The Old Palace
Late 276 Spring
"How does a disagreement about art lead to us getting invited to a palace?" Ulfric questioned as the poor horse under me struggled to take me up the Old Palace of House Martell
"When dealing with other noble houses, obligation, legacy, destiny, pride, passion, vice, love, and habit all measure as weights upon a scale for whether a thing is to happen or to not happen." I told him, "And for each person and each situation in that person's life, the amount each weighs and which side of the scale they lay on changes. Knowledge of how these factors weigh to a person and how a situation can shift those weights, is a form of power coveted by all and possessed by few."
"That's… a lot to remember." Ulfric frowned, "So do you know why we got invited to the palace?"
"No." I answered.
Princess Elia, who rode next to me on this trip to the palace, began laughing.
"If you don't know why we are doing something, then why are we doing it." Ulfric asked as he briefly fumbled with the reigns of his sand steed.
The sand steed, much like the Arabian Horse back on earth, is considered the most beautiful breed of horses. Personally I find a well groomed and conditioned destrier to be of equal aesthetic value, but also possessing that oh so important feature that separates the great from the ordinary: girth. The horse huffing and puffing beneath me truly wished I was less great.
"Not knowing the why of another person's actions should never stop you from taking your own. Many times in your life you will not know important information, but you must make the best decision you can. If not knowing critical information causes you great anxiety, then your rule of our lands will be a terrible thing for you. You must become comfortable, but not complacent, in knowing what you know and accepting what you do not." If my monologue helped my son or not, I knew not.
Such is the way of things.
"While your father is in dire need of aid in forming the right opinions about art," Elia smirked at that snipe, but I wondered how much of her point of view is screwed by some personal strife with the artist, "I have invited you all to meet with my mother due to his role as a ship captain."
"You sure it's not because you're worried that he's going to create an army of women leaving Dorne for the North once he leaves?" Galmar inquired, once again asserting his place as my favorite, "From the screams it sounds like the ladies always want more. And harder, but I don't think that's a smart thing to ask of me dad. Last guy he gave it harder to looked like a horse kicked him in the head full power. Melon cracked open for the whole world to see inside."
"Galmar!" Ulfric hissed at his brother, "You're not supposed to talk about people getting their brain cases broken open in front of ladies."
"You should also not talk about your father and other women. What would your mother think of this?" Elia chided the pair.
"Oh, she hit me right in the dead mom!" Galmar cried out and I couldn't tell if the little psycho was making some kind of joke or expressing genuine emotion.
"My mom would be proud of my dad!" Ulfric exclaimed with rising confidence and volume, "He has asserted his dominance in this harsh and foriegn land! And now look at us. Riding up to this huge castle. Look at that tower! By the gods that tower is huge and is that some kind of golden spear blade on top of it? It's crazy that a people that built something like that had dominance asserted on them by one sweaty guy!"
I am not a man given to much smiling or laughter, but at that moment I was born again as a giggly little boy, laughing hysterically at the words of my sons. Through great effort and a lifetime of discipline, I managed to regain my composure before we entered the palace grounds, but I knew that one mention of 'dominance' was going to set me off again.
Our procession was led through the halls and over pale marble floors out to a private garden where a servant presented us to Princess Ibarra Martell, Princess and ruler of Dorne and mother to Doran, Elia, and Oberyn. She wore a heavier gown of yellow silk than her daughter, both in cut and due to the shining gold thread embroidered in suzani patterns throughout, mixing the prevalent sun of her house with images of the moon and flowers.
"Welcome to the Palace of House Martell, Lord Jorah Mormont." The ruling Princess greeted me as she lounged on a rattan couch with a goblet of chilled wine in hand.
"Thank you for receiving us, Princess Martell." I worked my way into the expected light bow, for a woman of higher social status than myself.
"Inform the palace staff of any of your needs, Lord Mormont. The hospitality of House Martell is open to you while you remain our guest." The Princess dismissed us by averting her gaze from me, but Elia bristled by my side.
"Mother," she called with a hint of embarrassment in her tone, "were you not asking after an unaffiliated ship captain this morning?"
"And? Is Lord Jorah not affiliated with another kingdom?" the Princess rhetorically asked of her daughter, "If he is pulled into Dornish squabbles is that not an escalation into an interkingdom incident? You must think of these things, daughter, not just jump on solutions that are at hand but come with increased risks."
"If not him, then who?" Elia insisted, "Who to trust if not a Northman?"
I personally watch Northmen closely because of that reputation of blunt and forthright honesty. It's the kind of thing that will lull you into a false sense of security, and get your family murdered at a wedding. Best to keep those thoughts to myself.
