"AND DO I HAVE YOUR LOYALTY JON SNOW?"
"YOU ALWAYS HAD IT, PRINCESS"
A VIPER HEADS NORTH
AND FINDS HERSELF
DRAWN TO A CROW
GAME OF THRONES S1-S8 AU
JON SNOW X OC
#3 martell (nov. 2020)
#2 Martell (dec...
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┌────── ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ──────┐
ARRIVAL AT WINTERFELL
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NYMERIA MARTELL
THE WIND BLEW HER DARK CURLS back, sending goosepimples up her skin as she drew the thick cloak closer to her. White Harbor was not unfriendly, but something rubbed her the wrong way, especially with the stares the Northmen were giving her.
She knew it was unusual to see the Dornish this far north, just as it was unlucky for Starks to travel south. And yet here she was. Forced to live among Wolves and report back to her Uncle.
At least it wasn't because he wanted her to marry a Stark. She would have thrown a fit.
If they were still Kings she might not have objected, but she was a Princess of Dorne, and she would not lower herself because of her Uncle's whims.
She would not join her mother in sharing that fate.
Nymeria's gaze flew upward as they docked, passing underneath the city wall, towers and brick splitting the harbors in two, the Outer Harbor home to fisherman and merchants who had been pushed aside, while ships donning regal flags and sails docked themselves into the inner harbor. The orange flag bearing the red sun of House Martell whipped behind her, the wind picking up now that they were closer to the city, blowing through the harbor. She was grateful for the leather tunic providing some form of warmth, the violet color less jarring than the oranges and yellows she preferred.
Despite her attempts to blend in, she still stuck out among the greys and blues that the North favored, drawing unwanted attention her way as she descended the ramp, the crew unloading what little she had brought. She wasn't sure how long she would be here.
She played with the sleeves of her undershirt, unused to wearing anything that extended past her elbows, let alone sleeves that ended at her wrists.
Nymeria felt as if she was being watched by everyone around her, gloomy and wary stares eyeing her olive skin and black curls, sticking out amongst the pale bodies that swarmed the city and she shuffled her feet.
She'd never been so self-conscious before. Nymeria had always been proud of who she was. Of where she came from. She'd never had any reason not to be.
She and Arianne were famed beauties, although Arianne was more classically beautiful than she ever would be, and even her cousins joined them in that aspect.
