ARIANNE MARTELL doesn't have a custom title currently.
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Sworn To: Martell
Born to: Martell
Title: Princess of Dorne
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Joined: 5-November 17
Last Seen: Jun 17 2018, 03:58 PM
Local Time: Jun 24 2018, 04:17 AM
38 posts (0.2 per day)
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Mar 18 2018, 10:30 AM
The wine in the Red Keep was so sweet. Sweetened with the warmth of summer. She missed the bitterness of the Dornish reds that sparked the warmth in her blood. She sipped again at the honeyed wine before setting the goblet down and watching the Lords and Ladies of Court. It had been a long day, listening to timelines, listening to the evidence that was presented in front of them. It certainly appeared to be damning for the Imp. Still, it was hard to believe that someone so criticized for his appearance could of performed all these acts. Surely he hadn't acted alone. It would be something to interrogate him for when the time was right. When she got the facts straightened out and in chronological order.
Court had ended for the day, Rhaegar dismissing them from the Great Hall. She followed the sounds of faint music to the Queen's Ballroom, by passing the Sept though she longed to go and pray in front of the warrior to help her continue to be strong in the dragon's den. There were too many eyes here though, and Arianne was careful that when she went to the Sept, she prayed only in front of the Crone for wisdom. Better for the Princess of Dorne to look like a godly child than to allow the scales of a silver tongued snake show through. Inside the Queen's Ballroom she found a small quartet playing and settled herself down, looking over the bits of notes she had made from the presentation that morning.
It was only when she had flipped through half the notes that she felt eyes on her. Almost boring into soul. She raised her head, a hand tucking a stray strand of black hair behind her ear. Her dark caramel eyes searching for the one who felt the need to destroy the peace and finding instead to locking eyes with no one other than Lady Baratheon. The sister to the accused and strangely enough, one of his judges. She took in the famed lady of the Stormlands. Rumors flew with this one though it was hard to tell which was truth and which were fabricated lies because for most of the Seven Kingdoms, strong women were frowned upon. She straightens and tucks the slips or parchment back into her dress pockets. There was that courier's soft smile painted on her lips and her voice rang out, acknowledging the older woman. "Good afternoon, Lady Baratheon." A bland recognizing of the Lioness of the Lannisters. Perhaps even the lover of her brother. But Arianne thought maybe that was more of idle tongues than Godly truths. After all, only one of her children sported a mane of gold.
Feb 18 2018, 04:39 PM
Her brother's incineration had significantly dampened Arianne's spirits. For weeks after the ashes that the Targaryen's were so kind to ship back to Dorne lay in the Sept with Arianne spending days there. Sometimes the servants heard her whispering, though the words were never easily made out. Rumors around the castle said Arianne refused to eat. That she hadn't been seen outside the Septa or her rooms in days. They weren't entirely without merit. She wore black, her hair largely unkept, and if her feelings towards the Targaryen's were unclear, it was clear now that she had nothing warm to say about the House of Dragon's. She barely was able to bite her tongue and so most days she just stayed silent. Even her Mother's presence could not stave her tongue and so most of the family let her linger in her own mourning and anger. When he was buried, she kept mostly to her own quarters.
She was sitting in her rooms, avoiding the sun that came through her windows and listening to the world seem to carry on without Quentyn in it. It was like her brother's death meant nothing to any of them. Another pawn, another solider sacraficed for what? For a new Queen? For the fall of Tyrosh? For an imp? Arianne was not pleased. Her mind seemed to be stuck in a loop, the silvered tongue princess was now mute. It was then that a servant brought her a summons. The seal? Targaryen. And not just any--the Royal Rhaegar Targaryen seal. Fingers trace the three-headed dragon before sliding themselves beneath the wax to open it. When she looked to the servant questioningly, the girl simply curtsied and stated it had come that morning by raven.
She brought it to her desk, and carefully into the sunlight--almost not trusting her hands. Dark caramel eyes read the letters so carefully recorded on the parchment once. Twice. A third time before she carefully folds the letter. Arianne sits back in her chair and her gaze drifts off as she considers the contents. A command dressed as a request to be a judge for the trial of the Imp. She stands and moves towards her door. Her servants bowed and she only gave them a glance. Her black dress flew past them as she rapidly to the gardens where she figured her father would be.
Arianne covered her eyes for a moment, giving them time to adjust to the sun. Normally it would not have been an issue, but in her weeks of mourning, she had no ventured far into the Dornish sun. When she finally was adjusted, she moves towards the Prince of Dorne. She noticed others from the household surrounding him--no doubt Doran was running the country while she bathed in her sorrow. She stands firmly and clears her throat. "Your Highness...may I speak with you in private?" A stern look towards the other courtiers made them stammer and fall silent, awaiting Doran's command.
Dec 6 2017, 05:32 PM
It was shortly after her Mother returned, garnishing the two older Martell children their father's anger, that Arianne watched as Quentyn sailed off for Tyrosh with only a brief but sweet goodbye. She didn't understand it. Why involve themselves in the Targaryen battle, yet Arianne's mind was always focused on the well-being of Dorne and she couldn't help but to think that it would be a good show of faith and loyalty. The letters she received were sparse, Quentyn was never very elaborate in his words spoken or written. Arianne waited each week for Raven or some word on the docks regarding her brother. But soon the letters stopped, and the Raven's carried nothing personal about the battle for her. She had tried to stay optimistic but couldn't help the fear in her belly. Was he dead? Slayed by an enemy? Or worse yet--a friend?
