Chapter Text
Jon Snow beheld a sight he never expected to see. The massive, ship-like seat of House Martell towered over the city built around it. Unlike in the North where the colours rarely strayed from dark to light grey or the greens of the forest, the walls, towers and houses here were made in all hues of sand. There was not a single straight line to be found as the castle town of Sunspear clung to the hills and crags it was built upon, giving it a natural sense of organised chaos. Spots of green dotted the city, unusual shrubs and trees were unlike anything he had seen before. They reminded him of small plants breaking through seemingly invulnerable stone floors.
Jon had been all but set to join the Nights Watch when a fever delayed his departure. He had planned on going with his uncle Benjen, but his father insisted that he recover for a fortnight at least, before he was allowed to ride north. By the time he was well enough to leave his bed again, Lady Stark had left and gone to King's Landing. Robb had talked him into staying at his side, at least until his mother returned. But she never came back, instead a raven had arrived from the capital, telling a tale of treason and delivering the same demand that had begun Robert's Rebellion.
Even when Robb called the banners and they went to war together, Jon never imagined they'd reach Dorne. The Riverlands obviously, perhaps even the Vale, and then witness the end of the war when they'd storm King's Landing. Yet, here he was, looking over the side of a carrack as it sailed the last mile into Sunspear, the war still raging in now distant lands.
Robb had spoken to him about the importance of finding allies due to common enemies. The Martell had every reason to hate Lannister and Baratheon, so the hope laid in convincing and swaying them to their side. Holding the knife in the back, a poisoned spear. No matter the cost. There wasn't a price too high to deliver justice for their father.
It had been a long journey, first aboard a ship bound for the Arbor, where they paid the captain with a sack of Lannister gold to make the detour to Starfall. Jon was travelling with two men from Winterfell, for secrecy and caution were a better shield when travelling in strange lands. Donnel had been part of his father's guard when King Robert called the banners, a grizzled man with little hair and a few streaks of grey in his brown beard. He thought that he had seen the last of war and opened a tavern in Wintertown, but when his son was called to arms, he donned his old gambeson and went in his stead. The other, Larence, had come from a small village a day from Winterfell and showered valour at the Green Fork, rallying the men to hold a small stream that the Lannister outriders had wanted to cross. His bravery had cost him a finger, but Larence japed that he still had two more than the Greatjon.
The Swiftness had been a misnamed vessel, a fat cog that followed the coasts of the West for a month to avoid any Ironborn raiders. They stopped in many ports, and while that meant fresh food and water throughout the journey, it slowed their pace to a crawl. Jon never left the ship and the customs inspectors only had eyes for the timber and ale in the hold. During that time, the three men mastered every game of dice and cards in the Seven Kingdoms, yet they still had time to be bored. At the mouth of the Torrentine, he had to wait almost a week before the Cormorant left towards Sunspear, and then they had to contend with unfavourable winds for a fortnight until a rain shower swept the skies. A steady breeze helped the carrack to make up for lost time and finish its dash into the Dornish capital, but all that time lost made Jon wonder what had changed in the world. At Starfall they had learned of a great battle beneath the Walls of King's Landing, and while the news of Stannis' defeat could probably be trusted, sailor talk about great houses and marriage alliances was less certain. When one seaman tells a truth, it will be spun into a tale on each retelling. By the time the tale left the city, one foe will have become three, and by the time the story reached around the Arm of Dorne, a tavern brawl will be the Dance of Dragons come again. As much as the little shit Joffrey would have liked it, Jon doubted that he could take two wives like the Conqueror.
The harbour they sailed into was not massive, certainly not akin to the tales the Manderlys had told about their seat, but still larger than the trading post he had sailed from. The air was hot, and not even the strong breeze managed to make it bearable. Ghost was curled up behind a large sack and did not even raise his head as the ship was pulled against the pier and the lines were secured. He asked a customs official about the Prince of Dorne, but was told that he was not in the city. Instead, his daughter was hearing petitions since Prince Oberyn had left, and if he had any business with Dorne, he should seek her out in the morning. Perhaps had he arrived on a Northern ship, one of the new galleys building in White Harbour, his reception would have gone better.
Still, the change in schedule left Jon with a very welcome respite to get used to the dry heat of the desert. The streets and paths throughout the town were full of people, and although they spoke the common tongue, their accents made it hard to understand the titbits of conversation he heard in passing. There was a public bathhouse that came with the recommendation of his ship's captain, not far from the harbour. It would have shocked a true noble, but as a baseborn son, he was used to spending time with servants rather than sitting at the high table. A proper bath was a godsend after the many weeks at sea.
