The night air was perfumed with myrrh, jasmine, and the slow-burning embers of cedarwood. Sunspear slept under a sky filled with stars so bright they seemed to shiver. The echoes of music, laughter, and revelry continued to keep the guests entertained as the night of celebration stretched to the hour of the wolf.
Somewhere, a fountain whispered against stone, like a heart confessing in the dark.
Harrion stood at the threshold of his wife's bed chamber, his hand on the carved handle. The bedding ceremony of the Andal customs was ignored as per his request. He disliked that part of the wedding ceremony, a sentiment shared by his father as well. He found no liking to a bunch of strangers removing his or his wife's clothes while being hauled off to their marital bed appealing. Prince Doran was gracious enough to announce this part of the bedding ceremony void.
The chamber within was no stranger to accommodating a night of passion. Draped in silks dyed sunset red and Martell gold, it smelled of cinnamon and oranges. The open windows let in the night breeze, stirring the reedy curtains like phantom dancers. On the bed, a thing of dark carved wood gleaming with thick brown colour, sat Arianne Martell, his wife.
She sat with her back straight, her dark eyes fixed on him. The golden circlet in her hair caught the candlelight and scattered it across her cheekbones. She wore a dress the colour of black and gold, belted loosely at the waist, slipping off one shoulder. Her bare legs were folded beneath her with the skirt pulled up, gleaming softly in the light of a single hanging lantern. Her mesmerising eyes and full red lips stirred a primal desire within Harry.
He closed the door behind him and absently secured the room under a magical ward.
"You've faced wildlings, Ironborn reavers and even the shadows of Valyria, my brave Blackwolf," she said, her voice low and thick like Dornish wine with a grin tugging at her full lips. "Don't tell me a princess in her bed gives you pause."
Harry smiled—awkwardly, then more surely. "I never said that."
"You look like a man who doesn't know whether he's walking into a trap or a viper pit."
"Is there a difference?" he said, stepping forward, slow and deliberate. "You are a Martell after all."
"And you are a Stark." Arianne took a few steps forward.
Her dress slipped lower, baring the smooth bronze slope of her shoulders and more of her cleavage.
"We are not meant to be soft things – wolf and viper." Arianne purred, her eyes shining with excitement of what was to come.
"No," he agreed. "But here we are."
(Leomon Start)
He reached for her, and she did not pull away. His hand brushed her cheek, then slid into the cascade of her hair. It was softer than he'd imagined and known. She traced a finger along the line of his jaw towards his pulse point.
Harry took that opportunity to snake his arms around her waist. His hands traced her finely shaped hips and finally met around her back, where he started undoing the laces holding her dress. A layer of black silk pooled around Arianne's legs after Harry undid the laces, leaving her dressed in a layer of golden silk.
She caught his hands and drew him down, making them fall onto her bed. Their mouths met in a tender kiss. She tasted of cinnamon and smelled like a ripe orange. His hands moved to her shoulder, finding the braces that held her silk dress. With a deft tug, it came loose, the fabric falling down her shoulder like dusk into night.
She was not shy. Her gaze was steady, shoulders squared, chin tilted—a princess in command of herself, her body, her pleasure. But when he kissed the hollow of her throat, when his rough hands brushed the curve of her hip, she shivered, and her breath caught.
He laid her back among the cushions and candles, drinking in the sight of her. Her skin was bronze and sun-kissed, gleaming against the ivory sheets like the stars in the night sky. She reached for him, pulling him atop her, with a wanton moan. Their lips met again with fiery passion. Their skin was aflame as they explored each other's bodies.
Arianne tore open his doublet and pushed it past his shoulders until the skin on his back was underneath her fingernails. Harry reciprocated by tugging her dress all the way down to the underside of her breasts. He feasted his eyes on the silky smooth skin that lay bare before him, the valley of her breasts, the delicate twin globes and the dark nipples that were now hard as a polished diamond.
Their eyes locked once more. He could see a primal hunger glinting in the depths of her dark eyes. No doubt, Arianne could see the same hunger reflected in his eyes.
Her hands reached to her own neck and uncoupled the lock holding the necklace around her neck. Harry caught the necklace by its tip and slowly dragged it down from her neck. The gold necklace slid seamlessly down, but Arianne bit her lips when the metal dug into the flesh of her breasts.
Suddenly, Arianne arched her back and moaned aloud as the necklace was replaced by a pair of warm lips pressing a tender kiss on her naked flesh. As Harry's lips left a trail of fire on her right breast, a hand was suddenly squeezing down on her left one.
Pleasure burned in her veins, which made her mind go blank. She felt like she had something to say but she forgot it when Harry smashed her tits together and pinched her nipples.
She could only moan repeatedly as she writhed in pleasure.
Their hands were all over each other, pushing and tearing away the rest of their clothes. Their lips collided again, smothering their moans in the battle of their lips.
They moved together slowly, tentative as coiled snakes. Harry's hands were gentle, reverent, as he traced the fine silk of skin that was his wife. Arianne was more possessive and demanding, pulling him closer, urging him deeper. She wrapped her legs around him and whispered his name, and called him many other names, in tongues half-forgotten.
