Pre-Chapter A/N: Here we go with another chapter, coming in right on time. Next three chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio.
We waited, camped around the ruins of the Hellholt at Jordayne's direction, and here he showed just what the depths of his planning for this war were. The march through the desert from Starfall to Sandstone and then Hellholt had been gruelling, and now there would be another march that would be the length of both of those combined in front of us. We would be heading down to Vaith first and then for Salt Shore. Hopefully they both surrendered with little struggle and we could move on, but then there was the fact that I had personally killed the niece to their present Lord.
It would be very Dornish for him to hold a grudge over that that ignored the fact that we had ended the line of House Uller in his calculus of things.
But that was a matter for the future; in the here and now, we were waiting. For what exactly? Supplies. The baggage train we had carted from Starfall had been massive, but it had been mostly exhausted from the rigours of the desert. We would be fully resupplied here, and then that would last until Salt Shore, where we would get more supplies.
It was three days since House Uller had breathed its last, and the supplies would apparently arrive on the morrow or the day after, and that left me with nothing to do. I'd gone on self-assigned scouting flights with Igneel, slept a lot, trained in the mornings, and then slept some more. Now, I was awake, energised, and had nothing to do. Igneel had gone hunting—the Summer Sea had fish aplenty.
And with a lack of things to do, I sought out distraction.
The sound of swords clashing took me to the opposite end of the camp, and when I was there, I got the pleasure of watching Oberon Jordayne at work. He had a spear in hand, and unlike the Dondarrion boy, he was a true expert with it. He had much of the flourish and the same prioritisation of style that had made Aron Dondarrion so easy to outlast, but he had clearly worked on them to the point where they were as easy as breathing. And as he danced between three men, he made me a believer.
It struck me then just how many great warriors existed in this world who the canon had just moved past. Yes, wars here were won by dragons, and whoever had one was almost guaranteed to come out the victor in any conflict, but there had to be a place for things like this. For flesh-and-blood men to pit their strengths against one another. And I wanted to test myself against him. More than I had wanted anything in days. I'd come searching for distraction, and I'd found it.
I waited until he finished playing with his food. He danced past one, tripped the other, and by the time the third had managed to turn to where he was now rather than where he used to be, he had placed his spear at his neck.
"Hail, Oberon," I called, stepping past the others who had formed a small crowd of onlookers. Silence spread across their ranks once it became clear what I was here for.
"If I could trouble you for a spar, Ser," I said.
"No trouble at all, my lord. I've been aching for some good opposition, and we've all heard the songs," he said with a chuckle.
"Blunted steel?" I offered.
"Yes, there are no enemies here," he said, and I went towards the small rack that held the training weapons. The Dornish did not tend to wear as much armour as the rest of Westeros, and it showed in their choice of weaponry. You didn't always choose when and where you fought, and swinging about a greatsword at midday in the middle of the desert was one way to ensure you had a short life.
I picked up a bastard sword and a shield because that was the combination I was most used to. The shield went on my left hand, and the bastard sword fit well in my right. I gave it a few swings to test the weight and nodded. It was terrible compared to Riptide, but everything was terrible compared to Valyrian steel. If only I knew how to make more of the stuff. Alas, that was a wish for another day.
I stepped up to Oberon and found him waiting with the spear in hand. He held no shield. The way he danced about did not seem to expose much of a need for one. His priority was evasion, and I wondered how well that would do in the middle of the afternoon, with the sun bearing down on us all. Now, in the cool evening breeze, he was thriving.
"You learn a lot about a man from the weapon he chooses," he said, looking down at my sword and shield combo.
"And what does your choice say about you?" I asked, not choosing the obvious question he wanted me to ask.
"Oh, this old thing? Nothing of note. What is noteworthy is your choice. A man your height could use a long sword with no problem. But you pick the bastard sword so you can use a shield as well. And a bastard sword, not an arming sword, for the additional reach. You seek to be ambitious in attack while avoiding vulnerabilities in defence," he said. I just scoffed.
"You could say that about anyone, and you're more likely to be right than wrong. I use a bastard sword because I don't want to have to get close enough to smell their breath to split open their bowels," I said in response.
"Show me, then," he offered, giving me a small bow and stepping deeper into the circle. I met him, and then a second later, we were off.
His spear lashed out like a viper, kissing my shield with a loud thunk, and then retreated back in his grip in time for him to take a backward step that matched my forward one.