"Perhaps permit me to know of what needs doing, and allow me to accept the responsibility or not, now that I am here." I offered, "Allow my natural disagreeableness to save any arguments."
"What I require is no great task, and indeed you are conveniently positioned to aid our family." Princess Ibarra took a drink and fixed her gaze upon her daughter, "Do not believe yourself free of my displeasure should this prove an acceptable outcome, Elia."
"Of course, mother." Elia smirked as she delivered a small bow, like someone who knows that any displeasure will be a trifling matter.
Turning back to me, the Princess pursed her lips and continued, "I need my son delivered to Old Town for me. Quickly and quietly."
I considered the request and nodded, "My ship is not a comfortable passenger vessel, but I can accomplish this."
"When can you set sail?" she inquired and I responded with 'Tomorrow.' causing her to nod, "Then let it be so. I will have my son prepared for travel tonight, and he can leave with you and your sons tomorrow morning."
"We will depart at sunrise." I informed the woman, "I will deliver the prince to Old Town, but will tolerate no disorderly conduct."
"I guarantee my son's comportment." Ibarra agreed, "Oberyn shall cause no trouble while in your company."
My belief in that guarantee could fill a thimble, no more. At least not from a parenting point of view; however, Oberyn Martell put aside his base nature for almost two decades and obeyed his older brother. So while I have no faith in Ibarra Martell's capability of reigning her son in, I do believe in Oberyn Martell's capacity to act beyond himself. We'll see what I get tomorrow.
I also understood the details of this situation without further question, which means I both know what is going on and get to look like the kind of man who doesn't ask questions. My subterfuge score has divided by zero and is now undefined, broken free of all confines. I am a master of deception, truly.
Lord Yronwood had died of a wound received in a first blood duel from the newly dubbed 'Red Viper'. Officially the cause of death will be recorded as a festering of the wound, but for a powerful and wealthy Lord to die of an infected cut within his own seat of power with a certified doctor on staff… It paints a reasonable doubt on the official narrative. As such, the Princess of Dorne soft exiles her son while placating her most important vassal house. Out of sight out of mind, and as far as I know, it works.
There's a lot of sand and sea between here and Old Town, a lot of chances for 'pirates' or 'brigands' to attack travelers. Best to sneak out, and I'm willing to bet my safety that everything will go fine on this trip against a favor from House Martell. My ventures in the deep south of Westeros stand to benefit greatly from such a powerful local contact.
The boys and I got to enjoy the hospitality of House Martell for the evening and night, and I found myself preferring the hospitality of Sunspear and Planky Town, both locations only ever the right words away from an orgy. Instead I chose to withhold my cock, though a number of servants made passes at me. Best not to start my relationship with a foreign great house by impregnating the help.
Perhaps another time.
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I noticed a few people didn't understand Jorah's keen interest in art last chapter. Jorah puts his enemies, the Ironborn and Wildlings, firmly into the category of savages. Though Jorah emulates the successful practices of these groups he seeks separation from them through things such as dance, sculpture, and painting.
He's not doing this to be superficial, but because he believes that these are the delineators of worthwhile cultures versus worthless cultures. Jorah views the North, the Wildlings, and the Ironborn as worthless cultures, the three cultures that contribute to his own. As such he is once again going beyond his own borders for the solution.
Also what's important to understand is that Jorah is moving up the hierarchy of needs. Over time he's able to open up more as he is less concerned with basic survival and security. Those are the low hanging fruit of needs based drama. Jorah is moving out of level 1 and 2 drama and into level 3. Levels 1 and 2 - Physiological and Security - are never out of sight, but they can take a back seat for a time. Technically, Jorah cannot get into the forth and final level of needs based drama as he gives no fucks about what anyone else thinks of him and is unshakable in his own self esteem.
An example of 4th level needs based drama can be seen in Tyrion and Cersei, who both desperately crave Tywin's approval and destroy themselves emulating him. Almost every time Tyrion sows the seeds of his own downfall he thinks about what Tywin would do. Cersei does the same thing. Both of them don't realize that they don't have what it takes to actually be the next Twyin and that he doesn't have what it takes to love them. It's absolutely brilliant.
Needs 5-8 are not dramatic, but growth based. Jorah does a lot of these throughout the story cuz his grindset is on point. Right now Jorah is focusing on level six and this is throwing people off because of how much he focuses on level 7 - self actualization - the fulfillment of his potential.
Jorah is not a teenage protagonist in a coming of age story where he needs to save the kingdom from the evil uncle before he grows up. This is ironic because he was a teenager who came of age in this story and works actively to weaken the Others and their apocalypse. We are in year 276, A Game of Thrones starts in 298. Jorah has time to round himself out as a person.
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