The water was not as cool as he would have liked, while the suspicious eyes that followed him recognised him as an outsider. Some took note and lingered on the scar that ran up his left arm; a parting gift from Jaime Lannister. Yet not even the seven heavens could have been a greater pleasure than to soak in the bath and then experience the attentions of a groom who made him look respectable again.
With the war raging, a scare like his promised a tale, yet no one asked for the story. In the bathhouse, he was just an idle curiosity, some Northern by-blow, whether a merchant or a sellsword. It was oddly liberating to not be recognised as Ned Stark's son, to just fade into the background, into the mass of people going on with their lives. This suited Jon well, it avoided the wrong kind of attention, although the gazes coming from some of the womenfolk was as shocking as their nudity. While not the first time he had seen a woman naked, and even the concept of shared baths was not foreign to him, Dorne remained a strange place. The hot springs at Winterfell had men and women naked near each other, but with many small pools, there was still a separation, and there was a custom to avert one's eyes when someone left the water. Here, men and women alike walked through the steamy chambers and shared baths as the Gods had made them. Yet, despite the things he had been told about what went on in the far South, despite the songs and bawdy japes, there was none of the debauchery he had been imagining he would encounter, no public rutting or indecency. Be it in the steam rooms, or the large bath.
As Jon abandoned his observations, he gathered his things and made his way out of the bathhouse, feeling refreshed when the hot air touched his skin outside. Looking himself over, he determined that he couldn't continue standing out in his heavy clothes and there was now a need for new fittings; preferably fabrics that worked better with the local weather. His eyes fell on a tailor not far from where he stood. Unlike on the ship, he could forgo neither shirt nor doublet at court, he was here to negotiate an alliance that could decide their war against the Lannisters. A lot hinged on him not making any mistakes.
The next morning, Jon climbed the many steps leading up to the Sandship and found himself at the end of a long line of people. Most looked like merchants, many of whom clutched their ledgers or parchments. Suddenly, Robb's letter in his hand didn't look out of place. The loose white shirt he wore certainly proved its worth as he waited for more than an hour before being admitted, but the doublet with the grey direwolf made him feel like a log in a campfire. He was led through a twisting maze of corridors before reaching a second line. This time, he could not see the sun to judge how much time had passed before a guard came for him. Jon was asked to disarm, he agreed and undid his sword belt without complaint. His father never deemed that a necessity for his reputation protected him better than any company of personal guards would. As a veteran of numerous wars and liege lord of the North, drawing steel in his presence meant certain wisdom was all that was needed to keep the peace at Winterfell.
He was given bread and salt as well as a cup of water with a strange fruit in it before a pair of guards led him in front of a podium. The men eyed him with curiosity but did not reach for their weapons. The windows of the hall were darkened out, and only a few gaps in the heavy curtains let light through. The resulting rays only shone light along the carpeted path across the room, reminding Jon of one of the septs he had seen in Riverrun. In the middle of it stood a raised platform, but instead of an altar, a large throne towered on top. Its massive bulk made the Princess sitting there look even smaller.
"You are addressing the Princess Arianne of the House Nymeros Martel, foreigner, state your business," the seneschal boomed, and a collection of low nobles and merchants from the town eyed him with curiosity. No matter who he was, his coat of arms meant this would be more interesting than the twelfth case of business associates fighting over gold. "State your name and business!"
Jon had seen petitions many times, but it was the first time he was on this side of the experience. When he stepped forth, the Princess looked less bored than before, something that had to be a good sign. He decided to err on the side of caution, bowed his head and went through the motions he had learned alongside his brother. Standing back straight, he tried to sound both friendly and official.
"My name is Jon Snow, I am an envoy for my brother, Robb Stark, King of the North and the Trident. He wishes to establish peaceful relations with Dorne and House Nymeros Martell."
For a moment, absolute silence reigned supreme, before seemingly every courtier wanted to make his voice heard. All but one, as the Princess sat atop her throne and watched the spectacle with bemusement. A blonde woman whispered something into her ear, but she shook her head and gestured for Jon to approach.
