“That’s Oberyn Martell.”
Arthur, standing nearby, looked up at him in confusion.
The man’s tension only deepened his own.
When the visitors finally stepped onto the deck, no one had any doubt about their identity.
Bright garments in Martell colors.
Confident, springing strides.
Oberyn Martell, brother to Prince Doran, a man both legendary and feared, stepped onto the deck as though it belonged to him.
His gold-and-red garments shimmered beneath the sunlight, decorated with intricate embroidery.
Every movement possessed the grace of a deadly predator.
Dark-haired.
Tall.
Commanding.
Arthur had never given much thought to such things before, but now he found himself thinking that this was exactly how a lord ought to look.
The newcomer surveyed the crew before fixing his gaze upon Davos.
“Davos Seaworth,” he said, curiosity and concealed menace mingling in his voice.
“A black ship upon a pale gray field, with a white bow upon the sails.
The rumors were true.
You clearly did not wish to be noticed.
Yet here you are, in Dornish waters.
Why?”
Davos stepped forward and bowed respectfully.
“Your Highness, we merely pass through on our way to fulfill orders given by the Master of Ships, Lord Stannis Baratheon.
Unfortunately, I cannot reveal our destination.
Though I was not aware that Dorne had closed its waters.”
A smile touched Oberyn’s lips.
There was no warmth in it.
“The ironborn have risen in rebellion,” he drawled, as though savoring the word.
“We have increased our patrols.
Rumor claims they burned the entire Lannister fleet at Lannisport.
A pity I did not witness it myself.
I’m certain it was a magnificent sight.”
His gaze swept across the crew, measuring their worth.
“So you have received word of the coming campaign,” Davos observed.
“Both from the Red Keep and from Balon,” Oberyn replied.
“My brother was greatly entertained by the latter.”
“In that case, your presence here means…”
“It means only that I was curious why a ship beneath black sails was lurking near our shores,” Oberyn interrupted smoothly, correctly reading the implication behind the Onion Knight’s words.
“Dorne will not fight beside cowards and child murderers.”
Suddenly the prince’s calm demeanor cracked, revealing a flash of unmistakable fury.
“But…”
“You, Davos, are said to be a man of honor,” Oberyn continued.
“Tell me, what is it like serving those who murder children and rape women?
Little Rhaenys would be about the age of that boy now.”
He gestured toward Arthur.
The boy froze in shock and confusion.
A lord had actually noticed him.
“I…
offer my condolences for your loss,” Davos replied carefully.
“But with all due respect, I serve Stannis Baratheon, not the Lannisters.”
“Ah yes.
I nearly forgot.” Oberyn chuckled. New chapters come out on g.com first.
The anger seemed gone, though Arthur could feel it lurking beneath the surface.
“The elder brother is Lord of Dragonstone.
The younger, Lord of Storm’s End.
Humiliating, is it not?”
Davos did not answer.
A tense silence hung between them until Oberyn spoke again.
“Very well.
Dorne does not involve itself in the quarrels of others.
Our spears remain free of foreign blood.
But your passage depends upon your answer to one question.”
He studied Davos intently.
“Why should I allow you to continue?”
Davos met his gaze without flinching.
“Because I am no threat to Dorne, Your Highness.
I obey my orders.
We sail to protect lands and people from the ironborn.”
Oberyn smirked.
His eyes gleamed with amusement.
“Brave words, captain.
Honest ones too.
I will grant you passage.”
His smile widened slightly.
“Only because you are Davos.
A man of honor, by all accounts.
As is your liege lord.”
Then his expression hardened.
“Unlike your king.”
He practically spat the word.
One final mocking glance swept over the grim-faced sailors.
Then the prince turned away and returned to his boat with effortless grace.
His retinue followed.
Only when they had sailed a safe distance away did the crew finally feel the storm pass.
The sailors exhaled and hurried back to raising the sails.
A gloomy Davos disappeared into his cabin.
At last Arthur turned to the second boatswain.
“What was he talking about?”
“Not a pleasant story, lad.”
“Oh, come on, Ray.
I want to know.
Why did he point at me?
And who was Rhaenys?”
Ray remained silent for a long while.
He seemed reluctant to answer at all.
Finally, after meeting Arthur’s stubborn gaze, he sighed.
“All right, cabin boy.
But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He stared toward the horizon, where the Dornish ship had become little more than a distant silhouette.
“Rhaenys was a little princess.
Heir to the throne.
Her father was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.
Her mother was Elia Martell, Oberyn’s own sister.
During Robert Baratheon’s Rebellion, the Lannisters decided to join Robert’s side.
He hesitated.
The words seemed difficult to speak.
“They wiped out Rhaegar’s entire family.
Ser Gregor Clegane raped and murdered Elia.
Rhaenys…”
His voice dropped lower.
“She was only three years old.
They spared neither her nor her brother Aegon.
Oberyn has hated the Lannisters ever since.
And anyone connected to them.”
Arthur felt his stomach tighten.
He stared down at the deck boards as though they might somehow provide answers.
He had never heard of such monstrous injustice.
Why had the guilty gone unpunished?
And could a knight truly commit such horrors?
He voiced the question aloud.
“Life isn’t fair, lad.”
Ray ruffled Arthur’s hair.
“Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch serve Tywin Lannister.
And Tywin always pays his debts.
Ask me no more.
You’ll understand when you’re older.”
Arthur frowned.
He had far more questions than answers.
And he still could not forget what he had once witnessed in the Red Keep.
“All right.
Then why did he point at me?” he asked.
Ray shrugged and gave him an amused look.
“Who knows, Arkt?
Maybe you happened to be standing there.
You’re about the same age.
Maybe you reminded him of someone.”
He scratched his beard thoughtfully.
“They say all the Targaryens had silver hair and purple eyes, but the Martells are different.
You know, if a man looked closely enough, you could pass for some lord’s bastard.
You’re far too pretty for your own good.”
The words stunned Arthur.
He did not know who his parents were.
Truthfully, he had never thought much about it.
Well, not much.
Septa Unella, who had always treated him a little better than the other children, had told him that he had been left at the orphanage deliberately.
Which meant someone had abandoned him.
All they had left him was a name and the surname Snow, a permanent reminder of his birth.
“Though,” Ray added with a laugh, “you look far too much like a northman for that to be true.
Now quit wagging your tongue, cabin boy.
The deck won’t scrub itself.”
A/N:
While everyone else is waiting for updates, com / Captain_Lag (remove the spaces)