Chapter 294: Sorcery
In a quiet room, Samwell and Melisandre sat facing each other.
The red-robed priestess held an oddly shaped slender vial in her hand. The bottle's mouth quivered slightly as if something inside was trying to break free.
As Melisandre chanted a strange incantation, silver-white flames suddenly erupted from the bottle's mouth, blooming like a flower.
"Your Grace, please extend your hand."
Samwell opened his left hand, and Melisandre immediately turned the bottle upside down over his palm.
The silver-white fiery flower blossomed in his hand.
Even with his Unburnt trait, he still felt a faint burning sensation.
Moments later, Melisandre removed the bottle, leaving behind a silver-white hexagonal flower imprint on Samwell's palm, resembling a tattoo etched into his skin.
At the same time, the eerie phenomena caused by his surging mental attribute eased significantly.
The strange whispers from the void faded, growing quieter until they were almost inaudible.
"This seal will temporarily shield you from the interference of the Elemental Sea," Melisandre explained.
Samwell traced the mark on his palm curiously and asked, "The Elemental Sea? What is that?"
"It is the source of a sorcerer's power," Melisandre replied, "but also the source of danger and temptation."
Samwell remained silent, quietly waiting for her to elaborate.
"The extraordinary powers we wield all originate from the Elemental Sea. It is an unknown force in the void, brimming with elements of wind, fire, water, earth, light, shadow, lightning, and more. These elements are wild and perilous.
"Mortals with certain gifts can disturb the Elemental Sea and borrow a minute fraction of its power, which we call sorcery.
"My control and use of fire, for example, are based on the fire elements within the Elemental Sea."
Hearing this, Samwell thought of the concept of the Magic Tide and speculated that it might be some fluctuation within the Elemental Sea.
Archmaester Marwyn had mentioned that the gods were prisoners trapped within the Magic Tide. Perhaps this meant they were entities confined to the Elemental Sea, only able to influence the physical world intermittently as its patterns ebbed and flowed.
Melisandre continued, "I initially learned sorcery at the Red Temple in Asshai, where I was taught that the Red God, R'hllor, was the master of fire elements and the ruler of light and shadow. We prayed to Him in every spell, believing only through His power could mortals access the Elemental Sea.
"But now, I suspect this may have been a lie."
Her gaze momentarily flickered with confusion, though she quickly regained her composure.
"After my act of sacrilege, the Lord of Light, R'hllor, has abandoned me. My prayers are no longer answered, and I can no longer see visions in the flames. I thought I had lost all connection to the Elemental Sea. But that was not the case.
"It is true that I can no longer use certain spells, but not all. My power has diminished but not disappeared entirely.
"This shows that R'hllor is not truly the master of the fire elements, nor the ruler of light and shadow.
"He is merely..."
She trailed off, unable to finish the thought, as if unwilling to confront the collapse of her long-held beliefs.
"A liar," Samwell said coldly, completing her sentence without hesitation. "Perhaps all the gods are liars. They're nothing more than powerful sorcerers trapped in the Elemental Sea, fundamentally no different from mortals."
"Perhaps…" Melisandre sighed deeply, then straightened herself. "Your Grace, let us begin your initiation into sorcery."
"Alright."
"You have the Unburnt trait and can ride dragons, so I suggest you start with fire magic."
"That's fine." Samwell was unconcerned about delving into R'hllor's domain, even feeling a rebellious thrill at the prospect.
Melisandre retrieved an ancient scroll and unrolled it.
The parchment was densely covered with twisted runes that seemed to flicker and dance like flames.
"Your Grace, please repeat after me."
---
"The blood oranges have ripened."
In the Water Gardens of Sunspear, Princess Arianne Martell spoke in a weary voice.
For a moment, she felt uncannily like her father, Prince Doran Martell.
Ripe oranges had fallen to the garden floor, splitting open and spilling blood-red juice. Their intense sweetness quickly filled the air.
Nymeria Sand approached hurriedly, her footsteps quick and purposeful. "Princess, you must address Lord Anders. The things he's been saying in the city are highly offensive and will severely damage House Martell's reputation."
