Arianne Martell Week 2020

Queen Arianne Martell & King Aegon VI Targaryen

Arianne Martell Week 2020: Free Choice

Here’s my meager contribution for Arianne Week. It’s written in Arianne’s POV and is part of a story I have planned set in my American Civil War ISOT ‘verse, just after Robert’s Rebellion. It alludes to plot points and stories that have been written (or are still WIPs) but remain unpublished. And it also features quite a few OCs.

Since I know that it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, it’ll be left under the cut for those of you who are still curious.

It’s also a first draft, so I hope you’ll be merciful.

Anger was better than tears, better than grief, better than guilt, so Arianne Martell raged. “What have you done?”

Lord Connington glared right back at her.

“What I had to do,” he said. “I secured your crown and Aegon’s throne. You should be thanking me.”

“That will never happen.”

“Your cousin Rhaenys was younger by far when she was murdered,” Connington told her, low and vicious, as if she didn’t know that better than anyone – he climbed onto his throne over the corpses of children, she remembered telling Ser Arys. The corpses of her cousins, or so she had thought then. Arianne’s father and uncle and older cousins had grieved over Elia and her children and never stopped, nursing the wounds that had never healed.

Aegon had lived. But Rhaenys was gone and always would be. Nothing would ever change that. Certainly not another king climbing to the same throne over more corpses.

“Do not try to justify this to me. I am not Robert Baratheon,” Arianne said. “I think you’ll find that Aegon isn’t either.”

Connington’s scowl deepened further. “I raised him, and you think you know him better than I do?”

Arianne trembled with rage. It was all she could do not to scream. “You knew the boy. I know the man. Get out.”

The lord didn’t move. “You can’t –”

Arianne threw down her cowl. “Dammit, Elia –”

Elia looked unrepentant. She folded her arms across her chest and glared back. “I stopped him, didn’t I?”

“I told you to stay in the car.”

“What did you want me to do, just let him get away?”

“Yes!” Arianne snapped. “This is not a game, Elia. This is dangerous. I agreed to take you with me, but I want your word you will listen. Your father left you in my care, and I swore to keep you safe.”

“My father is dead,” Elia interrupted. “No one cares what happens to me.”

Arianne stopped removing her gauntlets.

“My father is dead, too,” she pointed out. “You are a Sand Snake. Your sisters and I would give anything to keep you from harm.”

A flicker of a smile crossed Elia’s mouth, but it faded fast. “Then why aren’t they here?”

“My brothers aren’t here, either. They’ll come back, all of them. Now will you promise me you’ll be careful? Or shall I have to send you to your mother?”

Elia’s shoulders slumped. She nodded.

“Good,” Arianne said, returning to removing her armour. “Then go to bed. We can speak more in the morning.”

After Elia had gone up to sleep and Arianne had finished changing, she called Trystane, then Quentyn. Neither of them answered. When they came back, she wasn’t sure if she’d want to hug them or hit them. If they came back.

Unlike her brothers, Daemon answered her call.

“How are you holding up?” he asked. She deflected and told him about Elia instead. Daemon laughed. “Why does that sound familiar.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Daemon.”

“Do you want me to stop by tomorrow?”

What do you have? Arianne asked herself. What do you need?

She’d had Sarella walk her through the construction of the aqueducts twice. They’d need to dig their reservoir in the mountains…support their underground tunnels with steel…use wells and pumps to raise the water for drinking and irrigation both. It would be difficult. The Martells alone couldn’t do it, not yet. But she knew how they could.

“We don’t need to fund the construction ourselves,” she said. “Not if we bring in the Qorgyles.”

Nym frowned. “How?”

“The desert. If I summon glassmakers from Myr to train our people, we can start a new industry. We’ll get a share of the profits, which we can use to start digging the wells and reservoir.”

“It won’t be enough,” Nym pointed out. “And how will you convince the Old Hawk to let you dig on his lands?”

Arianne smiled. “He’ll be delighted to let me do it when I tell him that Lord Yronwood is helping fund the project. A few tax concessions, a small share of the potential profits, a little hinting that the other will benefit from the project, and they’ll both be leaping to help.”

Nym raised her eyebrows. “You really think you can get them to agree to that?”

A Father's Pride

Characters: Arianne Martell, Doran Martell

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, In This House We Let Arianne and Doran Have a Good Relationship, Arianne Martell Week 2020

Summary: Arianne visits her father in King's Landing not long before her coming of age, and her father reassures her of how glad he is that she is there to rule Dorne while he is gone.

Part 2 of the A New Dawn series

Arianne Martell Week 2020: Alternate Universe 

Do you see the white one, Quentyn? That is Nymeria's star, burning bright, and that milky band behind her, those are ten thousand ships. She burned as bright as any man, and so shall I. You will not rob me of my birthright!

