#Victor Sparre | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tb-gerschutz · 7 months

Text

One

Word Count: 5,353

Trigger Warning(s): graphic depictions of violence, emotional & verbal ab*se, arguing, threats

Summary: Anaysha, the Grand Princess of the Iron Islands, is forced to flee after her abusive father puts her up for execution.

**********

There are those who say that kingdoms at war fight like dogs. Dogs who are bloodthirsty and ready for war. Dogs who have been anticipating this moment for the longest time. Dogs who will most certainly not back down until they have no choice but to do so. They don't care if a ship's load of blood is spilled onto their land, as long as they are the ones who are declared victors in a hard-fought, bloody battle.

But even before the war starts, fingers are constantly pointed at everyone but themselves, seeing if anyone else would accept the fault at which they had nothing to do with. They want the blame to not rest on their own shoulders, so they could feel good about themselves and put that disgraceful shame to infinite rest. I, unfortunately, have been forced to witness such an event take place on multiple occasions. Most of these, however, saw many men die in the most gruesome yet heroic way, which didn't cross over into my mind all that well. Westeros is known for its deadly wars and catastrophic consequences, which is a realization I think about to this day.

Unfortunately, I've also had to witness these dogs—these hungry-for-war dogs—not even caring about their enemies' names. Instead, they focus on vanquishing them once they get the chance.

My name, however, means nothing without its full title:

Anaysha Mullendore Sparr, Grand Princess of the Iron Islands.

What did I tell you? It means nothing unless the full title is announced. Only the higher-ups in Westeros would recognize my name based on the title, but only a select few would question who my parents were, only because they haven't caught on to who I was yet. And who were my parents? To put it bluntly, they were polar opposites.

My father, King Brandeth Sparr, rules over the Iron Islands with a cold, iron fist, firmly establishing his power all across Westeros. He instills fear into the hearts of those who are too weak to fight back against it. In order to gain more power, he threatens other kingdoms with war and conquest if they don't give him what he wants. And when they don't, my inconsiderate father doesn't follow through all the time. Only when the other kingdom fires back with either too much attitude or my father considers them a danger to his empire does Brandeth follow through on his threats. Even occasions when I defy him and give him plenty of pushback are considered life-threatening to not only other kingdoms that I could be residing in, but also...myself. A power-hungry tyrant like my father is not someone to mess with, and only the bravest of souls are able to stand up to him and fight back.

Queen Giyana Mullendore, my mother, is much unlike my father. She tries to do everything in her power to rule with grace, kindness, and mercy. As one of the most gracious, motherly rulers in all of Westeros, my mother was the type of queen mother who fought hard to give her children the life they deserved. She didn't want her children to constantly live in fear, which is something my father didn't care too much about. Ever since she was young, my dear mother always wanted children to look after. Children to care for because she was the most gracious person imaginable. But once she witnessed my father's turn toward a more antagonistic approach, she developed a new fear that her life—and the lives of her children—were all in danger. She is constantly forced to live in a marriage of fear, and to my dismay, I've had to witness what she meant by that.

It should be noted that our family has quite the history. Firm rulers, feared conquerors...as far as I know, my family line is pure and distinguished among many. Then again, I only trace my lineage up to my great-grandparents, so who knows if my family is not as pure as I might think? I do know, however, the story behind my family's rise to power and their conquest and rule in the Iron Islands, for my mother would tell this story to me and my siblings quite often:

A long time ago, there was a period of great conquest and new interest in foreign lands. Every able-bodied man served their king by joining their army and conquering the land they wanted, in exchange for great rewards, mainly gold and riches. One man, however, stood out because of his wit and exceptional fighting skills. His name was Camern Targaryen, He was your great-great grandfather.

Continuing on their warpath, your great-great grandfather and his armada of men were sailing in Ironman's Bay after becoming victorious in the Battle of Blazewater Bay. He was feeling so confident that he decided to take over a foreign land and establish a new kingdom there. He wanted a kingdom that was very hard for foreign kingdoms to invade and secluded enough to not be deemed a threat. He thought that by making this new kingdom secluded, it could be a bigger threat to the others later on.

