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Game of Thrones White Dragon Rising
Game of Thrones The Sun Dragon Descends
Dragonstone, Aegon's Garden. The next morning, sunlight sliced through the narrow windows and hit Jon Arryn straight in the face.
He'd been awake for hours. Last night's conversation kept looping in his head, refusing to let him rest.
Breakfast felt even more strained than the night before. Stannis stayed silent. Pierce chatted easily with Princess Arianne about trade between Dorne and the crownlands. Jon noticed Ser Barristan looked distracted too—the old knight clearly sensed something was off.
After the meal, Stannis offered to continue their talk, but Jon said he needed a walk to clear his head. Stannis didn't push. He just sent a servant to escort him.
Jon chose Aegon's Garden—the only spot in the castle that actually felt alive. High walls blocked the sea wind, and hardy plants grew in neat rows. A few southern trees had even taken root here. Stone paths wound between dew-covered benches.
He hadn't gone far when he heard the ring of steel.
Jon quickened his pace, turned a corner, and stopped short.
Obara Sand stood in the center of the open ground, spear in hand, facing Ser Barristan Selmy. The old knight wore no armor—just a plain tunic and a blunted practice sword. Yet his stance was rock-solid, eyes sharp. Even past sixty, he still radiated the presence of a top-tier warrior.
Arianne, Nymeria, and Tyene watched from the side. The Dornish women wore very different expressions—Arianne looked intrigued, Nymeria thoughtful, Tyene a little worried.
"Ser Barristan," Obara's voice rang clear and steady. "I've heard stories about you since I was old enough to understand words. My father, Prince Oberyn, spoke highly of you. He said you're the last true knight left in the Seven Kingdoms."
Barristan's face tightened. Every mention of his past—the Targaryen years—still stung. Glory and regret mixed in equal measure.
"You won the tourney at sixteen," Obara continued, spear tip steady on the ground. "You saved King Aerys single-handedly on the Steps of the Red Keep. People called you 'Barristan the Bold' for a reason. At the Battle of the Ninepenny Kings you cut down Maelys Blackfyre and ended the male line of the Blackfyres."
With every sentence, Barristan's expression grew heavier. Those were real achievements—but they also reminded him of oaths broken, kings lost, and people he couldn't protect.
Obara's eyes flashed with challenge. "Three kings you served in the Kingsguard. You're a living legend."
She stepped forward, spear rising. "But legends need testing, Ser. I want to see how far I am from one. And fighting you is the best way to find out."
Barristan shook his head. "Obara, I'm old. You're in your prime. This isn't a fair match."
"Age isn't an excuse," Obara said firmly. "My father always said real warriors don't weaken with years—they just get wiser and more experienced. Besides…" She hesitated, pride flashing in her eyes. "I challenged Pierce once. Got crushed. I need to know if he's just that good… or if I'm that weak. Sparring you is the best way to measure it."
At the mention of Pierce's name, Barristan's gaze sharpened. He remembered the book On War and the young man's performance in the tourney.
"Please, ser," Obara dropped into a ready stance. "If you're worried about hurting me, just defend. I only want to see whether my attacks can break through your guard."
Barristan glanced at Princess Arianne. She gave a small nod.
The old knight sighed, lifted his blunted sword. "Very well. Be careful, Obara. Even a training blade can injure."
The fight began.
Obara attacked like a storm—spear whipping in fast, precise strikes. Thrust, flick, sweep, chop. Every move was lightning-quick and deadly accurate. She circled constantly, always staying at perfect range.
Barristan started purely on defense. His sword work was simple and efficient—every parry perfect, every dodge measured to the inch.
But Jon noticed the old knight's eyes kept drifting. His mind wasn't fully in the fight.
Obara spotted the opening immediately. She pressed harder, almost abandoning defense, spear flashing like silver lightning from every angle.
Because his thoughts were elsewhere, Barristan was forced to scramble at first. A few times Obara's spear came dangerously close. The watching Dornish women held their breath. Arianne's brow furrowed. Nymeria looked thoughtful.
Then the legend woke up.
After those first awkward moments, Barristan's focus snapped back. Old instincts took over. His defense tightened—every block came a split second early, reading Obara's attacks before she even finished them.
Sweat beaded on Obara's forehead. No matter how she attacked, Barristan answered calmly. His sword seemed alive, always waiting in the exact right spot. His footwork was tiny but perfect—every shift made her miss.
"Gods, he's incredible," Tyene whispered.
Nymeria nodded. "He hasn't even attacked yet. If he wanted to, this fight would be over in ten moves."
Arianne stayed silent, eyes locked on the duel—watching, learning, calculating.
Twenty minutes later, Obara's breathing grew ragged. Her attacks slowed.
Barristan's breathing stayed even. His face calm. The gap was obvious.
Then Obara did something reckless.
She dropped all defense and lunged straight for Barristan's heart—a kill-or-be-killed thrust.
Barristan's eyes narrowed. At the last instant he sidestepped, let the spear slide along his blade, and tapped her wrist hard.
Obara cried out. The spear flew from her hand. Barristan caught it mid-air, flicked it aside, and it clattered to the ground.
The fight was over.
Obara clutched her wrist, pain and respect mixing on her face. She panted, "I lost… completely."
