12 Lady of Wyl
The day had dawned cool and clear, the sea breeze ruffled Prince Arthur's hair. After a week on the Sea of Dorne they finally reached Wyl.
Their crew usually consists of 140 sailors but since they had to sneak out in the veil of night they could only muster 80 crew members, more than enough to sail their ship: a galley called The Golden Mermaid.
The ship is easy to spot with its bright gold painted wood and the huge Martell emblem in the sails. House Wyl's guards must have reconnoitered the ship hours before they reached port because as Arthur stepped down to the dock he saw a whole squadron of knights waiting for him.
All young men in shining armor, handsome and gallant.
`Green boys in armor. Lady Wyl must have her veterans preparing for war`
"Welcome to Wyl my prince!" The knights bow to him. Arthur nods.
"Take me to your lady." He orders before the welcome squad leader can open his mouth. He is in a hurry.
"Yes, my prince."
***
Lady Wyl's castle has changed a great deal since his last visit, more than two years ago. The courtyards are filled with soldiers training, dozens of servants rushing from one place to another.
`They are preparing for war`
"Welcome to Wyl my prince." Lady Wylla is waiting for him, the 36-year-old woman appears to have aged a decade since his last visit. Arthur notices her tiredness, it seems that Lady Wyl hasn't slept well in quite some time.
"I wish the reason for my visit was more pleasant, but it is good to see you again, Lady Wylla."
Arthur kisses her hand as is protocol.
"Yes, those barbarians…" Lady Wylla makes a disgusted face. "But what can be done?"
They begin to walk to Lady Wyl's solar, where they can discuss in private the reason for his visit. On their way they talk about unimportant matters, mentioning the possible engagement of Lady Casella Uller, his great-niece and heiress to House Uller, with one of the Ladybright boys. Arthur knows that those rumors are more false than the legitimacy of the first children of Rhaenyra Targaryen. His great-niece is a decade older than House Ladybright's children. The eldest is Doran's age and the youngest is Mors's age.
Her nephew is not going to wait until his daughter is almost thirty to marry her off.
"I know why you are here, my prince." Lady Wylla offers him a glass of wine once they reach the solar.
"Yes, I already expected it." Arthur looks at the wine in the glass. "My wife must have sent you a letter."
"Yeah, what were you thinking Arthur? To go against the orders of the Princess of Dorne…" Wylla sighs in disbelief, her old friend should know better.
"If this war continues its course other Marches Houses will join and soon it will no longer be a war between two Houses but a war between Stormlands and Dorne." The prince looks at her determinedly.
"You know I can't sit idly by while that barbarian Swann slaughters my men. He spilled Wyl blood! My poor cousin..."
"I know my lady." Arthur tries to placate his anger. "But if this conflict continues, the entire continent will be in danger. All noble Houses will be vulnerable. The smallfolk riots-"
"You worry too much my prince, the riots only affected insignificant lords and knights. Here in Dorne the murdered knight did not have even two guards at his service and his abode was an old watchtower half collapsed. The smallfolk will not dare to attack a House like ours, we have thousands of guards at our service. House Wyl has 3,200 men, House Martell has 12,000."
Arthur realizes that, like his wife, Lady Wyl does not take the threat of a smallfolk rebellion seriously.
`It seems that no one can see the bigger pictures.`
The prince tries to convince Lady Wyl but is unsuccessful. Nor can he appeal to the authority of House Martell, the Princess of Dorna has already sent several letters to House Wyl indicating her support in the conflict. Dorna also sent a letter to her husband.
She practically demanded that he return to Sunspear, with less than kind words.
`More than a princess my wife looks like a sailor, that language...` he grimaces at the memory of some of the words written in the letter ("you cumberworld dalcop fool!", "-fustilian fopdoodle")
Arthur is not naive, he knows that his wife knows him well. The letters are not the only thing she sent, it is most likely that Princess Dorna has also sent a fleet to force him to return home.
The boats have to be a day or two away.
"That's why Wylla is so insistent that I stay, Dorna must have ordered her to hold me here until her ships come to seize me."
***
But Arthur has been playing these games too long not to have a plan for such a situation.
In the middle of the night he leaves Castle Wyl, a group of guards waiting for him with horses and provisions for two days on the road.