The Princess was wearing a sinful orange dress that looked as if it was one move away from slipping off, from her ample bosom spilling out. Several fine, thin golden chains adorned her neck and wrists, a circlet sat atop her curly black hair. Compared to the Lannister Queen and her royal daughter, Arianne looked less regal, but had an air of danger that carried its own charm. She, undoubtedly was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. For one moment too long, his eyes lingered on her, and in response, a small smile appeared on her lips. Snapping out of his stupor, Jon stepped forwards and handed her Robb's letter.
She eyed the crowned direwolf seal for a moment, before she pulled a recurve dagger seemingly out of thin air and sliced it open. The blade was short and, unusually, curved with the edge on the inside. It was difficult to tell in the dim light of the room, but Jon thought that he saw the flowing ripples of Valyrian steel. She quickly read the message before passing it to her advisor and standing up, which shut the court up.
"King Robb Stark seeks an alliance with the Principality of Dorne. He repeats Lord Stannis' claim about the parentage of King Joffrey, Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen. He claims the Lannisters had his father killed for knowing and exposing this truth. The Crown would have us reject this claim and denounce you as traitors for which the punishment is death," the Princess announced to the entire hall before once again, a storm of voices broke loose. Jon wanted to speak up, to defend his brother, but something in the dark eyes of the Princess told him that she was not done yet, that she enjoyed the outrage.
"Silence!" the seneschal commanded followed by a sudden dead quiet. Clearly, he was familiar with the way the Princess held court, for she had not lifted a single finger.
"Jon Snow, you shall keep your head, for you are your father's son. A long time ago, he was the only one who spoke out against the wrongs committed against my aunt and cousins. The only rebel with honour. The Baratheons gained the crown. Hoster Tully had his rivals crushed and found good marriages for his daughters. Jon Arryn ruled for four and ten years. But what did Eddard Stark gain? A dead father, a dead brother and a dead sister. When Robert paid no heed to his outrage about my kin, he left for he would be no part in the murder of women and children. That is why House Martell will consider this letter, for it shall not be said that Dorne forgets."
There was another commotion, but this time the crowd was not as hostile as before. However, having bowed, now Jon was close enough to hear the princess talk to her advisor.
" – we have been waiting for. Find the King's brother some quarters befitting of his station. In the Sandship, we do not want any incident with Ser Arys. And make sure he has a meal."
"Follow me," the blonde woman said and moved towards a small door. Jon bowed his head again in gratitude and left after a last glance at the Princess. Only after he stepped through the side door, he realised that Arianne had referred to his brother as King while not giving Stannis the same courtesy. Perhaps this journey would not be a waste after all.
The sun had already set when Jon was summoned by a servant and led through the winding corridors of the Sandship before he found himself in a small, torchlit garden. Woven into an alcove of the exterior wall, it allowed a handful of palm trees to form an arch that led towards the sea. Sitting in between two shrubs was Princess Arianne, but she paid him no heed and held up one of the many pink blossoms that sprouted from the shrub that stood twice as high as she did.
Jon stepped forward and down the stairs when he heard the servant close the door, leaving them seemingly alone. The noise also made the Princess turn with an unreadable expression. "The desert rose, a plant that symbolises Dorne like few others. Beautiful, but also poisonous. Grow a shrub in your garden, and you will have a sea of pretty flowers, but should you coat your arrows in its sap, your foes will die even if the arrow only scratched them."
Fixing Jon with her dark eyes, she stepped forwards until they were face to face, and he could smell the scent of orchids and oranges coming from her. "When the dragons came, your ancestors kneeled before them. King Torrhen looked at Aegon's dragons and decided that he would rather lose his crown than the head it sat upon. But not Dorne. We were invaded many times, armies sacked our towns and castles, put our people to the sword, and yet we fought on. The deserts swallowed those same armies, and from the lowliest camp followers to Kings and Queens, they all found their end here. Even a kinsman of yours died with the Young Dragon, just over the hill there. So tell me, what could the North offer us?"
"We have the Lannisters on the back foot. The same Lannisters who are responsible for the deaths of your aunt and cousins, who tried to kill my little brother twice." Jon said and felt his passions rising. "They began this war when they sent the Mountain to set the Riverlands ablaze. We crushed two of their armies, we slew Jaime Lannister, and we repaid them in kind. While Tywin was cowering in Harrenhal, we sacked the towns, villages and castles of his bannermen."