"I understand," Arianne replied, her thoughts snapping back into focus. "Go tell Lord Anders that I will meet him in the Old Palace. If he has grievances, he can voice them directly to me."
"Yes, Your Highness."
After Nymeria departed, Arianne continued to stare at the scattered blood oranges.
She still found it hard to believe the news that Anders had brought back:
Her father had failed.
In her mind, Prince Doran had always seemed nearly infallible.
No matter how dire the situation, he would always find a way to navigate through it.
But now, Prince Doran himself had become a prisoner of Samwell.
And Arianne, by default, had become the ruler of Dorne.
Once, she had yearned for this title. Yet now that she had it, she found the crushing weight of responsibility suffocating.
She had to face harsh realities, make decisions for Dorne's future, and endure the overwhelming pressure of it all.
But she also knew she had no choice.
As the prince's eldest daughter, she was the rightful heir to Dorne under its succession laws.
Splat.
Another blood orange fell to the ground, its blood-red juice oozing out.
Arianne knew it was time to act.
She changed into formal attire—a black gown paired with a sapphire headband—and rode her father's palanquin, escorted by a retinue of guards, away from the Water Gardens.
Following the coastal road south, Arianne soon reached Sunspear.
The city was just as she remembered: bustling, noisy, and sweltering.
The guards had been alerted in advance, so when her entourage arrived, the triple gates were already open, granting them direct access to the Old Palace.
Pulling back the curtain of the palanquin, Arianne glimpsed the tall Spear Tower and the gathered crowds lining the streets.
"Make way for Princess Arianne!" the guards shouted, driving back the onlookers.
But the people still called out:
"We don't want war!" an old woman shrieked.
"Redeem our lord!" a knight banged his shield.
"We need food, not prisoners!" cried a mother cradling her infant.
A rock suddenly flew toward the palanquin but missed Arianne.
The guards urged her to lower the curtain.
She hesitated, scanning the crowd for the person who had thrown the stone, but quickly gave up.
There were too many faces, all of them etched with anger—anger directed at House Martell.
Someone must have incited them! Anders Yronwood was sowing discord!
Arianne felt a surge of frustration. She should have dealt with this sooner. She shouldn't have let that Anders spread his toxic words unchecked.
But she also knew that Anders alone couldn't stir up such widespread unrest.
This fury stemmed from years of disappointment with House Martell.
One battlefield defeat after another, the deaths of soldiers, knights, and even princes—all of it had left Dornish hearts burning with rage.
They craved revenge, but Prince Doran had let them down yet again.
Though Doran had captured the Stormlanders, they were as much a burden as they were a bargaining chip.
A heavy burden.
Even with the Reach supplying cheap grain, feeding so many prisoners had only worsened Dorne's already crippled economy.
Food prices in Sunspear continued to rise. Beggars and refugees crowded the streets. And the people's resentment toward House Martell had reached a breaking point, exploding in the wake of the Bloodstone Isle fiasco.
Thud.
Another object struck the palanquin—this time, a tomato.
Arianne lowered the curtain and sat back.
Finally, under the protection of the guards, the palanquin entered the castle. The iron gates clanged shut, sealing the noise and chaos outside.
Dismounting from the palanquin, Arianne greeted Ser Manfrey Martell, the acting castellan.
"The situation is dire, Princess," Manfrey said. "Earl Anders has gathered a considerable following—"
"I know," Arianne interrupted. "I will handle it."
She climbed the long stone steps of the Spear Tower, entering the large circular hall beneath its dome.
Two chairs sat on the dais. One bore the golden spear sigil of House Martell, and the other was adorned with the sun emblem of the Rhoynar.
When Queen Nymeria had led her fleet across the Narrow Sea, the sun banner had flown on her ships.
Arianne seated herself in the sun-marked chair.
Imagining how the legendary Rhoynish Queen posture when she sat here, and tried to make herself look more majestic.
There were dozens of knights from various Dornish Houses standing in the audience, led by Earl Anders of House Yronwood.
Princess Arianne had never liked the Lord of the Boneway, but she had to admit that the House Yronwood was a powerful house with great influence in Dorne.
"Lord Anders, are you here in Sunspear as Caesar's messenger?"
(End of Chapter)