"The other ship awaits us a hundred miles to the north, my prince."
Arthur already foresaw that something like this was going to happen so he ordered his quartermaster to gather the rest of the crew and leave in another boat heading for the mouth of the Marcher River.
The River Marcher empties into the Sea of Dorne a little over a hundred miles north of Wyl, in the heart of the Marches.
"The road will be dangerous, my prince. Stormlanders men have been spotted all over the territory."
"Not even those barbarians would dare attack a convoy with House Martell emblem."
While his guards argue Arthur is lost in his thoughts.
His first plan failed, he only has two plans left and if they both fail...
`I will have disobeyed the orders of my princess in vain`
Arthur makes a face.
*** Days later at Sunspear ***
"House Allyrion."
"Yes, Prince Lewyn, their coat of arms?"
"Hmm, a hand in..."
Doran listens to his uncle's lesson while he practices his writing.
They are currently in the Sunspear Library, a multi-story room filled with hundreds of thousands of books, amassed over the millennia by House Martell. Doran is sitting at a table and his uncle and Maester Wulfric are sitting at another table a few feet away.
`You'd think I'd be good at writing with quill and ink after almost two decades in the Magic World, but my muscle memory didn't travel with me to this world`
Doran winces as his hand slips again, smearing ink across the sentences he's been copying so carefully for the last hour.
He puts down the pen and spreads his arms.
`How troublesome`
"Are you alright Prince Doran?" One of Wulfric's attendants rushes to his side, his voice trembling a little in fear of the snake asleep in the chair next to Doran.
"Yes, but I stained my paper with ink." He answers with a grin.
It has been three weeks since he started lessons with Maester Wulfric, in this time he has been learning to read and write, history and basic math.
He finds most of his lessons extremely boring, the effort to stay awake is almost the same as during History of Magic classes during his years as a student at Hogwarts.
Ironically the only class he really enjoys is History.
`The history of this world is very rich. But seriously dragonriders? Lewyn's stories were true, until a century ago humans rode dragons, my own ancestors...`
The existence of magic shouldn't have surprised him so much, but since he hadn't seen any hint of it for almost three years… Doran thought this world was completely Muggle.
`I wonder how the Valyrians managed to tame dragons? Was it through rituals or spells? Or a born talent like snake tongue? If it's a natural talent then I have it too! I could have my own dragon!` Doran slumps. `But the dragons became extinct... I wonder how that happened, so many mysteries`
"-so don't worry, your grace."
`Huh? What is he saying?'Doran zoned out and didn't hear a word come out of the mouth of Wulfric's assistant but he nodded anyway.
The assistant replaces his paper almost full of sentences with a blank one.
`You want me to start from scratch?!` Doran gives him an annoyed look but doesn't say anything.
He picks up the quill and starts to write.
`I still have to master writing`
But what has Doran truly annoyed is the excessive flourish with which he is expected to write. The calligraphic style used by the nobility is too complicated, Doran misses the modern, simple and clear style.
`The printing press and typewriter just moved up five places on my list of inventions.`
He is halfway there when he decides to take a break and approach his uncle.
"Come on my prince, we've been going over this for months."
"I give up Maester Wulfric, I'm not cut out for this." Lewyn flops down on the table. "There are hundreds of Houses, with their emblems and words." He complains.
"Yes, and as a Martell you are expected to memorize all of them." Wulfric doesn't feel the slightest bit of pity for the prince. "All noble children have to learn all the Houses of Westeros."
"But why? Is not like I will meet all of them" Lewyn whines.
Doran smiles amused.
`Ah the joys of education, learning a million things you will never need in life.`
"And your prince Doran, have you finished your homework?" The Maester's blue eyes fixate on him.
"Almost." Doran smiles uncomfortably, those eyes remind him too much of Minerva McGonagall.
`Professor McGonagall was always strict but at least Wulfric is pretty nice when not teaching, when he is in professor mode...`
"You should have finished my prince." Wulfric scolds him.
"You're in trouble." Lewyn whispers to him with a mischievous grin.
"You'll both be in trouble if you don't take your lessons seriously." Both princes straighten up and quickly nod their heads.
They know that if it gets out to their grandmother/mother that they aren't paying attention in class their butts will suffer.
`She is not even Mexican! How did that damn chancla end up in Westeros?!`