"When I heard about the death of Jaime Lannister, I rejoiced. While his father's men sacked the city and committed unspeakable crimes, he sat on the Iron Throne after killing his King. Even if the Mad King had to die, that made Aegon the new Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. But where was the Kingsguard when Lannister men scoured the Red Keep with swords in hand? Three were hiding here in Dorne, of the three at the Trident, Darry and my uncle died sword in hand while the other turned his cloak. But Jaime Lannister was right there. He could have saved Elia if he had a shed of honour, instead he waited on Aegon's chair while his namesake was murdered in front of the Queen Mother, who then was raped," Arianne said sharply, a strong contrast to her soft curves.
She might've looked like a sinful temptress, but her passionate hatred exposed a darker side, one that would not hesitate to plunge a dagger into your heart when you least expected it. Not a knife in the back, she'd take pleasure from watching your life seep through her fingers as she looked into your eyes. "I have heard tales about his death, each more outlandish than the other. That your brother turned into a wolf and ate him, or sacrificed him in an unholy ritual to the Old Gods. The Walls of Riverrun were covered by his entrails, for that is the price for pagan magic. So tell me, how did he die?"
"My brother split his forces and took our horse to Riverrun while the foot continued down the King's Road. We set a trap in the Whispering Wood, and the Blackfish lured the Lannister outriders into our ambush. The Kingslayer led them but he quickly realised his mistake, so he went for Robb. Probably hoped to kill him, or take him as hostage. He noticed the trap he had ridden into, and realised that he only had one way out, one way to save his army. A cornered animal is at its most dangerous when it realises it cannot flee. No one could stop him. Torrhen Karstark tried and lost his head. Dacey Mormont had her horse killed under her. I knew that I stood no chance, but I had to try – for my brother," Jon explained and swallowed, memories of that dark forest come back like a spring flood. His shield had cracked under the Kingslayer's onslaught – then he was unhorsed and hit the ground hard enough to be confused for a heartbeat, the smell of dirt, mud and blood. "We fought ahorse, then on foot. My sword shattered eventually, so I lunged at him. It wasn't enough, but then he paused to say something about my father. That's when Ghost jumped on him from behind. Grey Wind joined out of nowhere, and before we could call them off they had torn apart his face and throat."
"The rumours were true then. Your wolves fight alongside you in battle," Arianne said, her voice more husky than before. "Do you ride them?"
Jon couldn't help but smile at her keen eyes. "No, they are too small yet, but there are legends of the Starks of old having ridden their direwolves into battle. One legend even mentions a war sled pulled by a score of direwolves in a battle against the Umbers."
The Princess leaned back again and rested her head on her palm. "The harbour master would disagree on their size. I've been told your wolf is already larger than a horse."
He nodded knowingly, agreeing with her words. "They have grown incredibly fast, large enough to kill a man with ease. But I think it is better to keep them at your side than try to stay on one when they leap twenty feet," Jon pointed out with a chuckle at the thought.
"From the tales I have heard, I was expecting a bloodthirsty monster, yet my guards say your wolf is better behaved than any dog they ever saw."
"Ghost understands who is a threat, all our wolves do. I can introduce you, if you wish so, Princess."
A wide smile appeared on her face with lively enthusiasm, that she had until now kept under wraps. "I would love to meet the beast that felled the Kingslayer," Arianne said, and her voice sounded more alluring than he had imagined possible. "Do your other siblings have wolves as well?"
"Yes, even Rickon who is too young to train his wolf properly. And my sisters – we never learned the details, but my sister Arya and Joffrey got into a fight and Nymeria, Arya's wolf, bit the Prince. When they couldn't find her wolf afterwards, the Queen had Sansa's wolf killed instead."
The Princess allowed a frown to mar her face, her lips forming a mean sneer. "From what I have heard about the usurper's wife, that does not surprise me," Arianne hissed, before she turned towards Jon, her voice thoughtful. "Why did your sister name her wolf after my ancestor?"
"She always loved the story of Nymeria and the ten thousand ships. She wanted to be a warrior princess herself, at least until we told her that a princess has to marry a prince. Then she just wanted to be a warrior."
She chuckled and stepped closer. "That was well done, and might even be the truth," the Princess said and ran her hand over Jon's left arm, leaving goose bumps in her wake despite the heat. "The art of negotiations is to tell the other side what they want to hear. And the picture of revenge you paint is tempting. I have been yearning for it for as long as you draw breath. If vengeance were a man, I would chain him to my bed and ride him until his heart gave out, until his manhood would never stiffen again. But the truth is often different. You say that you have the Lannisters reeling, yet they held almost half of the Riverlands, and when they were driven back, they put the land to the torch. They allied themselves with the Reach, and the hundred thousand swords House Tyrell can muster. And amongst the captains down in the harbour, there are rumours about Ironborn raiders in the North. One even claimed that they took your ancient fortress."
