GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Arianne POV )

Arianne woke up gently, in a room only dimly lit by a few candles. Usually, the sun would've woken her up, the rays shining through the windows caressing her bare skin, while inviting her eyes to slowly but surely open up.

There was none of that here. At least, not anymore.

The sun had stopped shining, and all there was were gray clouds, sometimes bringing rain, sometimes hindering vision so much that it was impossible to see the second walls from the windows of the keep.

She spared a look at her side.

The bed was empty.

Usually, that would have been normal. She and Willas haven't slept together in moons.

But the previous night…

Arianne fiddled with her snake bracelet, remembering the heat of those moments, contrasting with her cold awakening.

It had been so long since she had experienced it: passion, freedom, feeling wanted…and if the bite marks on her shoulder and neck were any indication, her partner enjoyed it as much as she did.

Arianne smiled, tracing her faint scars on either side of her body.

But her companion for the night wasn't there to keep her company this morning, it seemed. This was intriguing, but not surprising. The Targaryen bastard, or Stark boy, however one wished to put it, was quite cold in his tone, whereas his actions were anything but.

Not very talkative either, but it suited her well.

Still, feeling alone after such a night was unusual for her, and, wondering where he'd gone, she quickly got out of bed and chose a dress, some jewelery and a few layers for the cold.

After all, winter was here, and the days had gone from mild to chilly, and a few furs were in order for her. A Dornishwoman did not like this weather one bit, and even if one could think she was overdressed with a full layer of fur over her crème-colored dress, she'd trade the small jeers for not having to suffer a quite annoying cold for the next few days at any point.

It seemed the day had just begun, as Highgarden was not in a flurry of activity. Only a few servants here and there, a man-at-arms which snapped at attention while passing…nothing much out of the ordinary. One might even say it was a regular day if not for the massive force under the walls, and, of course, the dragon circling above.

Speaking of dragons, where had Jon gone?

Arianne wondered for a moment if he hadn't left to ride his dragon, far above the clouds, to feel free from the grayness around him and taste the sunlight as it slowly burnt his skin.

Perhaps he did just leave, never to return again, his passage being but a fragment in time, as if he was never here in the first place.

Or, did she, in her folly, just imagine it all? Did she delude herself in thinking that her dark knight would come save her, like she'd imagined in her younger dreams? Would she wake up tomorrow, in Highgarden, without any memory of this other than a small fragment of her imagination?

After all, the skies around Highgarden were so gray, that should they disperse, she could find the plain around the great castle of the Reach to be calm and deserted of any armies or dragons.

But Arianne pushed away these thoughts.

After all, everything she experienced these past days had been too real to just be a dream.

Thinking for a few moments, she suddenly had a revelation.

Stepping down the halls and into the cold gardens outside, she made her way through the maze of plants and trees she'd become accustomed to.

Another turn, around the large hedges…yes, that was it!

The small path made way to a large clearing where the Godswood lay.

In the middle of this vast clearing were three weirwoods of impressive sizes. The Three Singers, they were called.

They were extremely old, some say even older than the Tyrell's reign over the Reach. They had watched over Highgarden for generations. Although, the clearing was often deserted.

After all, who still worshipped trees down south?

But Arianne grew to like the Singers. She came here whenever she needed peace and quiet, although…there was always that eerie feeling of being watched at all times. It was something she just couldn't put her finger on. A gust of wind, perhaps.

As usual, the clearing was deserted…or almost.

Right before the three trees was a man, kneeling in front of them, as if in prayer.

Arianne smiled: her intuition had not failed her.

She approached gently, until she arrived at the height of the figure, still deep in thoughts.

"Good morning," she finally said, after a few moments of silence.

"Princess." Jon nodded, his gray eyes slowly turning towards her.

"I ought to have met you earlier, but I have missed your warmth this morning, so I must now venture into the cold to bring you my thanks." She nodded.

The Targaryen bastard didn't move, his face remaining as closed as ever.

"There is no need for thanks." His head finally dropped. "I have shamed you, Princess."

"You did not shame me, Ser," Arianne laughed, sitting on a small embankment close to the trees, resting for a brief moment, "on the contrary."

He shook his head.

"I sullied my honor and yours." He did not look her in the eyes. "You are betrothed and the crime I have committed cannot be absolved."

Arianne frowned. That damn honor he was so proud of flaunting, it seemed.

Where was his honor when he burned the Tyrell army? Or when he drowned the relief column to Goldengrove in fire? Is it honorable to fight on dragonback, not even bothering to look his enemy in the eyes.

Certainly, in Dorne, one wouldn't care.

And that's exactly what she told him.

"You sullied nothing."

"I did, princess." Jon kept his head down. "I let my emotions get the better of me."

Arianne slowly stood up, marching towards him with a determined step. She looked at his ashamed face, brought her hand to his chin and made him look at her in the eyes.

Her gaze met his. Brown eyes looking at gray.

"Look at me, Jon," Arianne almost angrily let out, "everything that happened between us, it did because I willed it. Nothing you did did I dislike. You did not coerce me, let alone sully any of my honor. I lost my maidenhood long ago, and it did not matter to me."

"It's not that simple, Princess."

"Arianne."

"It's not that simple, Arianne." Jon bit his lip. "Coercion or not, it is still dishonorable to sleep with a woman betrothed to another, and what's more, who shares his betrothed's bed."

"Willas and I have not shared so much as a meal in moons," Arianne was quick to point out.

She then moved closer to him, and ran a hand through his dark curls. She gently moved his head up so that he had to look at her.

"Do you regret what happened last night? And do not speak to me about honor or I will slap you, dragon or not." Arianne kept her eyes locked with his. "Because the marks on my neck and shoulders tell a different story than you."

Jon hesitated for what seemed like an eternity, but finally gave in.

"I do not regret…what happened between us." He sighed. "But I do regret how it came to be."

"You foolish man." Arianne chuckled as she released her hold on his head. "Who are you really, Jon Stark? What do you want?"

The man stayed silent looking at her.

"Hmm, mayhaps you do not know what you wish for," she observed. "You told me yourself. You are tired of following what people tell you to do. You are a Stark, yes, but I like the dragon side of you, too."

Jon frowned.

"I'm not…"

Arianne immediately raised a hand.

"Yes, yes, you are not a dragon, you have told me so as well…" she curled a smile, "but it's not about what you want, it's about what you are. You can deny it all you want, Jon Stark, your heritage defines you whether you like it or not. And it will come knocking."

"I shall not have it." Jon shook his head. "If people try to force it upon me, I will deny them."

Arianne smiled at his naivety. Even now, Willas seemed to be clinging to the dragon side of him as if it were a raft in the middle of a stormy sea.

"You know nothing, Jon Stark."

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