GOT : Chapter 32

( Arianne )

Arianne brought a glass of wine to her lips as she sunk into her seat.

She would need it for what was about to come.

The days she had spent in the Water Gardens recently hadn't been as joyful as the ones she'd spent there as a child, that was for sure.

Between her feeling more like a prisoner there than she'd ever been in Sunspear, and Tyene's presence not being able to lift her spirits.

The good news though, was that she felt like she was improving. She was gaining knowledge about Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms that she'd never learnt of before. And with every lesson, she felt like she was inching closer to a distant dream of maybe reclaiming her place as heir.

It was a fickle hope, she knew, but one nonetheless.

No man was perfect, and one day Quentyn was bound to make a mistake. He had already done so in the past. As had she. It was that mistake that united them, the famous Martell hot blood.

Her father's hot blood had made him defy his mother and marry the woman that he loved, while her uncle's rashness nearly caused a civil war in Dorne. Gods only knew what her aunt Elia had done as well.

And that hot-bloodedness manifested itself in a Martell again on that day.

She continued to slowly drink from the cup, enjoying the taste of the Dornish red to the last drop, and placed the now empty container on a small table next to her.

She then thought about when she'd heard the news. That her brother had been the target of an assassination.

Her heart had sunk then, but a little piece of her was glad, and the fickle hope sparked once more.

She hated it when that part of her was brought to the surface, and did her best to push it down to the darkest depths of her being.

Quentyn, though, was as tough as their father, and lived. Thank the gods. What had broken her, though, was the revelation that the men who ordered the assassination had done it for her.

She couldn't believe it. How could Garin, Gerold and Drey think that getting rid of Quentyn, her brother, would help in any way? Actually, had they planned to tell her at all?

She had no news of the plot, and told both her father and uncle as much.

Tyene though…she'd been aware.

Well, slightly, anyways. After the attempt on Quentyn's life, Tyene had confessed that Drey and Garin had talked to her about getting rid of Quentyn, but she did not take it seriously. And Quentyn nearly died because of it.

The only thing that stopped her from being with the accused was her uncle's protection, and manoeuvring to ensure that it wouldn't happen.

Her father had been furious, and as had she. Furious at her friends for having gone through with killing her brother. Furious at Tyene for not telling her of that mad plan. And finally mad at Quentyn for condemning himself to death.

Her brother had escaped death twice already. Once by Daemon's blade, and the second from an assassin's. Now he would die to the third.

Why?

Why did Quentyn's pride have to take over? Oberyn held the accusation, and Quentyn could've let either him or Ser Archibald Yronwood deal with Darkstar. It would have been quick.

But no.

Instead, he had to speak up and try and get personal revenge.

She shook her head. Quentyn had inherited his father's lack of emotion, and probably his brains, but something he lacked was tact and diplomacy. While she would always be soft-spoken and indirect, her brother was blunt and to-the-point. It was a quality in some cases, but hardly one here.

She knew Gerold, and she knew her brother. Quentyn didn't stand a chance.

The Darkstar was a dangerous man. That was what had attracted her to him in the first place. His eyes, and his silver hair. She often wondered if their children would've been as fair as dragonlords, or more recently, if that was what Viserys Targaryen looked like.

In any case, she tried to push these memories away. He had tried to kill her brother, and he now had the opportunity to finish the job.

"Hello, cousin." A voice came from behind her.

"Nym." She nodded, putting the glass back down. "You seem rather joyful. What's the matter?"

"Well, a traitor is about to die today." She shrugged as she took the seat to Arianne's left.

"Quentyn is as good as dead." She shrugged. "Gerold will not give him a chance. Not when his life is on the line."

Nymeria chuckled.

"You think that, don't you?" she smiled slightly. "Need I remind that my lovers have defeated yours every time?"

"It happened twice." She rolled her eyes. "And try giving the Fowlers a sword and see how this one goes."

"That's still every time." She smirked. "And you might be surprised with the results."

Arianne scoffed.

"It doesn't change the fact that Gerold is talented with a blade, and that these are not the same situations as Sunspear's tourney." She frowned.

"I know Quentyn." Nymeria leaned in. "More than you do. He will not take a risk like this if he wasn't completely sure to come out on top."

"I wish I could share your optimism." Arianne shook her head. "I doubt that there is a single man in Dorne that could prepare Quentyn for what is about to come."

"How about me?" Uncle Oberyn's voice came from her right.

"Father and I have trained Quentyn for this trial." Nymeria nodded. "He will not lose. I am sure of it."

"Did he beat you, uncle?" she asked, hope filling her once more.

"Not once." Oberyn shrugged, as Arianne fell back into her seat. "But do not fret, niece. This trial is not fair. Consider it a glorified execution."

Arianne raised an eyebrow at that, and looked to the other side of the makeshift fighting pit, where Quentyn's friends were looking on with worry in their eyes.

"Quentyn's friends do not seem to share your optimism." She pointed out.

"That's because they don't know what we know." Oberyn winked at her daughter, who returned it. "Although, tell me, niece. Do you feel pity for the men that will die tonight?"

Arianne nodded.

"As much as I hate them for going after Quentyn." She sighed. "They did it for me. For my inheritance. And now they are fighting for their lives because they decided to fight for me. It's hard not to feel anything for men like these."

