season 1, episode i. i am a lannister, you a martell [Kaeor]

The burnt sand had a unique way of speaking, sifting in all sorts of directions. Similar to the flow of a river, it possessed it's own movement, though marginally smaller and less obvious. Most importantly, it always etched a warning in it's incessant surface. It just required someone of skill to realize and decode it. A educated scholar or a dornish elder, perhaps. Unfortunately, the blonde lioness never studied the skill nor have a being in possession of it in her party. It would've saved her time and energy in her arduous journey. Lions and lioness were rulers of the jungle. But even children's tales knew better than to advocate dominion of the desert for the royal beast.

The young lannister shipped a messenger-raven equiped with word of her impeding arrival, but Ebon never returned the message. He had hoped that the absence of a response would dissuade her from penetrating his realm, but the mouth of his patrol warned him differently several moons ago. It was at this conclusion that Ebon reluctantly prepared himself for another visitor. As of late, he was beginning to believe that the other kingdoms were finally realizing Dorne for it's value. Its seclusion offered a privacy unattainable elsewhere. But even Dorne listened in on the most secretive of conversations and peculiar of people - including this spry Lannister.

Shortly after her announcement and request, the living prince of dorne himself could be seen from afar, treading through his sandy streets. At his side, a small squadron shadowed him, a handful that awaited on commands and orders. It mattered very little of what was to follow as he drew closer to Rozelynda. His golden hues only drank her in and his digits reached for the bronze spear at his back. Nimbly, his arm wrapped around the weapon as if it was an extra appendage, yet his next action was the most dire. Outstretching the tip towards the lannister gem directly ahead, his next words were paramount.


And in turn the dornish cloaks rushes past him, prepared to take life if need be.

Receive the lion's message, the viper surely had. But shortly after, the elegant and sophisticated parchment tacked with the royal golden crest of a lion fed the burnt orange flames of his fireplace. Diplomacy was paramount. Yet the sordid prince managed to ensure that Dorne retained their neutrality in the forthcoming years. He had never bothered another soul, so it came as an annoyance when the lioness decided to prod at him. Especially one that was a cub, not yet old enough to even make for a thrilling hunt. The Dornish Prince would've been surprised if she had even stained her sheets yet with any man. Maybe it was an aura, but she intently seemed to carry a prestigious nature about her. Her posture supported his claims, even in the face of danger she knew not the proper fear.

No worries. There was no need for emotion with the hopeless place the wicked prince had in mind.

The escorts didn't fight, nor did they have a chance as the men swelled against them, disarming and pushing them down to their knees in their collection of exquisite iron. Another two stood near the lady and the viper dismounted his dornish steed. The soles of his boots landed on the pebbles of scorching sand, but he trekked forward splendidly, accustomed to the terrain that nurtured him as a boy. And as he made his way to her, his gloved fist dug into the grainy pearls and collected a handful, unaffected by its bitter heat. The closer he got to her, the more ominous he appeared as he styled his face with a depletion of emotion. She was an innocent girl. But innocence was only a charade to the viper. He couldn't afford to bet upon her.

"You presume correctly cub."

The duo of gards clutched to her arms and swiftly, the golden pearls found a home against the beauty of her porcelain face. Ebon's hand guided the sands to their new home as her skin would find the heat of the magnificent sun embedded into the grains, causing an intense discomfort with the surface of her skin. Mashing downwards, he looked to make her bend to her knees with his force, betraying her dream of a peaceful resolution. Vipers were to remain sleeping, not to be stirred. The cub had to learn in a final hard way and serve as a lesson for all. The bronze spear danced in his hand before the sharp point tipped at the center of her neck, only requiring a thrust to subtract life from her slender frame.

"As Prince of Dorne, I sentence you to death. Have you any last words lioness?"

If any were ever to inquire about her, he would be sure to spin a tragic tale about her being swallowed by the dunes before she could even reach his gates.

Ah. That didn't take long.

The lioness had arrived with an intoxication of nobility and an aura that commanded respect. Both traits were well nourished, and the glimmer in her eye from earlier showed that she was worthy of her decleration. But it was with wickedness that Ebon sought to prickle her emotional flesh. It was humor. Cruel humor. But always humor to see her expression and tone plummet, quick to rationalize the difference between peace and danger. The tip of his weapon delicately lifted along her neck and traced her jawline, careful not to tear her healthy flesh. He hadn't decided to what spot on her fair skin to pierce. Even a certain side of him found the young girl a bit too pretty to ruin.

"You shouldn't speak of things you have no experience in. It's unfitting for a lady," he responded, unsettled by the claim that war erected. The Dornish had went through the rites of war and retaliated against winged beast that men perceived to be myths. "I can see the appeal in the thoughts of men raising arms and laying life in your name. But all gold eventually melts beneath the sun, even ones held by a Lannister love."

Redirecting the surface of the bronze head, it gently tapped upwards to cause her to see the golden hues that ogled her. Numb to his ploy, the spear retracted from her and his gloved hand reached for her to take if she wished. Despite her family's worth in name, it was rather nice to know that it didn't buy true courage.

"I take it you don't fancy your first experience with Dornish humor Rozelynda." The Dornish were constantly regarded as of that of a different culture than the rest for a reason. It was the first time her name curled from his lips, showing that he did remember the contents of that which had been sent to him. The guards chuckled as she and her party were released, their game coming to an end. Ebon was vicious, but to a murder a child without fault didn't bolster his confidence. Nor did her outcry of war cause him to tremble.

"Valar Morghulis little lamb." He expelled with a twist of a language that he picked up from long ago. To Rozelynda it may have sounded like gibberish, but it's value never waned.

