( Nymeria POV )
Dawn broke slowly over King's Landing, still in mourning after the death of the king of the Seven Kingdoms. However, it was already the third time that Nymeria poured water over her face, trying to keep her composure.
Stay strong, stay strong.
The words echoed inside her head. Staying strong was easy for five-and-twenty years of her life, but today?
Today she felt her hands shake for the first time, her teeth clenched while she tried to focus on the small looking glass in front of her.
She had tried to get some sleep that night, but the thoughts of her father at the mercy of Archibald Yronwood's blade just wouldn't leave her mind. She'd stared at the walls and ceiling of the room, wrapped in the bedsheets and Quentyn's arms, her head crooked into his neck, saying nothing.
A quick look towards him after a moment had shown that he'd fallen asleep.
Therefore, she stayed awake with her thoughts, trying her best not to let a tear escape or for her palms to sweat too much.
Eventually, her thoughts were too heavy for her eyelids, and she slowly found herself giving into a slumber. But that torpor did not mean peace.
She had a nightmare that night, a horrid nightmare.
Her father had died at the hands of the Mountain, savagely killed after being taken by surprise just like Ser Archibald had done. Then she saw herself, with Tyene, demanding rightful vengeance and being imprisoned in Sunspear. She saw herself go to the capital, fury in her heart, only to end up in the Sept of Baelor, and for green flames to appear around her.
She woke up with a cold sweat, heart pumping and tears flowing.
Quentyn caressed her, saying that it was only a bad dream, but everything she'd experienced was so vivid, she still shook from it later.
She passed water over her face once, then twice, without success.
Here she was, trying again.
"Are you alright?" Quentyn's voice came from behind her, his hand settling gently on her shoulder.
"I…I'm fine," she admitted. "I feel better."
Quentyn looked at her with an eyebrow raised, and put a hand through her hair, tossing the fringe of it backwards and cleaning the small droplets of water from her forehead.
She gulped and finally let out,"He will win, right?"
Never had she thought that she'd utter those words. Usually, she had thought her father to be invincible, the greatest fighter on the planet. That he would easily kill any man walking this continent. But now…now her confidence had been shattered to pieces. She wasn't sure of anything, anymore.
"He will." Quentyn nodded back. "He has to."
Nymeria nodded back and pressed her lips against his. Gently, softly.
"Promise me that we'll make it out fine," she almost ordered, breaking the embrace.
"We will." Quentyn nodded again, hugging her tight. "Whatever happens, we will make it."
Nymeria clutched him tightly. She wanted to believe it. She needed to.
Quentyn helped her dress, picking jewellery and other mundanities, while she tried her best not to think about the upcoming event.
While helping her do her braid, Quentyn let out,"You should go see him."
Nymeria didn't react, but her eyes did freeze for a moment.
"They won't let me." She shook her head.
"Before the trial, when he's putting on his armor," he replied. "Perhaps…perhaps he needs encouragement, from you…"
Nymeria bit her lip, but didn't say anything, her mind drifting again.
"I'll think about it," she finally answered.
However, Quentyn's words did carry truth to them. They always did.
She found herself looking for her father, and true enough, she did find him before the trial, donning his pristine armor, all the while helped by four other Dornishmen.
"Nym!" he exclaimed, with a smile. "Quentyn isn't with you?"
"No." She shook her head. "He's waiting for me, up there."
"Have you come to wish me luck?" he smiled back.
"Father," Nymeria snapped, her gaze fixated on him. "Please."
Her father's jovial face disappeared, and he asked for the other Dornishmen to leave for a few moments. Soon enough, there were only the two of them in the armory.
"What is it, my sweet?" her father asked.
"I…I don't want you to die," she admitted.
"And I won't!" He laughed in a hearty tone. "Clegane is a beast, but he is not invincible. His mass will be his downfall. Do not worry, I do not plan on dying today."
"Father," Nymeria continued, sternly. "I don't think you understand."
"Understand what?"
"I don't care about our vengeance."
"What?"
"I don't care about it if it means that it has to snatch the people I love from me."
"Nym, there is nothing to worry about." Her father put a hand on her shoulder.
"Father, I know you wish for Clegane to confess, and I wish it too." Nymeria exhaled deeply. "But what I care about most is you. With you gone, who will I have? Certainly not mother, and yes, Quentyn and Aliandra will be there, but…what of my own kin? No parents, no grandparents…"
Her father looked at her before hugging her tightly. She answered the hug, bringing him close…so close that she didn't want to break the hug, to keep him next to her and prevent him from going out on this folly.
"I have to do this," her father said, slowly breaking the embrace.
"I know." Nymeria nodded back while holding back tears. "But I want you to stay alive. Do you understand, father?"
"I promise," he replied.
"Swear it on mother." Nymeira countered.
She could feel her father grown uneasy, his eyes wandering around the room, before settling on her again.
"I swear it on your mother, I will live to see another day," he answered.
Nymeria swallowed her spit and nodded weakly.
"Now, go," her father ordered. "Quentyn must be worried."
She dropped her head and made her way to leave, slowly walking to the door to the armory, beckoning the four Dornish knights back in. Before she could leave, she heard her father say something in the distance:
"Oh, I almost forgot."
Turning her head back towards the doorway, she saw him pick up a helmet from the floor and slowly put it on.
Slowly, her heart started beating normally once more.
She ran up the stairs towards the pavilion that had been set up on the outside, facing the sea, where the fight would take place.
Everyone of import was there. Tywin Lannister in the middle, of course, flanked by Mace Tyrell and Margaery Tyrell on one side, and Kevan Lannister and Cersei Lannister on the other. Once again, the Queen Mother had been dragged out of her rooms, and was flanked by a kingsguard who was conspicuously close to her.
The Dornish, as usual, had been placed aside, towards the east side of the pavilion, overlooking the pit. Quentyn sat there, an empty seat to his right, his frog sitting in the shade on the edge of the balcony, while Ellaria and Edric were on his left.
Nymeria quickly ran up to the small Dornish balcony and sat down next to her cousin.
Apart from Ned and Ellaria, there weren't a lot of Dornishmen present: Myria Jordayne, Archibald and Cletus Yronwood, Larra Blackmont and Rhea Dayne were the most prominent.
The younger Yronwood was in a corner, trying his best to make himself as small as possible, no doubt still thinking about how the Tyrells played him.
The reason why there were so few Dornishmen, was because Quentyn had been sending them home by small groups, and there were only fifty or so from the original three hundred in the capital.
Tonight, whatever the outcome of the trial, they would all be gone, whether the Tyrells and Lannisters willed it or not. Of course, they had not been informed.
Slowly, Nymeria tried to make herself comfortable in her chair, and brought her hand towards Quentyn's, who immediately took it.
"How did it go?" he asked.
"Fine," she replied with a dint of confidence, something that had been lacking. She turned to him then, with a small smile. "He will win."
Quentyn looked surprised, and nodded grimly.
"Let's hope you're right."
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