So he and his armada landed on the Iron Islands, having been unceremoniously welcomed by the House that was already residing there. The House that had been there, House Grayiron, was not pleased that your great-great grandfather and his armies had invaded, so they declared war. The battle there was legendary, even still being remembered to this day. However, it didn't come without its consequences. Many men died horrible deaths that day. Only about fifty men had survived, all of which fought against House Grayiron. Your great-great grandfather was one of those survivors.

And so, with his men, Great-Great Grandfather Camern had forcefully established a new kingdom in the Iron Islands and made himself king with no opposition whatsoever. His reign would continue on years after that day, and it also paved the way for our family to rule. Without him, we wouldn't be here today.

That story never gets old. Even hearing it now brings back so many memories of my mother putting me and my siblings to bed at night, while my father planned his future conquests of other foreign lands. It comforted me to hold such memories of my mother being the kindest, most gracious woman that I know.

* * * * * *

As the sun peeked over the horizon, its bright, warm rays painted the rocks and cliffs that were bashed by the rolling tides of the raging sea. Although considered a beautiful part of the day by my mother, the way these rays would blind me almost every morning when I woke up from my slumber. It didn't bother me, though, as it filled me with enough sunshine and positivity to get me through the day...and in my case, enough positivity and a strong survivor attitude is needed when I am living in the same castle as my despotic father.

I barely had enough time to rub my eyes and fully wake up when one of the many handmaidens in the castle politely knocked on my bedroom door and quietly entered.

"Good morning, Your Highness," the handmaiden kindly greeted. "I hope you slept well last night."

I groaned quietly. "Not as much as I'd like, but it's close enough."

"Glad to hear that, Your Highness," the handmaiden answered, helping me get dressed in my royal gown for the day.

She continued to help me into my black chiffon-and-tulle gown with a metallic add-on that could be considered fancy battle armor. "Please," I conveyed, as she helped adjust the add-on onto my gown. "You can call me Anaysha."

"But it doesn't feel right, Your Highness," the handmaiden responded, showing her possible fear of saying my actual name.

"It's fine. Really. Just call me Anaysha," I said, leaning in close to whisper into her ear, "but do it while we're in private like this. We cannot risk my father beheading another person, can we?"

The handmaiden nodded. "We certainly cannot."

She helped me smooth out the gown in a couple final attempts before she exited the room gracefully and quietly. But it wasn't before she decided to deliver me some news that slightly frightened me, mainly because it concerned my father.

"Oh, and I should tell you this, Your Highness," the handmaiden started, "but your father requests your presence in the throne room."

I shot her a glance filled with fear and confusion. "What for?"

"Hard telling, Your Highness," she responded.

I assumed that the handmaiden wouldn't know why my father wanted my presence. Like I said before, my father was an unpredictable and ruthless king, and no one—not even his own flesh and blood—could accurately predict his next move. That's one of the factors that make him such a dangerous threat to Westeros. I'd stop him, but I don't have the confidence to do so, nor do I have the power. I am clearly afraid of my father, even though I don't want to be. My only hope now is to survive. Survive until there's an opportunity to escape.

Keeping an eerily calm and emotionless face, I gracefully sauntered to the throne room, my gown flowingly trailing behind me. I held my head up high and kept to the path ahead, as my mind kept racing.

What could my father possibly want from me?

Surely, it's not anything too rash.

Then again, this is my iron-handed father we are talking about. Everything—and anything—has a great chance of happening.

Once I entered the throne room, I was greeted by not only my father but my mother and older brother Crodell, who all seemed to wear serious yet stone-faced expressions upon their faces. My father and Crodell, however, added a sense of fear to their expressions. It made me feel alarmed to be in their presence, but I was just a bit more comfortable when I looked upon my mother's gentle face. Her gently loving yet serious face.

"You wanted to see me, Father?" I nervously asked, having a small lump rise in my throat.

Without skipping a beat or changing the expression on his face, my father gave me the news that I was waiting to hear.

"I did," he confirmed, firm malice emerging in his deep, rough voice. "This news I have most definitely concerns you."

Crodell silently nods, agreeing with my father. My mother, however, didn't move an inch, even though I could tell that she was patiently anticipating my reaction to what my father had to tell me.

"What is it, then? Tell me, Father," I said, eagerly awaiting the news.