The gates to Sunspear reeled open at his nod and he walked off towards his steed. A certain hand waited if the young girl decided to continue her voyage. If she did, he'd have her ride his own gifted beast and help her by himself. If she refused his offer, then the notion was really all the same to him.

How quick the ascension of pitch and aversion to death curtailed to the point that the Lannister surged a phony attempt of valor in lieu of her desperation. Shredding the effort to call her out, the otherworldly prince grinned at her venom. It wasn't as potent as the viper's, but it was lovable. Only time could heal the damage that he had done, and by his assessment, he had rendered her emotional wall into rubble. Like any confident artist, he reveled in his work instead of decrying its value.

"Worry not little Lannister. Even the wrong person you pray I never meet is a mortal man." Ebon's soft smile hid the scope of his chicanery. When the lady crossed over into his territory, raven's conglomerated at Sunspear's peak, tied with tidbits both necessary and useless. It was of no surprise that the Dornish God's eyes were watching her. And when she took his hand to take the position above his beast, the prince noticed the little things that clued him in on the specifics of her personality. There wasn't a speck of sand beneath her nails and she had already stopped multiple times before, many more than the average experienced traveler. She was a fragile dainty thing. But fortunately, Ebon knew what she needed to sweeten her needs.



By the fall of the brightest star, the girl was promised to notice many things. And as he lead his horse through the streets, she'd find his people riddled throughout, merchants and stands piling up to either side of the dirt road. Their architecture was beautiful given their materials, and as they waded through the thicket of denizens, Rozelynda would catch the stark difference in skin. Whether if she found it exotic or lesser was unknown, but the people responded to her presence by ogling her and the dramatic blondness of her hair. They knew of Lannisters. They knew of lions. But to see both up close for those that didn't stray outside his borders brought an eagerness as several kids were the first to notice. Openly, they were amazed by her presence and praised her hair. To the other adults, their curiosity and fascination brought a smile. Whereas many would wretch their children away, the Dornish were a comfortable people in all aspects, including that of self. Albeit for a moment, Ebon strayed and plucked a plum from the stand, biting into the sweet fruit as it's juices ran down the corners of his lip. Another fruit of the same branch fell into his hands and he sauntered back over to her side, raising his hand for her to enjoy the same sensation he bit into.

"The people are drawn to you Lannister. I take it, this is a welcome that you're accustomed to? The attention, the gawking." he detailed, having experienced the same when he ventured into foreign lands. A tap against the steed's side encouraged the horse to continue as the attraction stood before all. "Beyond my wife Katsa, I don't think many of them have seen a great house descendant of your complexion. You're as mystical as a Targaryen dragon to a handful of them." And for the moment, every word rang true. But he didn't pause their trek less the glamour of her presence dwindle.

"How do you take to the Dornish sands lady? They're an entire different danger than that of the Westerlands."

Breathlessly, Dorne's magnificent Prince smirked at the lionesses brief comical venture concerning the endless gold that he pushed for her to acknowledge. Presumably, the Lannister wouldn't forget the outlandish greeting and she did well to remember it. The graciousness of the altercation was her first memory of the barren land, but it wouldn't be her last. Ebon was to make sure that the Lannister found the curves and hips of Dorne just as deliciously appetizing as he did on the daily.

The smiles and jovial nature of the others were warm and inviting. But once she drank her fill of the dark skinned observers, the lioness switched to her tone of curious business. Brash, bold, and reckless, Roze pursued answers that were locked away from public information. Nearly as suddenly as the question propped upwards did Ebon's head twist to eyeball the strangely analytical feline. The moment for her to dismount came as he stopped in front of the ivory steps, the glory of his abode expressly aching for their entrance.

"You yearn for answers that are beyond your position and house cub," he paused, giving her room to understand the err in her snooping. "Albeit your request is intriguing. I haven't ran across a lord with the gall to chase after Dorne's tactical style of the past and you innocently do that which they shy from. Are you sure that you're meant to be a lioness little one?" A full grin emerged at her perplexing nature and his golden eyes turned towards the trek before them.

"If you've successfully perused the history books, then you would know a little of what you ask." Step by step, the two marched to the twin doors above but the flow of their conversation never halted. A single brown finger lifted to point towards the sun that tortured those unworthy. Surely Roze would notice that even she was affected with the sweat forming beneath her pale arms and above her brow.

"Armor doesn't fair well beneath the guardian's eye. Men stew in their own pot, cooking and drenching in their own little slot. They become laggard, exhausted, and feeble. You think they would find sense enough to discard the metal that hides their form. And they do little lion. They think they escape fate and destiny, but the eye is just as unforgiving to those without scales as it would be with scales." Ebon detailed, ending the first lesson regarding Dorne's ability to withstand the Targaryen assault. It was an obvious matter, but he had wished to keep other secrets away from her thirst. Some things in life, people just had to experience to receive the full effect. In this situation, however, that experience led to an all too convincing sandy death.

"You Lannister's are brimming with gold so much I hear it even resides in your stoop. And as far meeting your men and people, I can promise you of it one day. But I prefer to travel alone, or at best with my wife Katsa. I see no point in traveling with men less dangerous than myself." An indirect insult to the other lords and possibly her father if he gave in to the nature. There was nothing wrong if she realized he did, but it was a matter of the viper's preference. A hearty hand pressed against the door to allow full view of the main living area to lay in their proximity, regal in setting and exceptional in decoration.

"Tell me Rozelynda, what's your opinion on your ancestors decision to kneel before the dragons? Do you like presiding over land that you and your father truly don't own?" She may felt a sting at his jab, but it wasn't his aim. Honestly, he had wanted to know her opinion, wondering if she really never thought of this. They were still a great house by Targaryen declaration and prominence, but by and by that tune could be changed any day.

"Care for wine Lannister, or are you forbidden to indulge in Dorne's finest sin?"