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: Yesterday at 07:53 pm
Local Time: Jul 17 2018, 04:41 AM
44 posts (0.2 per day)
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Jun 30 2018, 05:52 PM
Arianne's mind kept going back to her knight. No, not hers. Not yet. The knight. A Dayne no less. Had she ever met him before? He was clearly younger than her and yet, if they had met at the Garden or in some sort of political meeting, the Princess had no recollection. Perhaps he was away being fostered. Perhaps she was more enamored with one of her previous dalliances. Either way, the boy had found a way into her head. Sitting in the trial that Arianne was sure that was more for show than actual justice, and on particularly bland moments, her eyes drifted to him more than once. Or at least searched the crowds for him. She regretted only one thing from their first meeting...that she had allowed her ladies to escort her from the practice fields and back to her room to get dressed appropriately for dinner. Early that morning she had wrote a quick note. "Sir Atius Dayne, if free tonight..care for a taste of home? Yours, A" She was confident that he would know who it was from and perhaps the meaning behind it.
Still, the day progressed. More evidence mounted against Tyrion and she wondered if perhaps he was truly guilty of everything they said. Still, you would think that a man as devious as that would have some sort of reputation. Half the people on the jury had a reputation to be more Viper like than Oberyn himself. Tyrion Lannister was known to be an intellectual with a petulance for being the scourge of his house with no previous infarctions against him. And yet here was the mounting evidence again and again.
Honestly, it was exhausting.
When the Courts were done for the day, and the halfman returned to the dungeons. Arianne quickly said her goodbyes and retired to her own rooms. Her maids had been bothering the kitchen staff with their requests, making sure that it was the closest food to Dornish food was available. They had purchased some lamb, and she had them season it with dragon peppers and honey. There was no hummus but they had managed to find a few blood oranges and olives. It was supplemented with cheeses from the area. When she looked it over, a smile appeared on her features and the smells made her hungrier than before. She smiled at her maids. If her Knight did not appear then at least she would have a homecooked meal instead to the bland food they served here. She then went to her trunk and pulled out a rather revealing dress. It was yellow, nearly see through with tall slits running up either side. The cleavage plunged and she put a red ruby belt around her narrow waist. She should of worn this dress to fight him in. Then she wouldn't of tripped on the fabric. She takes down her hair, putting away the small diadem tiara that had been woven there to remind them all (and also herself) that Dorne did not bow. There was no need for such symbols now. Her maids perfumed her hair before lighting candles and seeing themselves out.
Either he would come or she would dine alone that night. But either way, her hunger for him would be satisfied.
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.