Ambush

5 Day - 5th Moon - 259AC

Dorne, Road to Yronwood

About four hours before dawn, when the world was still and dark, Lothar entered his prince's tent. The knight shook him roughly from his dreams, and Doran, sleepily, opened his dark eyes and looked sullenly at his sworn knight.

"Grrh." The prince growled in annoyance and glared at Lothar.

"Don't give me that look, it's time to wake up." The knight said dryly. "We have things to discuss."

"What could we have to discuss at this hour?" Doran growled without getting up from his cot.

"The ambush that some bandits are preparing." Said Lothar.

"What?" All traces of sleep disappear from the prince's face and he abruptly gets up from the cot. "I didn't expect them to act so fast, we are still very close to Dusty Village."

Doran walks over to one of his chests and pulls his armor out of it.

"They must be impatient." Lothar says selflessly as he begins to help his prince put on the armor.

A golden breastplate with a red sun on the chest and orange runes carved in a (seemingly) decorative way. Golden greaves and bracelets both with a sun and runes engraved, and a red cape with the coat of arms of House Martell in the center. At his waist is his Hand-and-a-Half-Sword, more commonly called a bastard sword, a dagger, and a bag (which is enchanted to be larger on the inside).

Doran's armor is a fairly common light armor in Dorne. This type of armor comes from the east, from the ancient Rhoynar State-cities. It is one of the many things that modern Dorne adopted from their (the Rhoynar) lost home in the east. This armor is much more practical for the suffocating desert climate as the soldier is less likely to suffer from heat stroke, plus it gives much more protection than traditional leather armor.

In Dorne, soldiers only rarely wear full steel armor, most wear Rhoynar light armor or leather armor.

Doran, thanks to his magic, could wear full armor but the weight of it is too much for his young body. Obviously he could enchant the armor to be light as a feather but that would raise too much suspicion. How could an eleven year old boy move freely in armor that weighs as much as him?

"How far away are they?" Doran asks as he laces up his sandals.

"An hour away."

"Well, it's more than enough to prepare our soldiers."

"What was Yronwood thinking... If we weren't watching the surroundings using that candle of yours and from the skies those 'bandits' would catch us with our pants down. You could be killed- Does he not know the repercussions of the murder of a Martell heir in his lands?"

"Oh he knows, If there is something I learned about Yon Yronwood is that he is no fool. I presume he ordered the bandits not to kill me, or he may have ordered them to kill me." Doran places a hand on his chin thoughtfully. "I have three brothers and one sister, even if I die, House Martell will still have many heirs."

"You can not say that!" Lothar protests fiercely. "You're the heir! You're- you can't die!"

"Easy, ser." Doran puts a hand on his knight's shoulder reassuringly.

Lothar takes a deep breath and says in a calmer tone:

"Your death would draw too much attention, and the treacherous plans of the Yronwoods would be easier to discover."

"But my death would also give them an excuse to recruit more men under the guise of revenge. They would just have to kill a few men and present their heads to Sunspear, people would believe they avenged my death and they would be seen as heroes."

"That-" Lothar looks lost.

"Of course this is all speculation on my part. We won't be able to know what Lord Yronwood is really up to until I finish my investigation." Doran finishes buttoning his cape.

"Go to the sleeping knights' tents and tell them to prepare for battle but not to come out of their tents, I want the attackers to think that they caught us off guard. Also warn those who are patrolling, tell them to act normal. I'll be keeping an eye on the situation using the candle, and when they're close enough I'll let everyone know."

"Yes, my prince." Lothar rushes out of the tent to carry out his prince's orders.

Doran sits on his cot and takes the Valyrian candle out of his bag.

"Let's see, 80 men. Their clothes are not of good quality and only a couple of them have armor, they look like the typical group of bandits." He murmurs with his eyes closed. "They are 40 minutes from the camp, this will be an interesting night."

Doran continues to watch the bandits, after a while Lothar re-enters his tent and stands near the entrance with his sword drawn and with an expression that Doran never saw in his knight.

`This is Lothar before a battle? He seems serious, though- is that emotion reflected in his eyes?'As he ponders this he continues to watch the enemies and after a few minutes gets up from the cot.

"It 's time."

***

Eighty men dressed in clothing that varied from rags to leather and steel armor crept up to Prince Doran's camp. When they were fifty yards away, they dropped all pretense of stealth and began charging toward the apparently unsuspecting guards.