"We are no strangers to the Ironborn, but they do not have the strength to cause serious harm. A nuisance for our fishers, little more, I am sure," Jon replied and shook his head. Reavers taking the Moat when it had stood unconquered for eight millennia; the thought was ludicrous.
"So you say, and we shall see," Arianne said and turned towards the sea, barely visible in the pale twilight. Beneath them, the people of Sunspear wove through the narrow alleys of the shadow city, far more than Jon had seen on his way up during the morning. The breeze was pleasantly cool now, and carried with it a salty scent. "I sent your letter to my father. I hope that we can reach an agreement soon. Anything that weakens the Lannisters is worth pursuing."
The sun rose early, but with nothing to do but wait for Prince Doran's return, Jon decided to lay down for a few more hours after the long journey. Only when the sun was high in the sky, did he ask to be shown to the yard. As it turned out, despite its size, the Sandship was not the residence of House Martell, but little more than a storehouse. It was in better shape than the First Keep in Winterfell, other than the reception hall, a few servants were the only ones about. He soon realised that training at noon had been a stupid idea, and when the heat forced him to take his shirt off, the sun roasted him badly. If he had to fight in the burning deserts of Dorne, he would melt away as fast as the Lannister footmen he rode down at Oxcross.
After a quick bath, Jon left his quarters and went out to stroll between the many stands and shops within the bazaars for which the Shadowcity was famous for. He knew the market in Wintertown, he helped Arya sneak out there many times, but the bazaars here were a whole other new world. There was almost no meat sold, many of the fruits and vegetables looked strange. He recognised some of the luxuries his father had shipped North, but given the abundance of oranges, lemons and limes, they were affordable to many here. There were far fewer ironwares on display, and the artful woodcarvings so common in his homeland were nowhere to be found. The air was heavy with sweet and savoury scents, and the mountains of spices on display looked fantastical to him.
Since he would be staying, Jon decided to purchase more clothes, both for when he had to visit the court of Dorne, and for when he was out in the heat of the desert sun. The styles were all foreign to him, but he found a greyed old man who was selling the works of his wife and daughters. The tailor clearly had an eye for his clients; he did not even need to take out his measuring tape to find the shirts, vests, doublets and pants that would fit Jon. He promised the direwolf crest would be stitched onto the vests when he returned the next day. It felt queer to wear the Stark colours with a grey wolf on white rather than the reverse, and it stung that he was only allowed to do so because he was acting in his brother's stead, in his King's name.
Due to the heat, even commoners purchased oils and ointments to put on themselves. Some protected against the scorching sun, others simply smelled nice. Jon ended up buying a small pot filled with the clear, slimy juice of a desert plant he had never heard of mixed with limes and dried tree bark. He was representing a King, and even if his brother was not as vain as the Lannisters they were fighting, he could not give the impression that he was some savage that might as well be from the other side of the Wall. The wooden chest he had taken from the treasury of Ashenmark was meant to last him for this journey, and although he spent enough silver to buy a horse, that only amounted to two golden Dragons.
His purchases in hand, Jon walked down to the harbour where the two guards from Winterfell had rented a room in a tavern. Donnel and Larence were keeping an eye on Ghost, but given the Princess' interest, he decided to bring his wolf up to the Sandship. There he would have more space, and given how empty the castle was, be less likely to run into someone. His men would certainly appreciate the freedom to spend their coin on mead and whores without the wolf to look after.
The next day, he was joined by Arianne just as the sun passed its zenith. He was sitting under a palm tree and watched as Ghost explored the unknown land, trying to sniff every plant, tree, bug and bird. Jon had been on the verge of dozing off when the sound of footsteps made him turn around towards the arch that led to the garden. This time, the Princess wore a loose, flowing dress of blue silk, but a pair of rubies hanging from her ears were the only jewellery she wore.
"So this is the infamous beast from the North," Arianne said and held out her hand as Ghost leisurely padded over to her. Despite his size, she treated him like she would a dog. Ghost sniffed her hand and turned his head towards Jon while she ran her fingers through his fur. Happy, the wolf walked past and around her before curling up in the shade of the same tree Jon was under. "You have a flair for dramatics. Walking through the shadow city with your friend was one of the fastest ways you could have chosen to announce your presence."