He inhaled sharply and resumed with his normal evil glare. "I have thought about this for a long time. Actually, ever since Crodell was born. I want to say that after much discussion with your mother, we have decided to make Crodell the heir to the throne. He is not only the eldest son, but also the eldest child. And by tradition, the eldest son or child is designated to be the heir to the throne, and there is no changing it."

My emotionless face soon turned into one of rage and anger. I felt like I was betrayed...by my own father! Out of all the people in the Westeros realm to be betrayed by, it had to be my own father! My own flesh and blood. Even though a small part of me half-expected my father to do something like this, it still delivered quite the shock factor for someone like me. A daughter who cannot afford to be betrayed again.

"We only told you because the rest of your brothers and sisters know already," my father added on.

As my rage continued to boil up to the surface, I could almost definitely feel tiny pieces of my heart shatter and break off. That feeling of being betrayed by someone so close to you is definitely a feeling that no one should have to be forced to endure. Unfortunately, in my case, I was the person to take a direct hit at this moment.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Dead serious," my father answered in a low tone voice.

Then, I allowed my face to twist into an image of anger and slight jealousy, letting my irate nature come to the surface. "I can't believe you, Father! Making Crodell the heir to the throne, that's just—that's just preposterous! It's unfair!"

While my mother was surprised by my reaction, Crodell stood firm in his place, not allowing his muscles to twitch even for one split second. My father, however, started to unleash his anger little by little. Now, I know where I inherited my temper from.

"Then, explain to me how tradition is so unfair!"

"Out of all of us children, Crodell—the eldest, mind you—is the least fit to be first in line for the throne! He's narcissistic, controlling, power-hungry...sound familiar?" I shouted.

My father's face turned a bright red as he clenched his fists tightly, fighting the urge to hit his own daughter. His eldest daughter. "How dare you accuse your brother of such lies?"

That is when my irate self blew up. "Lies? Lies!? I am not telling lies! Crodell is not fit enough to be on the throne! He'll set the entirety of Westeros ablaze if he is to become king in the future!"

"And what are we to do in place of Crodell? Send you to be the heir? I don't think so!" my father shouted. "You are too weak and incompetent to be a leader on the throne."

"That's your excuse? What a poor excuse for such an awful king!"

I could tell my father was growing angrier by the minute, but God bless my mother's soul, for she was there to keep my father from unleashing his physical anger on me. Her gentleness had succeeded again in preventing violence erupting from within the family.

"Awful king? How dare you think that of your own father?" he snarled with the most malice I'd ever seen personified.

"I am allowed to think such thoughts about you when you think so horribly of me," I answered. "At least someone out there other than my own family understands the pain I've been going through."

"You have not gone through any pain. I've been trying to help you all your life, and yet, you remain ungrateful."

I inhaled sharply before continuing on. "The only thing I'm grateful for is for a pen partner I have that is supporting me even though it is only through letters."

"What pen partner?" my father questioned angrily.

"I'd been penning him for four years, ever since I was fourteen and being pushed into attempted arranged marriages and abuse," I responded. "I had to tell someone about what I was going through."

"Well, give us a name then," my father bellowed.

"Oberyn Martell!" I screamed.

My father's strong jaw dropped instantly, and my mother gasped. She exchanged a peculiar look with Crodell, who was equally as shocked as our parents. As I remained firm in my place, my father had taken one step closer to me, his face transforming into the most livid I'd ever seen before.

"Oberyn Martell? You've been penning that dangerous man for four years without telling me!?" my father exclaimed.

"I had no choice! You would've disapproved of it, and I had to vent to someone about what was going on! You know, since you are too busy becoming the villain to care about your own daughter and her well-being," I yelled.

"I command you to stop penning that snake before you get yourself killed!"

I was adamant about penning the Red Viper of Dorne. I was not going to stop just because my father commanded me to do so. Then, I'd be subjected to even more—and worse—torture than I was already going through.

"No," I simply and firmly said. "I'm not doing that, and there's nothing you can do to change that."

He ran his hand up and down his jawline before shooting a glance of regret over to my mother, who kept her strong facade and fought back tears.

"Then, I have no choice but to schedule you for execution first thing tomorrow," he said.

