to counter this Exalted March. And once you meet up with the Northerners, you will do all in your power to convince your betrothed that he must take up his birthright to bring about peace. As you do, I will send ravens and assemble as many spears as I can and amass our armies on the northern borders of Dorne. And after the Exalted March has been repelled from the North, we will begin our campaign here in the South once we see where the rest of the pieces swear their allegiance."
Nodding, Arianne turned heel and left her father's solar, leaving her uncle and father to discuss the finer details on their troop movements. It wasn't until she was back in her rooms that the full weight of what was about to happen settled on her. War had completely fractured the Seven Kingdoms, again. The best path forward to end the war was for her wolf, her dragonwolf, her love…to claim his birthright. To become King. And her…Queen. Queen. Of the Seven Kingdoms. Being Queen was the dream of many a girl throughout the Seven Kingdoms… But those girls were idiots. She had honestly never wanted to be Queen. She was satisfied with her lot in life in ruling Dorne. But now, that is not where her path would lead her.
'I'll be Queen…married to a Targaryen-Stark who was raised by the North. The lords of the North will baulk when they learn the truth of Jon. But they know him beyond his name. They know him for who he truly is and while the revelation of his birth will shock them…they will follow him. I must show them that I am a woman worthy to be his Queen. A woman worthy of leading the North and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.'
Hearing her chamber door open, she didn't need to turn her head to know that her cousins Nymeria and Tyene were now with her. "Arianne," Tyene called out to her. "What did your father have to say?"
Not saying anything, Arianne went over to her wardrobe and threw open the doors. Silken and other soft material dresses meant to tempt and accent her best features met her eye. "Tyene. I need new dresses. Warmer. Made of a mixture of wool and silk. Buy what you can in Shadow Town tonight. We will have time to make any necessary adjustments to them later. Nymeria. I need armor. Not a full plate. But leather and scale mail."
Her cousins stared at her. "Arianne," Nymeria said slowly. "What's going on?"
"War, Nymeria." She answered simply, turning her gaze towards her two cousins. "We're going to war."