At breakfast, Obara had been paler and quieter than Arianne had ever seen her. At lunch, Tyene swore that when she’d visited the library, she’d seen Alyse Ladybright in tears. At dinner, Arianne’s father’s seat at the head of the table was empty. Something was wrong, but nobody wanted to tell her.

Arianne went to see her father in his solar every night before bed. This time, her mother was there waiting for her, and she dropped a hand onto Arianne’s shoulder. “Leave him today, sweetling.”

Arianne scowled. “What happened? Why is everyone acting so strangely?”

Lady Mellario pursed her lips and looked troubled. She got down on her knees and took Arianne’s hands.

“We’ve had some bad news,” she said. “Do you remember your aunt Elia?”

Arianne did, a bit – they’d gone to see her, months and months ago, when Elia had called on them to come meet her daughter. Arianne’s memories of the trip were mostly of how long it had taken to get there and the strange, imposing castle of black stone, but she also remembered her aunt’s tired laugh as she helped Arianne hold the baby. Arianne nodded and Mellario sighed deeply.

“She died this morning,” she said. “Her children, too.”

Arianne could only stare as her mother explained – the war, raging on as it had, was over. A new king had been crowned. Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon were all dead.

“Elia was very important to your father, sweetling,” Mellario said. “And he’s lost her. Leave him be today. He needs time.”

Arianne’s scowl deepened. She didn’t move.

“Go to bed, Arianne,” her mother said, pressing a kiss to her forehead and standing up. “You can see him tomorrow.”

But Arianne did not go to bed. The second Lady Mellario turned the corner in the direction of her own bedchambers, she pushed open the door of the solar and marched inside.

“Arianne?” her father said, eyes jerking away from the blank wall they’d been fixed on. He looked even worse than Obara had in the morning. “You’re…”

She didn’t let him finish. Instead, she walked right up to his chair and wrapped her arms around him. She could feel him shaking as he hugged her back, so tightly it stole her breath.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” she whispered into his ear and let him go. She kissed his forehead, just as her mother had kissed hers. “I’m going to bed. You should go to bed, too.”

Her father’s laugh was watery. He nodded.

Arianne Martell Week 2020: Family

Arianne Martell week 2020: family

😱😱😱

By Dornish law, Princess Rhaenys would have been her father’s heir. Outside of Dorne, she would have been her childless brother’s. But no woman had ever ruled as Queen Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, and so when Prince Aegon died at twenty, it was not his sister but his uncle that took his place as the Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the throne.

In the three years since, Arianne Martell had often wondered what could have been - had Aegon lived, had Rhaenys been able to inherit, had Arianne been unmarried when Viserys became next in line to be king. In any of those worlds, Arianne would have inherited her father’s seat and become the Princess of Dorne as she had always been meant to be, ruling her homeland with her consort. But Aegon had not lived, Rhaenys had not been able to claim the crown that should have been hers, and Arianne had not been unmarried. Now, years after signing away her birthright, she knelt at the High Septon’s feet as he placed a crown atop her head. The loss stung every bit as much as it had when she’d first learned of it.

The newly crowned King Viserys, the Third of his Name, helped her to her feet. “My queen.”

“My king,” she answered, forcing herself to smile, even though the word queen struck a sour note. “Shall we dance?”

“King,” Viserys repeated, marveling over it, as he took her other hand. “Yes. And one day, Maron will follow me.”

Their son’s name was an even sharper pain than her new title. She and Viserys had chosen it together, four years ago, to honour both their houses. A Martell name for the Prince of Dorne married to a Targaryen. That had been before they’d learned their child would never inherit his mother’s seat. Arianne took a deep breath and glanced away from Viserys for a moment. Perhaps he knew her better than she realized, because he squeezed her hand tighter, and when she looked back at him, his eyes were fixed on her, the smile gone from his face.

@arianneweek2020 day one - Dorne.

On the morning that she left the Water Gardens, her father rose from his chair to kiss her on both cheeks. "The fate of Dorne goes with you, daughter," he said, as he pressed the parchment into her hand. "Go swiftly, go safely, be my eyes and ears and voice... but most of all, take care."

"I will, Father." She did not shed a tear. Arianne Martell was a princess of Dorne,and Dornishmen did not waste water lightly. It was a near thing, though. It was not her father's kisses nor his hoarse words that made her eyes glisten, but the effort that brought him to his feet, his legs trembling under him, his joints swollen and inflamed with gout. Standing was an act of love. Standing was an act of faith.

Arianne Martell Week 2020: Romantic interests

Arianne turned to gaze upon his face.  A good face, she decided.  The boy I knew has become a handsome man.  She wanted to slap the smile off his face. Or kiss it off, perhaps. 

Arianne Martell Week 2020