My stomach dropped. My father—my own goddamn father—had commanded for his own daughter to be executed. I was stunned. I was paralyzed with fear and betrayal. My own father had become a monster that I wished was dead.

My mother tried to vouch for my existence. "Brandeth—"

"No exceptions, Giyana," my father interrupted. "Our daughter deserves to be punished for her crimes."

"What crimes?" I asked. "Whatever they are, I'm sure they're frivolous."

"Treason and incompetence," my father said simply, becoming absolutely irate. "Treason, because you keep being defiant and not doing what I tell you to. Incompetence, because for the last four years, your defiant self failed to find a husband that you and your mother found suitable."

"Treason? Incompetence? I can't believe you!"

"You will be executed first thing in the morning. No exceptions!" my father commanded sternly.

My heart, at this point, had sunk so low in my body that I could feel it beat in my sinking stomach. While my own father had broken my heart, my mother and older brother did nothing to interfere. My mother made the effort to interfere, but she was helpless. She was frozen with fear, for she had beared witness to, by far, the worst anger episode my father was a part of. My brother, however, did nothing. Instead, he stood behind my fuming father, using everything in his flawed power to not move a single muscle.

Not only was I betrayed by my own father, but my own brother had betrayed me as well.

Not being able to take this pain anymore, I calmly—but angrily—stormed out of the throne room, fighting back angry tears that boiled deep within my skull. Being the Grand Princess of the Iron Islands, I had to keep my strong facade. I came from a strong family who was known for their conquests and their iron fists, and I can't be that person to doom the rest of the lineage. Only when I ascend to a throne will I be fully able to continue on with my family's long legacy and establish myself as one of the most feared—yet venerated and gracious—conquest-seeking rulers in the Mullendore-Sparr family line.

* * * * * *

The next morning was a particularly dark one. Every element of such seemed normal, except for the fact that my execution was looming over my head. My heart was throbbing out of my chest, wanting desperately to leap out and escape. That's what I wanted. To escape. I needed to escape this hell I was living in, but how would I do it? When would I do it? When would I get the opportunity to escape such a totalitarian kingdom like this one?

After a handmaiden helped me get dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror. As I admired the futuristic and beautifully designed black-and-gray gown that I was wearing, the sun's rays bounced off the silver crown that was placed firmly onto my head. It didn't matter to me. I was about to have my head chopped clean off, so I was not in my right mind at the moment. Instead, I was in a state of worry and fear. I rightfully feared for my life, even though I felt that there was nothing that could've been done to save it.

"Come now, Your Highness," the handmaiden told me.

I looked mournfully at her. "Can you give me a moment? By myself?"

"Of course," the handmaiden responded. "Just be sure you arrive at the main entrance landing in ten minutes' time. Only after you arrive there will you be led to the guillotine."

I nod, as the handmaiden left me in my room alone. It gave me the time to think of the moments leading up to my death. I had to get out. I didn't care about the possible consequences that might follow. All I cared about was getting out of this hell that I was forced to live in for far too long.

I emerged from my room and started to make my way toward the main entrance's landing. However, while I was passing the throne room, I could hear the rest of my family—my parents and all my siblings—talking with one another, some of them expressing their sorrow for what was about to go down.

"But why does she have to die, Father?" my younger sister Nathaleya asked tearfully.

"Because, dear Nathaleya, your sister Anaysha defied me. Now, she has to pay the price," my father explained.

"She didn't deserve it," my younger brother Malrik said.

"I agree. She was only standing up for herself," my younger brother Chandren added. "That's the best you can do as a future ruler."

"I know you're upset, children, but your sister has to pay for her mistakes," my father firmly said.

After I moved away from the door quietly, I calmly made my way to the main entrance, acting like I was going to obey the handmaid's order. When I arrived at the gate, I inhaled sharply knowing that this might be my last few moments in this castle—Pyke Castle. The castle I was born and raised in. Then, my impulsive thoughts got the best of me. My heart was beating out of my chest, and my breathing quickened. I was almost hyperventilating with what I was about to do. After I quickly glanced behind me, I slipped through the slightly ajar gate carefully. When I managed to successfully get through, I barely took in my outdoor surroundings as I picked up my skirt and made a dash for the harbor. Only after getting onto a boat heading for an unknown foreign kingdom was I finally free from the hell my father put me through.

