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

Chapter 5: Alarys

The desert wind swept across the fortress grounds, carrying with it the scent of sun-warmed sand and wild herbs. Alarys moved swiftly, her twin long swords flashing in the midday sun as she sparred with her instructor. Her body had become a honed weapon—graceful, lithe, and as deadly as any blade. Her dark hair whipped around her face, but she paid it no mind, her focus entirely on her opponent.

With a swift feint, she slipped past his guard, bringing one of her blades to his throat while the other rested against his side.

"Dead," she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

Her instructor, a grizzled Dornish warrior with more scars than skin, chuckled as he lowered his own blade. "You're too fast for me now, Princess."

Alarys withdrew her swords, twirling them once before sheathing them. "Perhaps you're just getting slow in your old age."

He laughed, a sound that was rare and always sincere. "Maybe. Or perhaps you're becoming the warrior we always knew you could be."

Though she brushed off his praise, there was a part of her that thrived on it. She had grown strong, not just in body but in mind. The girl who had once been hidden away from the world, trained in secrecy, had blossomed into a fierce and capable woman. Her skill in battle rivaled that of any Dornish knight, and her sharp wit often left her tutors struggling to keep up in political debates.

Her relationships with her teachers had deepened over the years, becoming more than just that of student and mentor. Her instructors respected her, not because she was a Martell, but because she had earned it. She had forged bonds with the warriors who trained her and the scholars who taught her the art of diplomacy. They had become her family in a way her blood family never had.

Alarys had always admired their dedication, their loyalty, and their belief in her potential. And though she was grateful for their teachings, she couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness when she thought of her true family—Oberyn, her older brother, the one she had once idolized.

Despite her best efforts, she had grown into a woman not unlike him—fiery, passionate, and reckless in ways she sometimes feared. She had inherited his sharp wit, his love of battle, and his disregard for the rules that bound others. But where Oberyn reveled in his freedom, Alarys had always sought more control. She wanted to distance herself from his shadow, to carve her own path, one that wasn't tied to the Martell legacy of vengeance and blood.

Yet, there was a part of her that couldn't deny the similarities. It was in the way she laughed when besting an opponent in battle, in the confidence with which she navigated even the most treacherous of political conversations. Her teachers often remarked that she had Oberyn's fire—but they didn't know the full truth of it. No one did.

Her pyromancy, the secret power that had simmered within her for as long as she could remember, was something she still struggled to control. There were days when the fire felt like it might consume her from the inside, burning hotter and wilder than she could handle. Other days, it was a quiet ember, easily ignored but always present, reminding her that she was something more than just a Martell.

As she wiped the sweat from her brow and bid her instructor farewell, Alarys couldn't help but feel a growing restlessness. She had spent her life training in this fortress, hidden from the world, but now...now she wanted more. She wanted to see Dorne, to be the emissary her people needed, to prove that she was more than just Oberyn's forgotten sister.

She had flourished in her battles, in her lessons, and in her relationships with those around her. But there was a fire inside her that demanded she do more. She was a Martell, after all, and she would not be content to remain in the shadows forever.