A Song of Fire & Snow (GOT)(Jon Snow)

Chapter 3: Alarys

The clang of steel echoed through the courtyard, reverberating off the sandstone walls of the secluded fortress. Alarys swung her twin Dornish long swords in a graceful arc, the blades gleaming under the harsh Dornish sun. Her movements were swift and calculated, a testament to years of relentless training. She had been practicing with her blades since she could lift them, the scholars and warriors ensuring she was as deadly as any knight in Dorne.

"Again," her instructor barked, his voice hoarse from years of battle.

Alarys didn't hesitate. She spun on her heel, her swords cutting through the air with deadly precision. The twin blades, light and slender, felt like extensions of her own body, a perfect reflection of Dorne's agility and speed in combat. She had been taught to fight not with brute strength but with precision, with the swiftness of the desert wind. She wasn't just training for the sake of battle—no, every move she made was calculated, her posture poised for the day she might have to defend herself, or Dorne itself.

The scholars told her she was born into a legacy of strength, a Martell through and through. But she knew there was more to her than just her family's name. She had something no one else knew of—her fire. It simmered beneath her skin, a secret power that both terrified and intrigued her. As her swords clashed with those of her opponent, Alarys could feel the heat rising within her. She had learned to keep it in check, to control it, but it was always there, lurking, waiting for her to slip.

She sheathed her blades after the sparring session ended, her breath heavy but even. Her instructor gave her a curt nod, but no words of praise. It was unnecessary. She knew she was good—better than most. And she had worked for it. There was no room for mediocrity in her life.

Her diplomatic training was just as rigorous. The scholars drilled her in the nuances of politics, the importance of alliances, and the art of persuasion. She learned how to read people—how to discern truth from falsehood, how to turn a conversation in her favor with just the right choice of words. The tutors trained her to be the perfect emissary for Dorne. She was to be a weapon of both mind and body, a bridge between kingdoms and a force to be reckoned with.

As a child, she had looked forward to Oberyn's visits with eager anticipation. He was her elder brother, the Red Viper of Dorne, and his stories of adventure and battle had fascinated her. His visits had been rare, but each time he had swept into the fortress, he had brought with him a spark of life that lit up her secluded world. She had adored him then, clinging to the hope that he would one day bring her back to Sunspear, where she belonged.

But as she grew older, her adoration turned into a quiet resentment. His visits became less frequent, his presence a fleeting reminder of the family that had abandoned her. She was no longer a child who looked up to him with innocent eyes. Now, she understood. Oberyn could visit her more often if he wished, but he chose not to. He chose to live his life in the courts of Sunspear, surrounded by luxury and intrigue, while she was left to train in silence, hidden away from the world.

Alarys learned to stop expecting his visits. She stopped looking for a brother who would never come. The time for adoration had passed, and with it, any illusions she had held about her place in Oberyn's heart.

Now, she embraced her independence. She wasn't just a Martell—she was something more, something forged in the fire of solitude and honed by the blades she wielded. She no longer needed Oberyn's approval or his love. She would make her own path in the world, and if Dorne needed an emissary, she would be the best they had ever seen.

Her destiny was no longer tied to the whims of others. It was hers to control, and she would wield it as skillfully as she wielded her swords.