It would have been as dark and silent as a grave if it wasn't for the flame torch glittering in the distance. She couldn't even see her own hands. I might as well shut my eyes. She trod slowly, her feet testing the ground before carrying her weight. Gusts of air blew around her, and she suddenly realized she was naked as her nameday. The dampness between her legs and beneath her arms tickled, and her nipples hardened almost instantly. The longer she walked, the stronger the winds blew, and she could see the torch dancing in the distance, wrestling with the winds like a flapping flag. Yet when the maiden approached the torch, it died instantly. Lovely. Another torch lit itself in the distance, and the girl followed the trail.
Each time she reached a torch, it died before she could touch it, and another torch appeared some ten yards away. With time her steps became surer, and the girl started running, her hair flying behind her like a banner. Am I running in circles? She ran from one torch to the next, then to the next, then to the next. She never saw the broken glass on the ground. Her legs quivered and she sank to the ground in tears and muffled cries of pain. I need to move on, she urged herself and crawled; Her hands moved before the rest of her body and pulled her forward. The princess was feet away from the torch when a beast jumped at her from behind and gnawed at her shoulders. The dog barked as she turned to face it. "Ahhhh!" She barked back, and the corridor echoed her hopeless shriek back at her. When the dog made for her throat, Syn woke up frantically.
She was wet with sweat from head to toe, and panting and shivering at the same time. Her hazel eyes moved from right to left and back as the reality of the situation came down to her. Next to her, her handmaiden Yuna had been sleeping like a kitten but when she felt the sheets shift, her eyes fluttered and she smiled warmly. "Good morning, my sweet princess," the handmaiden remembered her courtesies, but then moved a hand to gently rub her princess's chestnut nipples. "Not today, sweetling. Have the maids make a bath." They bathed her in water scented with Dorne's finest fruits; lemons and oranges, then they burned incense and ran the aromatic smoke through her brown hair. She wore a Myrish lace that morning, dark purple and black, with her house sigil embroidered in bronze on her back; a portcullis sable.
Syn walked the stairs of the Sand Dome all the way to the highest floor where her lord father, Anders Yronwood, resided. The princess walked in her father's room without knocking on the door, and greeted him with a warm smile and a warmer hug. She kissed him on the brow, "Father, you look livelier this morning" she lied. The lord of Yronwood was ghastly sick. He'd die the second he sneezes Syn realized dreadfully, but smiled at her father's own crooked smile. He only had one tooth left, and the only things he could move were his lips and eyes. They bathed him at his bed, and fed him and wiped his shit at the same place as well. It was painful for Syn to see her once mighty father reduced to a blinking corpse. He was the Warden of the Stone Way, and ruled the strategic Yronwood Castle; the last fortress defending the Boneway. He was named "The Bloodroyal"; a title that passed down from generations to whoever was the head of the house. A day will come when they call me The Bloodroyal, the thought was appealing even to the dutiful daughter.
Almost as if the wise gods answered her pleas, her father gasped then started coughing blood. Syn's eyes widened like a cat at her father's sudden spasms, then she fumbled around to fetch him water but the water vase on her right was dry. A handmaiden heard her distraught and ran to bring her the water from the kitchen. "Hold strong, dear father. Juhaqa will soon be back with water to relieve your throat". Lord Anders Yronwood relieved his throat with a gush of blood. "Father!" she teared up, and The Bloodroyal leaked more royal blood from around her tongue. Syn shook him, pinned him down, hugged him and kissed his temple to calm him down, but her kisses didn't ease his struggle. He raised a finger her way for a few seconds before he collapsed dead. She gulped, and tasted his blood on her lips from when she kissed him.
The room was soon crowded with family and retainers.<|im_end|>
Enraptured fervidly onto the political strife-inducing state of Dorne lately, simpering by the current of the winds escaping from outdoors, passed the spacious window in which he stood. Westeros struck the initiative with the death of Oberyn Martell in a vengeful incited trial of combat against the infamous Gregor Clegane. The gods retain twisted humor on your fate...Red Viper. This irony wasn't lost to Tamir for the atrocities committed in the prince's youth against one of his own. Complicating matters based on eavesdropping from those swayed with ambitions for his family was the tirade this inflicted onto the Martells with his bastards and paramour seeking retributions. Despite the equipoise behind these duels and whom it concerned, even his Dorishmen pride could not deny where to pick one's battles and where pragmatism can work subtly.
Privy to extensive access to knowledge since his conjoined youth with Syn, several bookcases decorated the room comparable to the embroidery of one's tunic. Subjugated to the slovenly rule of the Martell bloodline diluting them through the relationships of foreigners. Subterfuge, currency, and an unhinged devotion for dominance was all that helped cling to their rule and to those with keener senses the aphotic manifestations vying for its prestige title and reputation back. A clamorous knock reverberated his eardrum, swerved with mild curiosity never conceding with the appropriate facial expressions pressed into a stoned imprint of sternness.
A wiry fellow barring a station practically nonexistent, the gods accursed the degenerate with seemingly crooked dentures more courteous for the wildlife than him and a complexion darkened by a repugnant breeding with Salty Dornishmen like the Martells with slight distinguishing marks of the lands of a westeros. Disregarding everything, he was family or scarcely being a cousin far banished from the mere joys of station thanks to his bastard blood. Quite swift in movement, Niall Sand came before his presence with narrowed hues mindful of surroundings. " I..I bring news from my visit from Sunspear itself. The Sand snakes bring complete discord to the foundation of the Martells. Surely this be a sign of a return to old, eh?"
"Splendid," Impeccable timing blessed the Yronwoods from afar without showing their hand, amusement for once not disciplined through an ominous grimace. Laded in the shadows unlike dear Syn, the plots intertwining into his devious minds knew no bounds, no morality if it instilled a sense of power where the title Bloodroyal held its true strength once more. Delay depended on the fleeing health of father, even his aloof disposition dare not tamper with the respect he deserves. Half dressed, a boisterous whistle often times a chime to signal for maids was met with urgency. Instead, the greeting came from commotions not too far from his dwellings. Brandishing his revealed torso with a dark tunic ingrained in patterns of silver while amidst the haste of slipping on his sleeveless surcoat of dark gold pigment with stitching of his house embellished blatantly on the back rushing out the door in a frantic state.
The disturbance is coming from Father's...by the new gods..no , Unnerved by the acceleration of the turmoil befalling him simultaneous towards the joyous occasion was another cord of irony the gods probably relished at the games mortals bestow upon themselves. A whimsical whistle exhibited by the curling of his tongue was synonymous for nimble communication, priding himself on the guards who stampeded with a protective formation formulating around one of the heirs out of precaution. Immersed amongst family and retainers was Tamir, vision bulging at the bloody sight of his sister and now deceased father.
Hushed whispers manifested Tamir's conscious shuffling at the array of scenarios of how this could dare occur. Insidious plots percussed his mind, ascension one step closer as he gradually came closer to embrace his sister in a tender, yet firm show of affection. Conveying a flocculent means of conversation with Syn, what he yearned for was just awaiting him, but it heeded a subtly, deception, and most of all never following back unlike the Sand Snakes as contention came so close. " ....He's gone, isn't he? Please tell me the kindness affronted to him was mundane and not by avaricious for power or one's revenge ?<|im_end|>