Highborn, Katsa Martell

katsa martell

God knows we like archaic kinds of fun

The Drowned God blessed Katsa Greyjoy. A girl she might have been, born bloody and wailing, a hard taxing birthing upon her mother. But she was fair of face. And, better yet, quite clever. As a small girl, she preferred to watch instead of wasting words. Through watching those around her, Kat came to the conclusion that the wooden swords, books of painted pictures and carved wooden animals given to her weren’t her toys: people were. A deliberate gesture or words steered towards an individual topic could manoeuvre a person without their notice, like pulling a puppet’s strings. It became a game. Occasionally, Katsa would stumble. At best, earning her a reprimand. At worst, physical punishment. But, like with any game, repetitive practice improved a player’s skill.

At the end of her childhood, Katsa felt that she had become an accomplished player of her own games. Thralls, vessels and servants of her house, merchants and sailors, and even her own father, Katsa knew how to read their moods and their desires. Only her mother proved a challenge, so determined was she to mold her eldest into a suitable tool to be used to strengthen their house through ties of marriage: the fate of any Westerosi nobleborn lady, even one born ironborn. She never believed in her daughter’s clumsiness when it came to feminine pastimes like sewing, she hounded Katsa to learn and practice music daily, and she went to great pains in seeking out suitable suitors, men who would not easily fall prey to Katsa’s manipulations.

Frustrated, incensed and unwilling to be trapped in her mother’s carefully constructed cage, Katsa made the decision to change her tactics. Taking a ship and a crew, Katsa fled from the Iron Islands. And even from the Targaryen-smothered Westeros. She sailed for the Free Cities, waters and land unguarded by the harsh gaze of dragons.

She adorned the name “the Cat” and it stuck. Some thought of her as a mysterious Westerosi, charming her way into the midst of the powerful, the wise and the macabre with a silvered tongue and sweeter music played by fiddle, a strange courtesan. Others insisted that she was a bloodthirsty marauder, attacking the vulnerable without remorse or mercy, leaving nothing but death and despair in her wake. And then there were those who claimed that the Cat was both of these figures. Years passed with Katsa delighting in her self-spun chaos, savoring the secrets and wisdom that she could never have hoped to discover in Westeros. But no hands-on practices in swordplay, no secrets and no treasure could dull the homesickness that grew steadily more insistent inside of Kat’s heart. For, even in Essos, no-one quite resembled her people.

It was a weakness that festered within Katsa. Misleading her into entertaining the notion that her new reputation and achievements would satisfy her parents and people, and would dissuade potential suitors. It was a weakness that led to her greatest error: returning home only to learn that her parents had arranged for her a marriage of alliance.

Her protests were immediate, dark and volatile. Essos had allowed Katsa to appreciate the taste of freedom, anything less was intolerable. It made her all the more furious, offended, at just whom her parents wished her to wed – a Martell, not even Ironborn. As if they thought her as soft as any Greenlander, eager for the pretentious title of “princess.” It took much convincing to douse Katsa’s black temper, forcing a bitter truth down her throat. Should the Targaryens learn of Katsa’s actions in Essos, her adherence to the Old Ways, the Crown might find reason to make good on their dark promise – ending all Ironborn. For the Targaryens had been driving the Ironborn to their knees ever since they had driven them from the Riverlands. Ostracizing them, taking away their means of livelihood, leaving them to make do with land that was incapable of growth. The Ironborn were proud but they were also weak, and growing weaker with the passing of the years. Whilst House Martell was strong, having successfully managed to stand against the dragons where all others had failed. Their lands were rich, sovereignty respected. Tying their houses together could prevent the final destruction of what little of Katsa’s culture and people still survived. It was that harsh truth that gave Katsa the resolve to step into such a cage and allow it to shut behind her.

She attempted to convince herself that a new game had begun; one with new rules perhaps but that would take little time for her to learn, and to play for victory. Perhaps, at that time, Katsa had truly believed that. But in the decades that followed she lost sight of the game-board, and made careless moves. She came to love her husband. She came to love all five of her children. And she even developed a sense of love for Dorne itself. And yet that love carried a cruel sting. An inability to forget the Iron Islands and her true kin. Unable to shake off the uncomfortable suspicion that they now saw her as being more Dornish than Ironborn.

Even Katsa can no longer claim that she has a strong sense of self. Is she the Cat, devoted to the Drowned God, House Greyjoy and the Old Ways, or is she Katsa Martell, the princess of Dorne and devoted to her husband, their children and keeping Dorne strong and beautiful? In her heart, Kat is not an accomplished enough liar to convince herself that she can be both.


you do not start with anything! this section will be edited upon being awarded magic or powers.

[b]LEAGUE OF LEGENDS, caitlyn[/b] as [i]katsa martell[/i]