Light the Way

CHAPTER 19. thorns and roses

SAMIRA

Samira wandered the sandstone corridors of Sunspear, her mind a turbulent sea as she grappled with the revelation that had just shaken her world. It was a slow unravelling, a series of hints and overheard conversations, pieced together like a patchwork of half-truths. And now, standing in the shadow of the great Martell palace, with the warmth of the Dornish sun casting long shadows across the tiles, Samira knew. She was not a Hightower. Not truly. Her father, the man who had raised her, who had loved her, who she had thought she belonged to - Lord Baelor - was not her blood.

Her true father was someone else.

Lord Quentyn Qorgyle of Sandstone.

The realisation had come crashing down upon her like a wave breaking against the shore. Samira had always known that something about her felt different. She bore no resemblance to the pale, golden-haired Hightowers of Oldtown. Her hair was a deep chestnut, her skin kissed by the sun, her eyes darker than any of her supposed kin. She had always felt like an outsider in her own family, a quiet observer in a world of people she couldn't quite mirror. And now she knew why.

The last puzzle piece had clicked into place during a quiet afternoon in Sunspear. She had been in the company of Princess Myrcella, who had made a passing comment about how Samira reminded her of the Qorgyles, who had visited only a few moons past. It had been meant as a casual remark, a simple observation about her features, but it had been the spark that set her mind alight. From there, whispers of her mother's travels all those years ago - how Lady Rhonda had stopped at Sandstone on her way to Sunspear - came flooding back. It had all seemed so ordinary before. Now, it was tinged with something else, something profound.

Samira sat in the small private garden attached to her chambers, the scent of citrus trees and flowering vines filling the air, but it did little to calm her. The weight of her new knowledge was suffocating, a burden she wasn't sure she could carry.

"Quentyn Qorgyle," she whispered to herself, testing the name on her tongue, as if saying it aloud would somehow make it more real.

Could it be true? The Lord of Sandstone, a man she had never met, was her father? Her true father? What would he say if she stood before him? Would he even remember her mother? Or was Samira merely the result of some forgotten, fleeting moment between them?

Her thoughts churned, and she found herself filled with a mixture of anger, confusion, and sorrow. Lord Baelor had loved her, had raised her, and for all intents and purposes, he had been her father. But now that seemed like a lie, a comforting illusion shattered by the truth of her Dornish blood. A part of her was angry at her mother, Lady Rhonda, for keeping this secret buried for so long, for letting her live a life wrapped in falsehoods. Another part of her felt guilty for even thinking that way. What if her mother had been trying to protect her? What if her father - Baelor - had known all along and still loved her as his own?

Tears pricked her eyes, but Samira refused to let them fall. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms as she stood. She had always prided herself on being strong, but this - this was almost too much to bear.

And yet, beneath all the confusion and anger, a deeper question gnawed at her: Who am I?

She had always defined herself by the Hightower name, by her family, by Oldtown. But now she realised that part of her soul belonged to another place, to another man, a stranger she had never known but who was bound to her by blood.

She felt her heart pull in two directions. On one hand, there was the life she had always known, her family, her home. On the other, there was the truth - the truth of her Dornish heritage, the legacy of the Qorgyles, a place and a father she had never met. Would Lord Quentyn even acknowledge her? Would he want her in his life? Would he welcome her as a daughter, or would he see her as nothing more than an unwelcome reminder of a past he had long since forgotten?