WARS TO COME, game of thrones

𝐗𝐈. thorns

𝟐𝟖𝟏 𝐀𝐂

The tournament in Harrenhal went on for days. Anrir had grown tired of watching, and he only ever saw Ned from afar, spending more time with Rob, who had excelled in hand-to-hand combat. The duel with the lances had been dominated by Rhaegar Targaryen so far. The only truly interesting thing so far was the appearance of a knight of unknown identity who appeared and disappeared in the duel - but not without defeating knights from three houses. King Aerys had sent his son and other knights to find the mysterious warrior.

So while the festivities had quieted down a bit, Anrir wandered through the tents and camps set up, observing the other noblemen and women present. The days were warm and people were already talking about the fact that a real spring was finally coming again.

He was loitering near the camp of the Dornish guests when a young man approached him. He had to be about 5 years older than Anrir and Anrir recognized him as Prince Oberyn Martell, a typical Dornish man; tall and slender, with attractive features and narrow eyes that had given him the name Viper. "Anrir Riverfall," the prince greeted him and Anrir stopped, scrutinizing him carefully. He was not used to being addressed like this. Very few people knew straight away that he was not an Arryn or at least a bastard of the house.

"Oberyn Martell," Anrir replied and frowned questioningly, not feeling bad about returning Martell's piercing gaze. The prince had a way of looking at you, as if he just wanted to undress you with looks. Not that Anrir didn't like getting the impression that people found him attractive. Still, it probably wouldn't be too sensible to be caught in such a contact with another man. Not when he went to so much trouble to hide and cover up everything with Ned.

"You look like a true man of the Vale, pale and well fed, a disgrace." Anrir raised an eyebrow and looked at him questioningly, puzzled, "Are you suggesting I should eat better? More hours of sunshine?" "Wouldn't dream of it, Ser Riverfall. I just thought it would be interesting to make your acquaintance. I wanted to speak with you yesterday, but by then Robert Baratheon had you in his clutches." "Apparently I'm coveted," Anrir only said, still critical of the prince, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Beast dangled loosely from his hip.  "Oh yes," Martell grinned so confidently and casually that Anrir almost became even more suspicious.

"I have to see my father, so I'm afraid I have to go on...", Anrir raised his voice again, but Martell interrupted him. "I will not keep you, Ser Riverfall. I really just thought it would be interesting to get to know you. You're from Dorne, we're almost cousins by a few detours." Anrir frowned: "I... I was not aware of that." "Your mother was Niade Martell. You don't look it, but you are at least half Dornish." Anrir's eyes widened, then he cleared his throat to cover it up. He hadn't known that and really hadn't suspected it from his appearance. He was pale and his features barely resembled those of the prince. "I didn't know that, my parents are dead and I didn't know much about them." "A shame," Martell grinned and scrutinized Anrir once more, "You have noble blood... Dornish, that of the Targaryens... Don't you think you're a bit out of place in the Vale? As a simple knight?"

"I don't mean to offend you, but I don't see myself as a Martell and certainly not as a Targaryen," Anrir stated firmly, his hand resting on Beast's cool grip, "I may not be a native Arryn, but I belong in the Vale, in the eyrie. I am very happy with my place." For a moment he feared he had offended Martell, but then the prince grinned loosely and patted him on the shoulder. "I respect your attitude, you are steadfast and loyal, not bad qualities, cousin." Surprised and a little less tense, Anrir felt a smile steal onto his lips. He stifled it so as not to appear like an excited child in front of the older man.

"Thank you," Anrir replied calmly and smiled slightly. "With pleasure," Martell purred charmingly and Anrir realized that he would have to remove himself from the situation. "Prince Rhaegar will soon be competing against Lord Selmy, I would like to be there," Anrir explained and Martell only nodded in understanding. "We will meet again," Martell promised and raised his hand in farewell before making his way to the stands, presumably to where his family was sitting.

Anrir's seat was a little further away, with his father and Elbert, but he could see both the Starks and Rob and his household from here. Lyanna noticed him and smiled at him, and Anrir smiled back. Lyanna looked pretty; in a pale blue dress and pearls in her hair. For once, he understood Robert's great physical affection for Lyanna. She was beautiful, not in that perfect way like Ashara Dayne or Elia Targaryen, but in an interesting way; when the gaze fell on her it lingered and the more you looked at Lyanna like that, the more beautiful she became. But Anrir would never desire her for that. If he did, it would only be because of her wit, her intelligence and her rebellious character. So his gaze quickly slid over her and to Ned, who wore a gray-blue shirt and a black coat, held together by a direwolf brooch. His hair was loose, only a few strands braided into narrow plaits. Anrir sensed that he was smiling and so he took a breath, forcing himself to keep a more neutral expression on his face.

Who was he to look at Ned like that? He was only putting him in danger. And yet he wished he could enter the tournament to crown Eddard his King of Love and Beauty. He swallowed hard and painfully.

Fortunately, the tournament was about to begin again and Anrir distracted himself by watching Rhaegar Targaryen's duel with Lord Selmy. The prince in his black dragon armor and red cloak was a gifted fighter, even if Anrir preferred to hear him sing rather than see him fight. The prince defeated Selmy in a maddeningly short duel, earning cheers from the crowd and Anrir envied him a little. It had to be easy to be born into such a position, didn't it?

Rhaegar was presented with a wreath of blue roses; winter roses. Anrir knew them from Winterfell, but didn't liked them as much as he liked the white flowering heather of the Vale. The prince rode along the ranks and Anrir watched his wife, who was watching her prince with dark eyes, expecting the wreath. But Rhaegar's black horse stopped in front of the Starks' stand.

Anrir looked questioningly and surprised at his father, but he didn't even notice him, watching the proceedings with a furrowed brow. It had become quiet and Rhaegar Targaryen presented the wreath to Lyanna, not his wife and mother of his children, but Lyanna,placed it in her lap. Crowned her queen of love and beauty. Lyanna bowed her head respectfully, but Anrir knew her and could see that her gray eyes sparkled with flattery and amusement. As if she was no longer even aware that she was engaged. Only now did Anrir look at Rob, who snorted and laughed unimpressed.

But Anrir knew Rob and had repeatedly drawn his anger himself. And so he saw this anger shimmering beneath his feigned nonchalance. Brandon, who was sitting next to Ned, also looked angry and heated. Anrir bit his lower lip, the tension in the air was clear, almost palpable.

A cool breeze slid across the ranks and ruffled Anrir's hair, and he lifted his head. Clouds were gathering from the north. Apparently, spring had been a fallacy after all.