Oberyn, to her surprise, nodded.

"True." He said, sitting down besides her. "But what you have to ask yourself is: what do these men gain by supporting your claim? Did your supposed friends do this out of the kindness of their hearts, or did they plan on getting something in return?"

She could see Nymeria grinning besides her.

"Who would've been the first to ask for your hand?" she asked nonchalantly.

"I would never have given them anything if I learnt that they'd killed my brother!" she hissed.

"Maybe they didn't have to tell you that." Oberyn shrugged. "Only a man could've taken the fall. And then your hand would have been a prize to obtain."

Arianne washed away these thoughts immediately.

"I wouldn't." she shook her head. "And you uncle? Do you feel pity for Lord Uller?"

Oberyn clenched his fists.

"I respected him once, you know." He growled. "I thought he was a great man. Good warrior. Decent father. He knew my pain, and I knew his. Lord Harmen was almost like a second father to me, especially after your grandfather died."

Oberyn quickly filled himself a cup of wine and drank it all immediately.

"And then he went after my blood." He said, wiping his lips clean. "And now I care naught if he dies like a man, or like a dog."

Arianne nodded.

Maybe she should feel that way towards her friends. But she had known Quentyn for so little, and her friends for so long. How could she just forget what they'd lived through together?

Luckily, she did not have to dwell on it for long, as her father and the septon of Sunspear took the stand, while Quentyn and Gerold headed to the centre of the fighting pit.

The septon said a few words to make the trial official, while her father also said the usual formalities.

She couldn't help but notice that both fighters had eerily similar attire. Gerold was dressed in Dayne purple, and held a longsword and shield. He was lightly armoured, though he kept a large plate and helmet.

Quentyn on the other hand, held shorter weapons. A bastard sword and a shield engraved with the banner of house Martell, along with a suit of armour much lighter than Gerold was wearing. If not for the Dornish helmet, she'd wondered if Quentyn had worn any armour at all.

Oberyn stood from his seat, and went into the pit with two cloths, while Arianne looked at Nym expectantly.

"Is Quentyn crazy?" she asked. "He's wearing almost no armour!"

"Speed is Quent's best ally." Nym replied. "He has almost limitless endurance. The goal is to make Darkstar run, and while Darkstar tries to pin him, to take endless jabs at him. Whenever Quent was close to defeating father, it was by exhausting him, and making him drop his guard."

Arianne nodded as she noticed that her uncle had now taken the two cloths to the centre of the field, and showed them to the audience.

As a boo started to echo through the crowd, she knew what had happened.

The cloths had been swept over each blade, and would have revealed any trace of poison.

Gerold, like the arrogant idiot that he was, had of course poisoned his, with his cloth showing a dark green colour.

The audience and the judges were not amused, and he was allowed to take a second blade.

There would be no third chances.

This time, Arianne looked carefully as Oberyn brought the cloths, one in each hand, wiped each blade, and brought them back to the centre of the pit.

As he did so, two vultures flew over the Gardens. She hoped it wasn't a bad omen.

Looking back at her uncle, she noticed that he was showing her and the audience the cloths of both contestants.

This time, both cloths were completely clean.

Her uncle made her way back to her right, and sat down, smiling at her.

Arianne was trembling with every fibre of her body, and she hadn't noticed that her hand was now squeezing her uncle's.

Oberyn just smiled and placed his hand above hers, trying to reassure her that everything would be alright, just like her father had done when she'd had nightmares when she was a child.

A horn was blown. The fight was on.

As expected, both fighters circled around each other for what seemed like an eternity.

Gerold, of course, took this opportunity to taunt Quentyn.

"I never had a chance to thank you, traitor, for this opportunity. I had thought that I had failed the first time, and that I'd have to fight a better man than you." He laughed. "It turns out you decided to come out here and die instead."

"There's only one traitor here, Nightman." Quentyn shouted back.

Gerold scowled.

"It's Darkstar, you disfigured fool." Gerold replied as the two continued circling. "I am of the night, and I shall be your end."

"Ah yes." Quentyn laughed. "An arrogant name, for an arrogant cunt. Then again, my sister always told me that you were compensating for something."

The crowd laughed at that, and with it, she felt that Gerold was losing patience at a rapid pace.

A quick look to her uncle made her realize what Quentyn was doing. He was forcing Gerold to attack in anger, and make a mistake.

He was right. Gerold struck first.

Unfortunately for him, uncle Oberyn was right, her brother was too fast.

With the speed of a shadowcat, Quentyn dodged the blow, and positioned himself in a defensive stance, waiting for the next strike.

He didn't have to wait long. Gerold continued with two lashes, but her brother parried both, before attacking and striking Gerold in the elbow before quickly retreating back to his initial position.

The blow barely scratched Gerold, but it was enough for Quentyn to draw blood, fuelling the Dayne's rage.

As the knight of High Hermitage continued to try and force a mistake out of Quentyn, her brother had continued doing the exact same thing he'd done since the beginning of the fight. 

Dodge Gerold's strike, run around, tire him out, and then strike when Gerold was either in no position to parry or too slow to react from the angle her brother was hitting him from.

And it worked wonders.