Chapter is slightly shorter than usual because it was written while on vacation.
The Sandship had a courtyard between its walls and the keep's heart. A big space, full of life in the mornings. While the sky was orange and the sun hadn't yet fully risen dozens of people took to the sandy ground, finding places to see to what work was theirs. Today, Percy was amongst them.
His back was against the beige stone wall. With the shadow over him and a breeze blowing, it was almost chilly. A spear was laid across his knees.
Percy hummed a song he'd forgotten the name of, something that his mom used to play on the radio, while dragging a whetstone along the spearhead.
"Hah! Hah! Hah!"
Giving the spearhead a final strike, Percy looked up.
There were a few servants using the courtyard for their chores. Four of them were gathered around a basin of soapy water, washing clothes before hanging them from lines. He spotted a few squires doing similar tasks to him. One was polishing a pair of gauntlets. Another one was sharpening a sword, while the third was running around carrying letters. They were distinguishable from servants because they carried weapons. If they didn't have a sword on them they at least had a dagger showing, just to make sure everyone knew what they were.
But most of the courtyard, by far, was full of fighters. Household knights sworn to the Martells; un-knighted soldiers from the Sunspear garrison practicing with their spears; Dornish knights from other regions, some of whom were almost definitely nobles, there to spar and test their mettle during a stay at the Sandship. Percy snorted, shaking his head. A few of them were younger than he was, already with a sword on their hip, walking around looking for trouble.
Well, if it was trouble they were after, they wouldn't have far to look.
"Hah!"
Obara spun. A spear not much different from the one Percy was sharpening, except for its dull tip, twirled. She moved her body past the knight who was facing her, swinging the shaft across the back of his calves.
With a yelp of pain, the man hit the deck. He was probably a foreign knight. After the first few challengers stepped up and fell, only those too young or too ignorant to know who they were looking at accepted Obara's challenges.
She knocked the blunt metal tip of her spear into the man's temple hard to rattle his eyes.
"Victory," Obara pronounced.
She helped the guy onto his feet. He was being jeered by those who'd stopped to watch. Apparently, Obara's duels were common enough to be treated as a spectator sport. She brought the butt of her spear down and surveyed the faces around her.
"Who will face me next?" she bellowed.
"The well has run dry." The man who said it was older, with gray amongst his whiskers, and he smiled at Obara. "The only ones left are all wise to your racket."
"Knights should wish to spar strong opponents," Obara said.
"Aye, many of us do. But not one who will ring our heads when she's won. You're a cruel victor, Obara Sand, as many of us have learned under the weight of your spear." The elderly knight chuckled. "It's far more fun to watch the eager young ones learn the lesson we have."
"Cowards," Obara said. Her brown hair was in a ponytail, tied tightly all the way down her back. It had flailed around when she was fighting.
"Good sense is hardly the lack of courage to do something stupid," the knight returned. "Find your father if you wish to spar. Or if you can manage it, pry the guard captain into the training field. It's been too long since he swung his longaxe at a moving target."
Obara spat on the ground. The knight laughed, picking up his sword which he had been leaning against, and went with another of the spectators to have their own spar. The crowd dispersed, Obara picking her spear up and striking the air. Her face was a picture of concentration as she trained against invisible opponents, running through the motions she would need in a fight. Whenever she turned, the hard leather she wore bent with her movements. Percy judged the spear in his lap to be done and got up. He left the courtyard, heading inside to replace the weapon where it belonged.
A pair of dark eyes followed his steps.
O-O-O
It was five days since Percy accepted Oberyn's offer. Five days of learning the Sandship's winding passages. Five afternoons spent listening to Arianne rant of how her father was avoiding her, refusing to look at her face. Five evenings dining in Oberyn's quarters, sometimes with all of the Sand Snakes and sometimes with some of them, learning about Salty Dornishmen cuisine from the eager-to-share Ellaria.
Five nights of consoling Arianne over her family trouble, and sometimes Tyene at the same time.