And that was how he fought for the first minute of the spar. Testing thrusts matched with almost immediate retreat when pressed. I played his game for a time, getting used to the flow of things, and then, when I felt the time had come for me to assert myself and show him that I would be the one who dictated the pace and flow of this fight, I acted.
I pushed forward, one step followed by another, blocking the thrust of his spear with my shield and then deflecting the one that followed it almost immediately with the edge of my blade. For the first time since our fight began, the sound of steel meeting steel could be heard. Blunted steel, yes. But still, the sound did something to me. Something I could not truly put into words. It relaxed me way more than it should have, and above all, it reminded me of home. Of my blade against Aegon's, or Ser Ben's, or anyone else. Mornings from before the sun went up truly, when I sparred with only the light of maintained fires to keep me company.
Did it say something about me that this was what reminded me of home more than anything else? This dance of steel? And that is what it became once our steel clashed—a dance. One which I led, bold, aggressive, and hungry. Oberon played the part of flirtatious maiden well in this dance of ours, testing, teasing, and always noncommittal. His strikes lacked the force that meant he put his weight behind them, and that made it easy for him to move from attacking to defending in a blink.
When you added the range advantage from having a spear, it was no wonder that things seemed to drag on. I stepped into range for my blade, and he stepped out just as quickly, with his spear advancing out to give me something to block. The movements were less flashy now that he was fighting an opponent closer to his level, but there was still a beauty to them. That was why I called it a dance, of course. It definitely wasn't for my own influence on things. I had learned to fight in the Stormlands, a simpler, hardier place with simpler, hardier men. Any flourish of this kind would have gotten my teeth knocked out of my skull.
I blocked two thrusts that came in quick succession, and then he was spinning and the butt of the spear was coming for my head. I brought my blade up to meet the hardy wood. Riptide would have punished him for this manoeuvre. This blunted blade of regular steel didn't even manage to find purchase in the wood. Oberon was spinning again and swinging the tip of the spear around to reach me. I stepped up, deflected it with my sword, and then, before he could manage to retreat again, I had closed the distance. All that spinning around had given me the opening I needed.
The spear still came, but now I was too close. I let the body of the spear hit my shoulder to no effect while my blade stopped at Oberon's neck.
"Again?" he offered, breathing heavily.
"Again," I agreed.
We sparred until the sun had completely set, and then some. Torches had come out for the rest of the bouts. Oberon had trained his endurance to a level that bordered on superhuman. Maintaining his flourishes and style for hours on end with minutes of rest between each bout was impressive, and he learned quickly as well. Tricks almost never worked on him twice, and by the time he'd lost three in a row, he began to show me his own tricks, and they were markedly different from the sort that any of the Westerosi would consider permissible.
Mimed shots at my balls, real shots at my balls, sand in my eyes, mimed spitting, real spitting, everything and more, and I loved it all. Each one was unexpected and made him even more of a challenge to fight, but just because he was a challenge did not mean I lost. He was like a hard boss in a video game played on medium difficulty. You never lost, but things still got closer than they made sense to.
The day ended with the score at 17-1. The 1 came when he attempted to get my balls with the butt of his spear, but he had mimed that attack in each of the last few matches and forced a reaction out of me, so this time I ignored it in favour of an opening. Needless to say, that had not been a particularly fun way to lose.
Now we sat at his tent, having dinner together for the first time.
"How are the children?" he asked me, and I realised this was also the first time that we spoke of anything other than this war for Dorne since I had joined their campaign. His brother had undoubtedly told him my demands, and almost since Starfall, he'd been glaring at me more often than not.
"They are well. It is hard to receive ravens while at war, and it is best that my wife not even try with messengers, to avoid missing me or having the messenger captured or worse. I will hear all about them and see them and hold them in my own arms when I return. They will probably be so big. Time passes differently for babes. Each hour means more, has more of an effect on them both physically and mentally. They might even be talking by the time I return. I will miss their first full sentences, most likely, and they will learn to walk confidently without their father at their back to catch them if they fall," I said, before stopping myself as I realised I'd overspoken.
"You miss them," he said in realisation. It was a disclosed weakness, but not one that was much of a secret in the first place. What father did not care for his children? I might have been a monster in some ways—the Uller Lady's head hitting the ground flashed in my mind at that—but I was not that kind of monster. The kind that did not care for his children.
I nodded. There was no point denying it. I did miss my children.
"But I am here to secure their futures. Dorne will be an integral part of the Kingdom I am building, and that is the legacy they will inherit," I said, and whatever warmth had been created between us from our spars and the conversation we'd been having fled the room like it was darkness in the face of the rising sun.