He pressed forward and split open her pussy and started fucking her passionately. Arianne looked at him needily as he ploughed her insides while she lay on her back, clutching the silk sheets as her body burned with lust and pleasure.
In that moment, there was only the thrum of hearts and the taste of each other's sighs. Her nails scored his back. He buried his face in the hollow of her neck. They lost themselves and found each other in turn. The night was spent in bed exploring each other until they were exhausted and forced to take a break.
They lay tangled in silks, sweat and breathless, with their bodies burning under passion. Outside, a breeze stirred the jasmine vines that crept along the stone.
Harry turned to her, brushing damp hair from her brow.
"I never thought I'd marry." he said, staring at the ceiling.
He left out the 'again' part in his mind because thinking about his past family only brought him to a dark place in his mind, long suppressed by years of mental discipline.
"Neither did I," she replied. "I thought I'd be married to some old lord with blue veins and cold hands. Instead, I find myself with an insatiable wolf."
"Am I?" Harry smiled roguishly.
"You are. I can feel it." Arianne said with a sultry grin while her hand trailed down from his chest to beneath the sheets.
He kissed her again, taking her lips between his.
"Will this last?" she asked, voice quiet now. "I've seen my father and mother drift apart even though they loved each other dearly once."
No more coyness or jest.
He looked into her eyes—so dark, so deep.
"The sun may not last. But this? This will." Harry said, with every part of his being resonating with sincerity, for he took his vows seriously.
She reached for him again, her hand sliding over his chest, resting above his heart.
"Then let us make it strong enough to survive the breaking of the world." Arianne whispered coyly.
And so they made love again. Again, and again, until the candles burned low and the stars turned in the sky above the grand towers of Sunspear.
(Lemon end)
******
The day after their wedding was devoted to contests in Dornish fashion, which meant more cunning than brute strength. They began in the orchard, where archers shot at fruit hanging from trees swaying in the warm breeze. Jon, competing for his brother's honour, struck an apricot from fifty yards away while blindfolded, prompting murmurs of sorcery. They were not wrong. Jon just used his warging powers to land the arrow on the target. Lady Dacey Mormont was suitably impressed, going by the long kiss she gifted to her betrothed.
Jon was seen smiling so radiantly that the Dornish sun paled in comparison.
The women competed in a riding contest through the olive groves, weaving between sun-baked stones. Arya was quite taken with the competition. After much persuasion, Arya managed to convince her mother to let her ride a pony and compete. She rode like the wind and nearly won until Arianne's cousin, Elia Sand, performed a daring leap over a dry fountain and claimed victory.
The highlight of the day came when Nymeria challenged Harry to a duel with blunted spears on foot.
He wore black painted greaves for armour while Nymeria did the same in scarlet and gold. Laughter and good-natured taunts rang through the air as they circled each other. Harry lunged, Nymeria sidestepped. She struck his shield with such force that it rang like a bell. They danced around the loose sand-filled arena, showing off some fancy footwork and moves with their spears. After putting on a good show, which attracted a considerable audience, Harry decided to finish it up with a bit of magic. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a torrent of water which flooded the arena. He willed it to freeze, forcing Nymeria to slip on the ice that formed beneath her feet.
The air was knocked out of Nymeria's lungs as she fell on her back.
"Still not good with the footing…" Harry started to say, only for Nymeria to kick out her legs and sweep his legs from beneath him.
Harry fell on the ice on his back as well.
"You have your tricks. I have mine." Nymeria said with a smirk, an eerily similar move she had used back when they were training in Avalon.
There was awe, followed by laughter, which turned into cheers from the audience. They rose, soaked and grinning. They were both students of the Red Viper, and Harry showed he was no stranger to his way around a spear.
That evening, feasting continued under lanterns strung between date palms. Tables bowed beneath the weight of figs, roasted lamb with mint, spice-stuffed shark burnt over a grill and honey-slicked pastries filled with almonds. Bards played songs famed from Dorne to the Wall, and barefoot dancers from the Summer Isles danced merrily under the stars.
When night came, Harry made love to Arianne in their bed till dawn.
The final day was a celebration of spirit and spectacle. Dornish dancers stalked the gardens at dawn, leaving trails of scented oils and many slack-jawed men seeing their beauty. Children played together in the pools, tossing water at one another and wearing garlands.
The main event was the unity procession—a parade through the groves and fountains representing the union of two peoples. Leading the procession, Harry rode a white sand steed, draped in furs and a cloak of Martell colours with ceremonial colours of House Nymeros Martell. Arianne rode beside him on a black desert mare, crowned with a circlet signifying her position as the heir apparent.
They were now the couple from whom the future ruler of Dorne would be born.
Behind them came dancers, jugglers, water-bearers, and nobles from every House loyal to Stark or Martell.
As twilight fell, the final feast began beneath the stars on silken cushions by the reflecting pool. Lamps floated on the water, each flame representing a hope for a nourishing future. Arianne gave Harry a gift of an ornate circlet encrusted with gold and gemstones symbolising his position as the consort to the Princess of Dorne.