Percy thought this was a nice place. There were things that would take getting used to. The weather, for one, and the smell of the outer Shadow City when the wind blew wrong. Still, it was close to the ocean. The people welcomed him as well as he could've expected. Arianne, in particular, had ways of making him feel very welcome. He even enjoyed the busywork of being a squire. It helped him fit in.
Oberyn hadn't gotten the chance to have any of those spars he wanted. While he was away catching his niece, work had built up, which saw him confined in a chair with papers in front of him. He sent Percy on the minor errands that used to be given to servants. Clean his armor, bring a letter to the maester, sharpen his spear. Simple, easy things.
One of the only rooms Percy could find on his own was Oberyn's private training space. The prince wasn't content with the courtyard where the sun beat down. He had his own room, broad and open with a clay floor, where he could swing his spear when he wanted to even in the heat of the day.
In fact, that was where Oberyn's spears impatiently awaited his use.
"And to think," Percy grumbled, "I actually felt bad about breaking one."
The spear he chopped in half had clearly been expensive. There'd been a little bit of guilt after the fact over how he chopped it up without a second thought.
Then, Oberyn showed him this room, and Percy saw just how many he owned.
"Twenty spears. Who needs twenty spears? Not even Clarisse had that many. Although, maybe if she'd been a princess…"
He heard boots on the floor behind him, close to the door. "Who is Clarisse?"
Percy looked over his shoulder at Obara Sand. There was a guard posted by the door at all times, but of course they wouldn't stop Oberyn's daughter. The only reason she trained outside was because there weren't any fools to beat up here.
Maybe she'd disagree, based on the look in her eye.
"A warrior back home," Percy said. "One of the best I ever fought with. And against."
"She used the spear?"
"Better than anyone but her dad." Which wasn't really fair, considering Ares had thousands of years to practice. "She was as fast as Oberyn and as strong as a bear."
"I find that hard to believe."
Percy shrugged. He wasn't there to convince her. In fact, he wasn't there for her at all.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"Fight me," Obara said.
Percy thought about turning her down. Not because he was scared, he just didn't see a point in it. But his first thought was wrong. There was reason to spar her.
"You didn't bring your training spear," he said.
Obara walked past him, approaching the racks. "Live steel. If you're as good as you say, it won't be a problem."
"Don't tell me you're trying to kill your father's squire?"
Obara picked one of the spears off its holder. It was one of the least expensive out of the collection only because of its competition.
She spun it in her hands, performing one of the motions she'd done when training her form in the courtyard.
"There's nothing for you to be afraid of," Obara said. "If you're as good as you say."
She was hung up on that. Not that Percy hadn't known. Ever since the first dinner, he'd seen the looks she gave him. Testing. Judging. Assessing.
Even if he didn't go looking for it, he'd welcome the chance to put a stop to them.
Just because most of Oberyn's collection were spears didn't mean he had no other weapons. There were a few maces, one axe that was about as tall as Percy — he was pretty sure he knew who that was for — and a collection of swords.
The one Percy took from the brotherhood wasn't anything special. It was still in his bedroom, the last time he checked. Oberyn said he would commission a sword to Percy's liking but that would take time. For today, he assessed his options.
Two were light. One was heavy. Another he didn't like the length of. He finally settled on a sword a few inches shorter than Riptide, missing his old blade even as he gave this one practice swings.
Obara's eyebrows knit as he came to stand across from her in the middle of the room.
"There is armor," she said. The implication was obvious. Put it on, else this might more than hurt.
She was wearing hard leather that qualified as armor. Percy wasn't sure that meant anything, though, because he'd seen Obara wear the same thing to dinner.
"I fight best when I'm free to move," Percy said.
If his life was on the line, he favored a light breast plate and simple guards on his arms and legs, like he fought in against Kronos.
He just didn't need it here. It wasn't necessary.
Obara smiled. She was beautiful, in a kick-your-ass sort of way, but this wasn't a pretty expression. "Suit yourself."
She sprang at him. Her spear aimed for his face, right at the bridge of his nose.
