George Martin: Arianne

That night Arianne penned another short note to her father and had Feathers send it on its way with her third raven.

Young John Mudd has been sending out birds as well, it seemed. Near dusk on the fourth day, not long after Chain and his wagons had taken their leave of them, Arianne’s company was met by a column of sellswords down from Griffin’s Roost, led by the most exotic creature that the princess had ever laid her eyes on, with painted fingernails and gemstones sparkling in his ears.

Lysono Maar spoke the Common Tongue very well. “I have the honor to be the eyes and ears of the Golden Company, princess.”

“You look… ” She hesitated.

“…like a woman?” He laughed. “That I am not.”

“ …like a Targaryen,” Arianne insisted. His eyes were a pale lilac, his hair a waterfall of white and gold. All the same, something about him made her skin crawl. Was this what Viserys looked like? she found herself wondering. If so perhaps it is a good thing he is dead.

“I am flattered. The women of House Targaryen are said to be without peer in all the world.”

“And the men of House Targaryen?”

“Oh, even prettier. Though if truth be told, I have only seen the one.” Maar took her hand in his own, and kissed her lightly on the wrist. “Mistwood sent word of your coming, sweet princess. We will be honored to escort you to the Roost, but I fear you have missed Lord Connington and our young prince.”

“Off at war?” Off to Storm’s End?

“Just so.”

The Lyseni was a very different sort of man than Chain. This one will let nothing slip , she realized, after a scant few hours in his company. Maar was glib enough, but he had perfected the art of talking a great deal whilst saying nothing. As for the riders who had come with him, they might as well have been mutes for all that her own men were able to get out of them.

Arianne decided to confront him openly. On the evening of their fifth day out of Mistwood, as they made camp beside the tumbled ruins of an old tower overgrown by vines and moss, she settled down beside him and said, “Is it true that you have elephants with you?”

“A few,” said Lysono Maar, with a smile and a shrug.

“And dragons? How many dragons do you have?”

“One.”

“By which you mean the boy.”

“Prince Aegon is a man grown, princess.”

“Can he fly? Breathe fire?”

The Lyseni laughed, but his lilac eyes stayed cold.

“Do you play cyvasse , my lord?” asked Arianne. “My father has been teaching me. I am not very skilled, I must confess, but I do know that the dragon is stronger than the elephant.”

“The Golden Company was founded by a dragon.”

“Bittersteel was half-dragon, and all bastard. I am no maester, but I know some history. You are still sellswords.”

“If it please you, princess,” he said, all silken courtesy. “We prefer to call ourselves a free brotherhood of exiles.”

“As you will. As free brothers go, your company stands well above the rest, I grant you. Yet the Golden Company has been defeated every time it has crossed into Westeros. They lost when Bittersteel commanded them, they failed the Blackfyre Pretenders, they faltered when Maelys the Monstrous led them.

That seemed to amuse him. “We are at least persistent, you must admit. And some of those defeats were near things.”

“Some were not. And those who die near things are no less dead than those who die in routs. Prince Doran my father is a wise man, and fights only wars that he can win. If the tide of war turns against your dragon, the Golden Company will no doubt flee back across the narrow sea, as it has done before. As Lord Connington himself did, after Robert defeated him at the Battle of the Bells. Dorne has no such refuge. Why should we lend our swords and spears to your uncertain cause?”

“Prince Aegon is of your own blood, princess. Son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia of Dorne, your father’s sister.”

“Daenerys Targaryen is of our blood as well. Daughter of King Aerys, Rhaegar’s sister. And she has dragons, or so the tales would have us believe.” Fire and blood. “Where is she?”

“Half a world away on Slaver’s Bay,” said Lysono Maar. “As for these purported dragons, I have not seen them. In cyvasse , it is true, the dragon is mightier than the elephant. On the battlefield, give me elephants I can see and touch and send against my foes, not dragons made of words and wishes.”

The princess lapsed into a thoughtful silence. And that night she dispatched her fourth raven to her father.

And finally Griffin’s Roost emerged from the sea mists, on a grey wet day as the rain fell thin and cold. Lysono Maar raised a hand, a trumpet blast echoed off the crags, and the castle’s gates yawned open before them. The rain-soaked flag that hung above the gatehouse was white and red, the princess saw, the colors of House Connington, but the golden banners of the company were in evidence as well. They rode in double column across the ridge known as the griffin’s throat, with the waters of Shipbreaker Bay growling off the rocks to either side.

Within the castle proper, a dozen of the officers of the Golden Company had assembled to welcome the Dornish princess. One by one they took a knee before her and pressed their lips against the back of her hand, as Lysono Maar offered introductions. Most of the names fled her head almost as soon as she had heard them.

Chief amongst them was an older man with a lean, lined, clean-shaved face, who wore his long hair pulled back into a knot. This one is no fighter , Arianne sensed. The Lyseni confirmed her judgment when he introduced the man as Haldon Halfmaester.

“We have rooms prepared for you and yours, princess,” this Halden said, when the introductions finally ran their course. “I trust that they will suit. I know you seek Lord Connington, and he desires words with you as well, most urgently. If it please you, on the morrow there will be a ship to take you to him.”

“Where?” demanded Arianne.

“Has no one told you?” Halden Halfmaester favored her with a smile thin and hard as a dagger cut. “Storm’s End is ours. The Hand awaits you there.”

Daemon Sand stepped up beside her. “Shipbreaker Bay can be perilous even on a fair summer’s day. The safer way to Storm’s End is overland.”

“These rains have turned the roads to mud. The journey would take two days, perhaps three,” said Halden Halfmaester. A ship will have the princess there in half a day or less. There is an army descending on Storm’s End from King’s Landing. You will want to be safe inside the walls before the battle.”

Will we? Wondered Arianne. “Battle? Or siege?” She did not intend to let herself be trapped inside Storm’s End.

“Battle,” Halden said firmly. “Prince Aegon means to smash his enemies in the field.”

Arianne exchanged a look with Daemon Sand. “Will you be so good as to show us to our rooms? I would like to refresh myself, and change into dry clothes.”

Halden bowed. “At once.”

Her company had been housed in the east tower, where the lancet windows overlooked Shipbreaker Bay. “Your brother is not at Storm’s End, we know that now,” Ser Daemon said, as soon as they were behind closed doors. “If Daenerys Targaryen has dragons, they are half a world away, and of no use to Dorne. There is nothing for us at Storm’s End, princess. If Prince Doran meant to send you into the middle of a battle, he would have given you three hundred knights, not three.”

Do not be so certain of that, ser. He sent my brother off to Slaver’s Bay with five knights and a maester. “I need to speak with Connington.” Arianne undid the interlocked sun and spear that clasped her cloak, and let the rain-soaked garment slip from her shoulders to puddle on the floor. “And I want to see this dragon prince of his. If he is truly Elia’s son…”