"Defend the prince and kill that scum! For Dorne!" yelled a knight.

"For Dorne!" More knights shouted, many more than the bandits had seen.

To their utter disbelief out of the tents emerged dozens of knights clad in their armor with their weapons drawn. But they did not stop their stampede and almost a hundred bandits were running towards the camp from the north.

"Shield Wall!" Screamed ser Lothar.

The knights entered a defensive formation and the attackers collided with the shields. The knights in the first row of the shield wall made small gaps and spearmen stabbed at the fallen bandits. Before the second wave of bandits could hit the shield wall the knights closed the wall.

"Archers!" Lothar yelled.

A dozen archers took aim and rained down arrows on another group of bandits trying to bypass the shield wall and enter the camp from the east. The arrows only killed a couple of bandits and a dozen of them entered the camp.

"Ser Loras, take control of the shield wall! I'll take care of this cunts." Lothar yelled at his companion.

"Yes ser!" Loras quickly took Lothar's place in the center of the camp, where he had a good view of everything that was going on around him.

Lothar drew his sword, a beautiful forged longsword with a griffin-shaped pommel.

"Come get me, you fuckers!" He growled with a fierce look and a bloodthirsty smirk.

An ax-wielding bandit charged at him, screaming. Lothar took a step to the left avoiding the bandit's stampede and with a swing of his sword he decapitated him in one blow.

The bandit's head flew a few meters before falling to the ground, his corpse instead remained standing, weightless, for a few moments before collapsing like a puppet whose strings are cut. Blood began to spurt out of the lot, simulating water coming out of a hose.

"W-what?!" A bandit with a long beard full of sand choked.

"Don't just stand there! Go for him!" yelled another bandit.

"Aye! He is only one, we are many!"

"Aye!"

Three bandits charged at Lothar, who was waiting for them with his sword in hand. A bandit tried to cut him down with a vertical slash but Lothar blocked the blow with his own sword. Without wasting time in a struggle, the knight took out his dagger and stuck it in the bandit's eye, going through the skull.

He quickly took a few steps back avoiding the other two bandits, and while they were distracted by the quick death of their comrade, Lothar reversed his grip on his dagger, moved his hand like lightning and threw it at another bandit. It went through his face as if it were butter.

Without waiting a second after throwing the dagger the knight launches himself towards the other bandit and directs his sword in a vertical cut using both hands to give the slash more power.

The bandit tries to block the blow with his axe, but the shaft broke and Lothar's sword caught him square in the face. There was a sickening crack, and blood began to gush out.

The knight withdrew his sword from dying man and turned to the other seven bandits, who were frozen in place staring at him in sheer horror. The sight was truly terrifying, Ser Lothar's armor and face stained with the blood of his fallen enemies.

"D-demon!"

"Stay away from me!"

Ignoring the cries of panic from the remaining bandits, Lothar began to advance towards them with a smile that chilled his enemies to the bone.

***

Doran watched as his sworn shield slaughtered eleven bandits on his own and shook his head slightly.

"That's why he was excited... Lothar is a battle maniac."

In a few minutes the "battle" was over and most of the bandits were massacred, Doran gave the order to capture some of them for interrogation.

"Ser Loras." Doran walked towards the veteran knight. "What is the report of the battle?"

"Of the bandits 62 are dead, and 18 have been captured, of which 14 are seriously injured. It would be more merciful to release them from their suffering." Advised ser Loras.

Doran grimaced but nodded.

"Take care of it." Doran looked at the injured bandits for a few seconds before turning his gaze back to the knight. "And on our side?"

"4 Knights have died in combat." He answers with a grimace. "And another 23 are injured, the injuries range from a few scratches to serious wounds."

Doran says nothing for a moment and lowers his head.

`4 men died for me today, how many more will die in the future?` Conflict gleams in the prince's onyx eyes.

"May the wounded, all of them, be treated." He finally says. "Ser Loras, have twelve knights patrol the camp's exterior, another ten patrol the interior. Have the servants take care of the wounded, and prepare the medical supplies. Oh, and make sure you get the corpses out of the camp. Make the captured bandits dig a pit and dump all the corpses there."

"All my prince? Even-" Ser Loras looks at his prince uneasily.