Harry, in return, gave Arianne a spear crafted from the finest Valyrian steel. When he brandished the weapon before the guests, its gold-encrusted shaft gleamed under the light of the lamps. It was a weapon, but it screamed royalty due to its sheer aesthetics.
They danced long after the guests had grown weary. The last sight many would remember of the celebration was the Princess of Dorne and the Lord of Avalon spinning beneath lantern lights, the stars above them and their shadows merging in the golden tiles of Sunspear.
When the celebration in the night came to an end, Harry and Arianne retired to their bed. After another rigorous lovemaking session, Harry and Arianne lay in bed, sweating and catching their breath.
"Do we really have to go tomorrow?" Arianne asked while Harry was sitting at the edge of the bed, sipping some wine.
"We have to. There is a war to finish and another in the process of brewing. The North will need the Starks to lead them in the wars to come." said Harry.
Arianne shifted in the bed, and he was suddenly hugged from behind. He could feel her warm, nubile body pressing against his skin. Her long, cascading black hair flowed over one of his shoulders as she threw her arms around his body.
"We're newlyweds. I'm sure the lords of the North will understand." Arianne purred, raking her lips along the skin of his shoulder while occasionally nipping him with the tip of her teeth.
"The lords of the North might understand, and so will our enemies. Besides, we have to make a stop at another place before Winterfell." Harry said, swallowing a hiss when Arianne's nails dug into the skin of his chest and abdomen.
"Where?" Arianne asked while nipping at his earlobe.
"You'll see soon." Harry said enigmatically before pulling Arianne back into bed.
*******
Doran stared at the spear his gooson had gifted to his daughter. It was a work of art, and there was a palpable aura when sunlight fell on the spear. The weapon lit the armoury with its ethereal power, overshadowing anything else in the armoury. He could see the distinct ripples on the blade tip as well as the shaft of the spear. The weapon was made of Valyrian steel top to bottom.
Yet it weighed less than an actual spear.
'The wonders of First Men magic.' Doran thought with awe.
With some effort, he turned his eyes away from the priceless gift House Martell received. He walked back from the armoury now that the spear was safely stored in a place of prestige.
Doran walked through the hallways of Sunspear, decorated with flowers and scented with oils. The signs of the wedding celebration could be seen everywhere, even though the guests were in the process of leaving. Even his daughter and her husband's family were due to leave in the morning.
That was a prospect he was not looking forward to. He held many concerns that were yet to be addressed with the Starks. He also worried about how his daughter would behave in the North. But that was a lesser concern.
These thoughts came and went through his head as he walked into his chamber. As the doors closed behind him, Doran took a deep breath.
"Everything is going to be all right." Doran muttered to himself.
"You seem to be deeply worried about something, Prince Doran."
A familiar voice inside his personal chambers made Doran snap his eyes open. Sitting on his couch was Harrion Stark, and that made his eyes widen. He was sure there was no one when he walked through the door.
"Harrion!"
"The very same. Please take a seat, goodfather. Let me see whether I can be of some comfort to your troubled mind." Harrion said, pouring a wine into two cups.
"I don't think I'm having any trouble, Harrion." Doran said, plastering a gentle smile as he took a seat across his goodson.
"Really! With your wasteful war in the Stormlands and your worries about House Florent gathering their allies to attack the Marches. You are worried that your little gamble with the Tyrells and Tullys won't necessarily serve as a distraction."
"I…" Doran started to say, but Harry talked over.
"Is it really wise that you refuse to accept that you have a problem because you committed Dornish blood to a cause that is doomed from the start?"
Doran frowned at his goodson, his mind coming to a halt and really thought about what Harrion was saying.
"What is this really about?" Doran asked.
"Nothing really. I'm just wondering why a cautious man like you jumped into the mummer dragon's wagon even when those who murdered your sister and her children are dead. What motivated you to place an Essosi bastard in the place of your long-dead nephew to wage a wasteful war on the Seven Kingdoms?" Harrion asked.
"You are wrong, Harrion. Aegon is my nephew." Doran said with a glare.
Harrion just stared into his eyes unblinking for a minute.
"Tell a lie a hundred times until you believe it's the truth." Harrion said, and he stood up, making Doran uneasy. "I had such high expectations, you know, before this meeting. I thought I'd glean some secret plan in the deep recesses of your mind with this stunt. But you just want to see bloodshed because you no longer have anyone else to blame for your sister's murder but yourselves."
"Harrion!" Doran thundered, anger and rage pouring into his veins at the accusation, even though that was the truth.
"You are a sad man clinging to the illusion of a legacy built on falsehoods. Despite my desperate hopes, the people of this continent continue to surprise me with the depth of their stupidity." Harrion said, shaking his head. "This makes what I'm about to do much easier."
Doran took a step back when a Harrion raised a glowing stick straight against his head.
"Wha…?"
Doran felt everything go black, and his mind rested in the shade of silence.
AN:
To read ahead of the update schedule; pat(r) eon. C (O) M/Dragonspectre.
For artwork related to the fic:
https://discord.gg/Nw2JH25fJf