Barristan lowered his sword, expression complicated. "You're strong, Obara. Your technique has Dornish speed and real battlefield viciousness. A few real fights and you'll be elite."
"But still not as good as you," Obara said with a bitter smile. "Or Pierce."
Barristan didn't argue. He picked up the spear and handed it back. "Pierce Celtigar… he really is unusual. At his age I wasn't nearly as… complete."
Obara took the spear, bowed, and stepped aside to check her wrist. Tyene hurried over to help.
Nymeria leaned close to Arianne, voice low. "Sister… did you notice anything?"
Arianne's eyes stayed on Barristan as he walked away, shoulders slightly slumped.
"Ser Barristan was distracted," she murmured. "His mind was elsewhere. That's why Obara lasted as long as she did."
Nymeria nodded, then dropped her voice even lower. "I meant something else. Lord Stannis and Lord Jon… their secret talk last night. Pierce was there too. Doesn't that feel strange?"
Arianne's lips curved slightly. "What do you think?"
"I had our people quietly check Dragonstone," Nymeria whispered. "Found some interesting details. Most of the maids in the castle answer to Pierce. The one watching Lady Selyse—Loana. Sister Moana, the midwife… both placed there by Pierce."
She paused, watching Arianne's reaction. "Pierce is too smart, too controlling. He couldn't possibly miss what's happening with Lady Selyse—unless…"
"Unless what?" Arianne asked, eyes gleaming.
"Unless it's all part of his plan," Nymeria said. "That dark-skinned child. The Summer Islander slave. Even Lady Selyse's affair… maybe Pierce arranged every piece."
Tyene leaned in, curious. "But why? Embarrassing Lord Stannis—how does that help Pierce?"
Arianne smiled, sharp and excited. "Why? Because Stannis is a Baratheon. And once he was King Robert's heir."
Nymeria understood instantly. "So if Stannis loses his wife…"
"Then the question of heirs and inheritance becomes much more important," Arianne finished. "And if Stannis has no son, then Shireen is his only heir. And Shireen is betrothed to Pierce."
Tyene blinked. "But what about King Robert? He has three children. They're legitimate heirs."
Nymeria started to answer, then froze. She stared at Arianne, realization hitting her.
"Oh…" Her voice dropped to almost nothing. "I see. If Lady Selyse could cheat and have another man's child… then anyone could. Especially if the husband is gone for long stretches, and the wife is young and beautiful, surrounded by handsome guards…"
She didn't finish. She didn't need to.
Arianne nodded, voice barely audible. "Nymeria, think about it. King Robert drinks and whores and barely looks at the queen. What if… Cersei Lannister…"
The implication hung in the air like a drawn blade.
"If that's true," Nymeria said, "it shakes the entire realm. Prince Joffrey, Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella… if none of them are truly Baratheon…"
"Then a new Blackfyre rebellion is coming," Arianne said, eyes burning with vengeful fire. In that moment she felt certain the gods themselves had arranged this.
She looked toward the main tower of Dragonstone, as if she could see straight through the stone to the secret meeting happening inside. "Pierce is playing a very big game. And he wants even more than we thought…"
Tyene still looked confused. "But why would Pierce do this? He has no quarrel with House Lannister."
"He doesn't need one," Arianne said. "He wants more than they're willing to give. And the Lannisters are standing in his way. Imagine if Robert's children aren't legitimate heirs. The throne falls to Stannis. And Stannis only has Shireen…"
She let the words hang, eyes bright with excitement. "Shireen is Pierce's betrothed. If Stannis becomes king, Pierce could become the next king's good-son… or something even greater."
The three sisters fell silent, realizing they might be watching the first moves of a plot that could reshape the Seven Kingdoms.
They just hadn't thought far enough yet. They only saw Shireen as the heir. They forgot that Westeros had only ever had one queen—and her reign had been very short.
Just then the duel ended. Barristan walked away toward the far side of the garden, clearly wanting solitude. Obara came over to the Dornish women, breathing hard but smiling.
"How was it?" she asked.
"We were talking about Pierce's plans," Arianne said meaningfully. "Compared to him, our little schemes in Dorne look like children playing house."
Obara frowned. "What do you mean?"
Nymeria started to explain—then saw Pierce walking toward them from the castle, that familiar calm smile on his face, eyes thoughtful.
"Ladies," he greeted them. "Enjoying the morning in the garden?"
"Very much," Arianne replied, violet eyes meeting his directly. "We were just discussing the distance between legends and reality. Obara had a fine spar with Ser Barristan."
Pierce glanced at Obara's bruised wrist. "Looks like it was intense. Ser Barristan is a living legend. Sparring him is valuable experience."
"But I still lost," Obara said honestly. "Same as when I fought you."
"Winning isn't the point," Pierce said. "Knowing where you stand, where you want to go, and how to get there—that matters. Every loss is a chance to learn."
Arianne caught the deeper meaning in his words. He wasn't only talking about fighting.
"Lord Pierce," she asked suddenly, "how does someone change their own fate?"
Pierce looked at the Dornish princess. Their eyes locked. For a moment something electric passed between them.
"Fate isn't changed, Princess," Pierce said quietly. "It's created. With wit. With courage. With determination. And… with perfect timing."
"Some people wait for fate. Some accept it. Others…" His voice was calm but absolute. "Create their own."