"Not our men!" Doran quickly answers, having understood what his man wanted to say. "We are many days from the nearest port, we will not be able to have the burial at home. Prepare a traditional funeral, we will take the ashes to their relatives."

Corpses, in the desert heat, decompose much faster than in colder climates so there is no point in delaying the funeral. The traditional Dornish funeral consists of burning the bodies of the deceased, then the ashes are kept in an urn that is given to the closest relatives of the deceased.

Sometimes those relatives keep the urns, other times they spread the ashes in a place important to the deceased. It depends on each one.

"Prepare separate fires." Doran says before walking towards his tent. `That way the ashes won't mix.`

Doran makes a face and walks over to one of his trunks.

`Really what was the point of putting on the armor if I wasn't even allowed to get close to combat. Ever since I mentioned my possible death, Lothar became even more protective...`

Ser Lothar put his foot down and did not allow his prince to come near the fight. Doran was in the center of the camp along with the servants and squires, protected by all the knights who formed different formations around them keeping the bandits away.

After taking a box full of potions, Doran leaves his tent and walks towards the wounded. He kneels down in front of one of the more seriously injured men and starts giving orders to the servants around him.

"Bring clean water, towels and bandages. You- Yes, you bring me two straight sticks and some shredded sheet, I need to line up his bone."

Doran tends to the more seriously injured, leaving the servants to treat only the slightly injured.

`I made sure their wounds were treated properly and gave them potions that would speed up their recovery. By the time we reach Yronwood Castle in 6 days their wounds should be mostly healed.`

Doran's potions don't raise many eyebrows as miraculous as they are because the art of potions has been used in the Known World for millennia. Although many of the existing potions are fraudulent, there are some authentic potions, magic potions that do work, but those are few.

`At the end of the day all you need to make a potion is the recipe, even a Muggle could brew a potion if taught. Thanks to the fact that it is not considered a magical discipline, my potions are sold without problems.`

***

4th Moon 259AC

Essos, Naath

The island of Naath is located between the Summer Islands and Sothoryos, although it is considered part of the Summer Islands, the island is so far east of the other islands of the archipelago that barely has contact with the other islands and that leaves it in a precarious position.

The people of Naath have a more exotic appearance, with dark skin and golden eyes. But what stands out most about these people is not their appearance, but their culture. They are extreme pacifists, believing that any type of violence is a demonic act. They are great artists who are dedicated to creating things rather than destroying them. They do not kill animals even to eat, being vegetarians, they also respect the plant life around them and for every tree they cut down to build something they plant two more.

All of these beliefs come from their god, the God of Harmony, who is considered the creator and father of the entire island. Butterflies are the sacred animal of this god and therefore they are worshiped within the island, hence the other name by which the island is known: Isle of Butterflies.

These traits make the inhabitants of Naath the perfect slaves in the eyes of slavers on the mainland, sparking a relentless wave of raids against the island.

These raids started after the Doom of Valyria, as the Valyrians considered the Naathi as a harmless neighbor with a beautiful culture so they never tried to conquer it, in fact many dragonlords went to the island for vacations to enjoy the peaceful, friendly environment and the exotic beaches and delicacies.

Thanks to that friendship with Valyria, the Naathi were free to trade throughout the world, their products could be found in markets as far away as White Harbor or Asshai. Those products were mostly silk, as the island's environment is well-suited for insect life, beautiful handicrafts and delicate spiced wine.

But after the Doom of Valyria the raids began and soon the Naathi had to abandon their port cities and take refuge inside the forests and mountains of the center of the island. As a result, the island's vast trading network was shattered and Naath went from one of the richest islands in the Known World to one that can barely survive.

All that changed 21 years ago, when a woman found a teenager dressed in strange clothes, too big for his body, unconscious in the woods. The boy was about 15 years old and he was a handsome young lad with fair skin, medium, lustrous black hair which appeared light in the sun. His sleeping features had a noble and ethereal air. The woman looked at the boy enthralled for a few minutes, and when she came out of her stupor she noticed something else strange, the boy was holding a strange wooden stick in his hand. Even while he was unconscious his grip on that stick was ferrero and he was white-knuckled.

That boy was the architect of the greatest change that Naath has ever seen, the change of the island and its people. The once decayed island began to recover its splendor and all thanks to the foreigner who became their king.

The Star King, they call him.