"You asked to see him, Princess. I merely followed your wish."
"Yes, but I did not expect you to be so brazen about it. Even Princess Myrcella has heard about it and thinks that your wolf is truly as tame as a dog."
"You have the Lannister Princess here?" Jon wanted to know, a spike of dread shaking off the tiredness of the warm noon. It seemed that he was too late to sway the Prince of Dorne.
"She was sent here as part of her betrothal to my youngest brother, Trystane."
Dread deepened in the pit of his stomach. "You are allied with the Lannisters, then?"
If she noticed his worry, she didn't let him know. Her face remained unchanged. "Right now, all Myrcella is is a hostage for us to have," Arianne said in evasion, but she sounded happy with that situation.
He remained quiet for a moment, thinking if he should broach the issue. "Are you aware of her parentage?"
The Princess eyed him for a moment in return, seemingly weighing her words as well. A brief shrug of her shoulder gave her feelings on the subject away before she even spoke. "Truthfully, it does not matter whether she is Robert's or the Kingslayer's. Both are dead, both lost their honour the day King's Landing was sacked and for the sake of the realm, everyone will agree that the King and his siblings are not the Strong Boys come again. Stannis claimed otherwise, but Stannis lost and his claims went with him," Arianne explained and sat down next to Jon. "Truth is a helpless, old woman no one cares about. Mayhaps Stannis was right, but after he burned the Seven and used the dark arts of Asshaii to slay his brother, it was best that he lied. Your brother, on the other hand, is a much more difficult quandary."
"How so?" Jon asked. The Princess clearly had a more nuanced understanding of right and wrong and as such she was an interesting enigma. And listen he should, if he could ever hope to find a way to sway Dorne.
"The son fighting to avenge his father's murder against all odds is a much better tale than the King's younger brother denouncing his nephews and demanding the Crown for himself. Fighting side-by-side with his bastard brother and beasts from legends, outsmarting opponents much older and wiser. Were this war a fairytale, you would have been a turncoat and a heroic knight would save the day. Instead, you slew a false knight together and travelled to an unknown land, throwing yourself at the mercy of strangers," Arianne said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper in the last sentence. Despite her petite size, the Princess had an aura of danger, and Jon shivered once again. He has heard songs and tales about Dornish women, but those had not prepared him at all. Arianne might be as pretty as the Dornishman's wife from songs, but no matter how distracting the low cut of her dress was, he knew that he should not even dream about her. So close, and yet unattainable. Despite this, it looked as if he could see her nipples if only the fabric moved by a hair's width and –
He twitched and forced his eyes to focus on the sea beyond and beneath the garden. "I would never betray my brother. We were raised together and only ever fought in the yard – or with sticks in the Godswood. Long before I understood why people treated us differently, I hated them, but not him. His mother told him to stay away from me, but Robb never listened. He is my brother, after all."
"I wish that all brothers shared your view on that matter, regardless if they were born to their father's highborn wife or his paramour. Unfortunately, many men are weak. Weak in body and weak in conviction. Cowards, like my father's advisors or the Tyrells who keep Joffrey on the Conqueror's throne. They have the might to stand on their own and none could challenge them. The host of Highgarden would have swept the Westerlands like a summer storm. And yet, they cower before the Lions like roaches before the light. Mace does not have the manhood to rule."
"My Princess?" Jon asked, taken aback again by the venom in her voice. He had thought that she accepted the Lannister king, even if only begrudgingly.
"I think my father is stalling for time. My uncle Oberyn left for King's Landing to attend the Royal Wedding there. More importantly, he is trying to gauge the strength of the alliance between the Lannisters and House Tyrell. It is their might, their swords, that keep Joffrey on Aegon's throne, their grain that feeds the capital. A bold man would have used the opportunity," she replied, sounding deflated. "I fear that you will not get an answer to your brother's request before my uncle returns. Dorne cannot act against the Lannisters if they cower behind the Reach."
He knew he let it show but he couldn't help but deflate at her words. "So I lost time coming here?"
Her eyes offered nothing more than an honest, even look. She was neither optimistic nor overly concerned about his question. "If you wish a favourable outcome, you will have to be patient. If you wish your brother's offer to be rejected, that can happen much sooner," Arianne said and, after petting Ghost one last time, left Jon alone with his thoughts.
"I see."