"The Stepstones are a massive Kingdom already, and Driftmark is a jewel. So tell me, my friend, why do you want Dorne, which will never serve, much less love you, when you are a god in flesh to your people?" he said.
"Dorne is a productive Kingdom. Your people breed fine horses, grow fruit that can rival the Reach in some areas, and make some of the best wine in the world. You offer me ten thousand men for my mills, factories, armies, navy, and even more women and children to buy the things my people make. You offer me more perfect sand for my glass, and who knows what else lies beneath these dunes. Dorne is a gem, Oberon. But even despite what I have just said, Dorne fails to live up to her true potential. Imagine her under my rule. As you say, Driftmark is a jewel. I made it so. I made it the clearest diamond in the Narrow Sea. Dorne would thrive under me. Imagine canals all from Planky Town to High Hermitage—the Greenblood becoming the lifeblood of Dorne herself in one part, the Torrentine in another, and the Brimstone in this one. Imagine children in Dorne being able to grow without knowing the perpetual thirst and hunger that marks their lives. Imagine a better future, Oberon. And see that I am the only way for you to get it. Your brother and Yorren are competent rulers, but I am the leader Dorne needs. Because I know where Dorne needs to go. I am the only one that can take her there." And as I spoke, I knew I shifted something in him. Not enough to bring him around to my side yet. But hopefully enough to plant the seeds for it. So one day, when the time came, I would not have to kill him.
"Dorne is—"
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted as a messenger burst into the tent. My hand was on Riptide's hilt before I'd even seen the man's face.
"Milord, Lord Jordayne calls for you," he said, the words spilling out of him.
"What? Why?"
"The ships with supplies were attacked," he said, and Oberon was rising from his seat before the words finished. I followed behind, letting him lead the way.
Icarus was spitting mad when we found him. He didn't toss things around or scream, but he was drinking wine like it was water and he had been in the open desert with none of it for days. Practically chugging down the thing so quickly I doubted he could even taste it. He was just trying to get drunk as quickly as possible.
Oberon moved quickly; he knew what to do in situations like this, it seemed. He didn't take the wine from his brother like I thought he would—like I hoped he would. Instead, he sat and patiently waited for him to finish. I did the same. If he thought this was the play, then I'd follow it.
"Pirates. Pirates on the coast of Dorne. Like anyone should ever believe such a thing," he said after he finished another goblet. He filled it back from the jug instantly, like he'd done with the others, but this time he did not chug it. He looked up at us for the first time since I'd come in.
"Neither Vaith nor Salt Shore has ships that would be any use in a fight," Oberon said. Icarus nodded.
"And if they miraculously found some, they would fly their banners with pride. No. This was someone who wanted to strike at us but did not want us to know that it was them," he said.
"Some other Dornish house?" I asked. He shook his head.
"When I say strike at us, I mean strike at you in truth. Or perhaps strike at us for allying with you. But either way, you are the reason. It's the only thing that makes sense, because there is only one possible suspect," he said. He didn't need to say the name. Part of me had suspected the second I'd heard about the attack. It would be just like them.
"So what are you going to do about it?" I asked.
"My ships are in the hands of pirates with the supplies that would have let us make this journey," he said, head falling into his hands. He was still focusing on the problem.
"How do we know of the attack?" I asked.
"A scout spotted the whole thing. His account says they were very good. Nine warships with black sails against my lowly fleet of four merchant cogs. It was a slaughter," he said.
"Can your ships patrol these waters?" I asked.
"You know the state of my fleet better than I. Tell me, can they?" he shot back, now tired of letting the wine sit calmly, and chugged it in one go.
I sighed. It was a silly question. He had only merchant cogs. No great fleet to speak of.
"What about the Velaryon fleet? The greatest in the world, no? Some pirates would be no issue," Oberon asked.
"The problem with that is that the Velaryon fleet has her hands full guaranteeing peace on the Narrow Sea and keeping pirates honest. Splitting some ships away to the Summer Sea would cost and risk too much," I said.
"You want a Kingdom, no? Well, if you want Dorne, take her. This is your problem, Your Grace. An army is outside this tent that will start starving in a matter of days. There is no way to feed them with the pirates blocking the sea and likely to steal anything that comes our way. Overland, the supplies will either take too long or be stolen by the castles between the Tor and here. Solve the problem, since you want to rule so badly," he said, and then went back to drinking his fill.
A/N: Nothing ever goes as planned in this accursed world. Next chapter comes on here by Wednesday night. Next three chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), you can support me there and read them early.