Percy wondered if she would be proud to know that's where Oberyn attacked first too.
Unlike that day on the Boneway, Obara's feet were set and she wasn't stopping. This was a stab meant to hit him, or at least force him to dodge or defend.
Percy moved sideways. He spun, similar to how Obara had when she laid out the last poor knight who challenged her. Percy swung the flat of his blade at her shoulder. Unable to bring her spear back, she tensed her body, leaning into the blow to better repel him.
The impact made a thump! against her arm. She wasn't staggered, having braced herself.
"You wouldn't be able to use that arm if I used the blade," Percy said.
"I know!" Obara snapped.
She turned to him. This time, when she stabbed, she kept up an offensive and made sure Percy wouldn't get close. He repelled her attacks with his sword, knocking the blows away. Obara was fighting cautiously now, wearing a different expression. This wasn't the same fighter who tore into knights in the courtyard.
She was almost as strong as her father. Not as fast, though, nor as skilled. Percy expected that. Obara was in her early twenties with plenty of learning to do. Normal people didn't have fighting baked into the brain the way demigods did.
She'd never fought him before, either.
The next time she aimed a stab at his upper body, Percy pitched into a forward roll. He went beneath her spear, causing her eyes to widen. She brought her spearshaft down like a bat, intending to beat him into the ground.
While kneeling, Percy put his hand on his back with his fingers stretched. The shaft slammed into his palm, and he grabbed it. When he stood up, he yanked Obara forward, unbalancing her and placing his sword against her neck.
"I win," he said.
Obara's eyes were stormy. "Again.
They went another round. It ended with Obara on the ground, Percy's foot on her stomach, his sword tip pointed between her breasts.
Obara had the same answer. "Again."
The next round lasted until Percy swept her legs. When she landed on her stomach, she didn't need him to tell her that he could've capitalized. She growled something that wasn't words, rolled over with a heaving chest, and hissed, "Again!"
Her first attempt (or second, if Percy's blow to her shoulder was counted as a bout) had been her best. Her blows were getting stronger while her technique faltered. Percy deflected four blows, stepped closer, and used the flat of his sword to pin her spear against the ground.
"My win," he said.
Obara's back was to the wall. She couldn't move her weapon. She looked at Percy— and lunged.
Her hands let go of the spear. She latched onto his wrist, pushing it away, and tackled him.
Percy dropped his sword as they fell, worried that if he tried to hold on someone was going to get cut. Obara pushed, trying to pin him to the floor. He caught her wrists, preventing her from getting a good grip on him.
Once he adjusted to the unexpected turn things had taken, Percy got the edge again. Even if he'd never trained in it wrestling was as Greek as sword fighting. It was in the blood he inherited from his father. He rolled and forced Obara to roll with him.
She thrashed, trying to send a knee into his gut. Percy turned his body to let the blow pass him by. Percy spun her onto her stomach to prevent her from trying that again.
He wrenched her arms behind her back and pinned them there. Obara tried rocking side to side in order to get away, without luck. Only when her body stilled, like a bucking bull that had been tired and tamed, did Percy recognize their position.
He was on top of Obara, whose tough leather clothes did little to hide her figure. He'd been in a similar position with her cousin the night before, although Arianne's hands hadn't been pinned behind her back, and the growls she made were a different kind.
Percy rolled Obara onto her back again trying to make the position less subjective. When he pinned her arms above her head, he had to acknowledge that he hadn't made things much better.
"Have you calmed down?" he asked.
She wasn't trying to knee him anymore, nor was she struggling. But the fiery look she gave him was a pretty resounding no.
Percy sighed and let go of her wrists. If she tried to hit him, he'd stop her again. No matter how bad her temper was there had to be a limit to it eventually.
Only when she grabbed his shirt and yanked, holding him down on top of her, did he consider that just maybe it wasn't anger that had been building inside of her.
Obara Sand looked him in the eyes and said it as plainly as it could be said.
"Fuck me!"