She doesn’t like Dorne. It’s taken her a long while to acknowledge such a thing, such a failing. Her whole life has been about duty, and she’d worn it well, no matter Daemon’s yammering about choice. Maron is kind and handsome enough, and it is refreshing to see women of all standings speaking their minds, yet all the same, it’s dusty, it’s loud, it’s hot, the food is searing, and she misses her family. With the gap in their ages, Daeron had always felt more like an uncle than a brother, but to his sons she’d been close. Baelor, mostly, but she liked sitting down with quiet Maekar, too.
No one is mean to her in Dorne, exactly, but still she can sense the distaste from many, the wounds from resisting nearly two centuries of her family’s rule, and the Valyrians’ long before that, not quite healed, made worse by who her father was. It makes for a lonely time, even though some of her ladies accompanied her from King’s Landing to Sunspear.
She sits in her chamber, alone, once again trying to memorize the Dornish history her maesters had never delved into, from the arrival of the First Men across the Broken Arm to Princess Nymeria’s conquest to the complex politics since, many of the Rhoynish names queer on her tongue. It is slow going—not only had her maesters omitted much, but it turns out much of what they’d said is completely wrong—and she is not ungrateful to hear the knock on her door.
“Enter,” she calls.
Her princely husband walks in, apprehensive of her as usual but almost anxious as well. “Will you take a trip with me?”
“A trip? Where?”
He holds out his hand. “It’s a surprise.”
Indeed it is, for while she doesn’t know exactly what she’d expected, it wasn’t to get in a horse litter and ride for miles. They’re skirting the coast, that much she can tell, for in her peeks between the curtains, she can spot the blue, blue ocean to her right. It baffles her, though, as to where they could be heading. From her perusing of Dornish maps, she knows there’s nothing directly north of Sunspear. Ghost Hill is to the northwest, but otherwise there’s only bare land.
“Maron, honestly,” she says after what seems like ages. “We’ve been riding for hours, where are we going?”
Portrait of Sandor Clegane (bookverse) commissioned by lovely hellionheart! I haven’t read the books but I tried my best to capture his character based on the descriptions provided and had a lot of fun drawing this! :>