Arianne maintained her composure, her face stoic though her eyes burned with fury if someone had hurt her younger brother. And then it came--Quentyn was dead. Killed by dragon. Another blade in her stomach, twisted and turned till it made her vomit. Literally vomit from the news. She then went to the Sept and prayed to the Father to keep her brother's soul safe and in paradise. She then prayed to the Warrior to give her strength, to make her fierce in the face of her brother's murderers. Finally she prayed to the Crone to give her the Wisdom to not start a civil war...yet. Her father still wore the crown, and Arianne did not work so hard for the entirety of her life to lose her place in line now. She then repeated the cycle. The hours she had spent as an adolescent wishing for curves and charm were nothing in comparison to the prayers she whispered to the Gods that night.
They whispered in the corridors that she hadn't eaten. She had not changed. They whispered that she looked fevered, possessed and driven by something they didn't understand. They swore the Stranger had taken her body for it's own. Still Arianne stayed up throughout the night, and though no one heard any wailing, when they found her in the morning on her knees, with her forehead pressed to floor--the servants did not bother her, but they did seek out someone that could help.
Arianne was in front of the Warrior when she heard the door to the Sept open. There was a brief look before she finished her prayer and sat up, still on her knees. Her eyes were bloodshot, puffy and, tears were slowed but her cheeks still wet. The raven hair now was strewn about her shoulders, and were unadorned with the usual gold and rubies. In fact the only jewelry she wore was her ring that she did not even fret with. Her mind was numb though the undercurrent of rage and grief did not fall too deep underneath it's sweeping gaze. She looked at the Stranger while she spoke with a voice raw from use all night. It was barely above a whisper, and fell flat on the ears. "I can't believe he's gone." A simple statement that showed nothing of what she was truly feeling or the thoughts of vengeance that had sprang into her mind at first. Arianne had prayed through the initial feelings, but it did not change that again she felt that the House Targaryen had done nothing but wrong against her and her people.
Nov 21 2017, 10:40 PM
Ravens had brought the news that she had already suspected. While the king may have his spiders and little birds, Arianne had her little serpents--hissing and whispering in her ear. Martarys was engaged to a Manwoody. She would not pretend that she was hurt that the Prince was not offered to her when the news presented itself. Arianne was the Princess of Dorne, groomed and trained the entirety of her life to rule. Shouldn't a Prince want someone of his equal status. Her serpants told her that it was the youngest of this family was a spitfire more than a lady. That alone piqued her interest. Arianne was surrounded by strong women in Sunspear but to have an ally at the borderlands? She couldn't resist. Still she had bid her time, till the news had been officially announced. It took three days. In that time, gone was her jealousy and pettiness. She was still young, still maturing and it became quickly apparent that Dorne would the only kingdom she would ever rule. Strangely enough, Arianne was quite content with the prospect of it.
Quickly she sent her congratulations to Lord Manwoody and announced that she would like to congratulate her in person. As she waited, she made sure to gather provisions for the ride, and deciding on appropriate gifts. She consulted with a few of the jewelers in the area and then visited her pet project in the stables. Horses that were slightly thicker and taller than the desert ponies but having the stamina and the water requirements of the Dornish horses of lore. She had a three year old that was coming along nicely that she would gift the newly engaged. She choose a 4 year old stallion that was too closely related to her other stock to be much use to her. That she would bring for Martarys. If he was going to set up camp in the Tower of Joy, then he would need horses that would tolerate the heat better. And she assumed that the young Manwoody--Ysera was her name, would need a mount that could weather the Northern temperatures.
Either way, Arianne was thrilled to receive a Raven that they would be happy to host her. She then received the piece of jewelry she had commissioned for the girl. A blazing sun with spear..a smaller three headed dragon carved into it. The gold sparkled in the light, the small rubies that made up the eyes sparkled. She had praised the jeweler and paid him double. She hoped that the girl would be smart enough to understand the significance of the size difference. Since there was no longer a Dornish Queen on the throne, Arianne did not trust the Targaryens. It was something that she was slowly coming into opinion.
She dresses in her traveling gowns, with servants loading caravans with spices, fine fabrics and saddling horses. Tyene decides to sit this one out, and Arianne is only mildly disappointed. Her partner in crime could not sit during dinners and political talks even if the wine was flowing. She did not feel jealous for that, Arianne, afterall was Doran's daughter. The intellectual stimulus of the debates, news and rumors were like the water for plants. She thrived in that realm, just as the Sand Snakes thrived with weapons in their hands and poisons on their lips. It was seemingly the natural order of things to Arianne's still developing mind.
The journey was long, and towards the end, Arianne found herself bored and slightly saddle sore. The mare she rode slowed at the gates, and the guards road ahead, to announce her. She glanced behind them, and found the caravans to have kept up. She looked at her gifts, at least the more personal ones--the horses tied to the back of the Caravans and was pleased to see that they did not lose any of their condition.
She dismounts once they enter, confident that the caravan would take care of the horses and straightened her traveling clothes. "Lord Manwoody, may I offer my official congratulations on the betrothal of your daughter." She looked around and did not yet see the young bride-to-be. He was gracious, showing her her rooms, having her trunk brought in and announcing that dinner was set for later in the evening. Arianne took the time to clean up, and dress up. She was representing Sunspear, Dorne, her father and at no time did she ever forget that. Her gown was a dark yellow, and she adorned herself with gold and rubies, including her favorite ring--a large single ruby set in gold. She fidgeted with it as she glanced at herself in the mirror. Was it too much? Maybe. But she was the Princess of Dorne while this new girl would be Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. A Dornish Princess but above her none-the-less. Tonight, she was still above her and though it would also be asking her to join her ranks. To be her eyes in the darkness, the whispers on the winds.
Arianne was finally settled, she had removed the necklace and left the small ruby diadem in her hair set loosely about her shoulders. She walked with the soldiers at the door announcing her presence into the dining hall. "Arianne, Princess of Dorne."