* * * * * *

BRANDETH

Today was the day where I would either be feared by my own family or revered by them. Maybe both. I'm not sure. But all that I am certain of is that Anaysha will most definitely pay for her crimes. She was a bane to my existence, having been defiant and headstrong for far too long. Not to mention, she would constantly try to push her beliefs onto me, trying—to no avail—to convince me that she was in the right, and I was in the wrong.

I am not in the wrong! I am doing what is best for my empire—my kingdom—to stay firm in its place.

After a fine morning without my dreadful and defiant daughter Anaysha being anywhere near my sight, I had to consult my other children about what was about to happen. My eldest son, Crodell, already knew this beforehand, but my younger children—the children that were younger than Anaysha—hadn't yet heard the news. I summoned them all—including my wife—into the throne room, where I told them all about what would happen to their disgraceful sister today.

"Do you know, children, what is to happen in a few hours' time?" I asked my younger children, waiting anxiously to see if they could guess the answer.

All of them shook their heads back and forth, being clueless of what was supposed to happen.

"What is it, Father? Surely, it cannot be anything too rash," one of my sons, Kresten, said out of curiosity.

"Unfortunately, dear boy, it is rash," I answered as I inhaled a sharp, cold breath. "Your sister Anaysha is being executed in just a little while."

My children's faces were paralyzed into a stunned look. Finally, another one of my children—my daughter, Ceria—spoke up and voiced her disapproval.

"Anaysha? Executed? But why, Father?" she asked in a mournful tone.

"She committed heinous crimes," I answered. "Treason and incompetence."

My other children soon became extremely upset with the news, with the exception of my eldest Crodell. He was emotionless, stone-faced...he was definitely not affected by the soon-to-be death of his younger sister.

"But why does she have to die, Father?" my daughter Nathaleya questioned, as she tried to no avail to fight back her tears.

"Because, dear Nathaleya, your sister Anaysha defied me. Now, she has to pay the price," I explained, trying to convince her and the rest of her siblings that I was indeed not the bad guy.

"She didn't deserve it," my son Malrik said.

"I agree. She was only standing up for herself," another son of mine, Chandren, added. "That's the best you can do as a future ruler."

"I know you're upset, children, but your sister has to pay for her mistakes," I firmly said, putting my foot down.

Part of me wanted to be there for my heartbroken children. Out of all the times when their faces were suddenly broken, this was the most numb I'd ever seen them. Then again, the other part of me—the strict, antagonistic part that was the most dominant part of me—had once again grabbed hold of my heart and mind completely. It was like my soul flipped an internal switch, and I had once again flipped back to the monster that Anaysha—my own daughter—thinks I am. Well, she won't be thinking that for much longer.

I went to fetch my daughter from her sleeping quarters, keeping my emotionless expression etched onto my face. Even though it pained me to have to do this to my own flesh and blood, this had to be done since my daughter committed atrocious crimes against the king—me. I had to follow tradition and the rules, and I certainly was not going to make an exception for my own daughter. That would make me less feared and remembered throughout Westeros. I had to be a big threat and continue to gain power in order to try and be the most powerful ruler in all of this realm.

But I was in for a big surprise when I eventually entered her quarters unannounced. Of course, it had to be unannounced. I was king, and I could do whatever I wanted. Once I peaked my head in, I couldn't find Anaysha in there.

Maybe she's in a place where I can't see, I thought.

After searching every inch of Anaysha's sleeping quarters, I still could not find her. She was nowhere to be seen, despite having my servants search the entirety of the castle for her. So far, nothing.

"Where is Grand Princess Anaysha?" I asked furiously as one of the handmaidens passed.

"I'm not sure," she responded. "I led her to the main entrance. She was waiting there to be led to the guillotine the last time I saw her, Your Highness."

"So she must've already accepted her fate and is waiting for someone to lead her away?" I questioned.

"I would assume so, Your Highness," she answered.

I swiftly prowled toward the castle's main entrance, where I saw nothing but a giant, black metal gate with no one behind it. Anaysha was nowhere to be seen. She was not where the handmaiden said she was. Then, I noticed that the black steel gate which guarded the castle was slightly ajar. Enough for someone to easily slip in or out. Maybe Anaysha had slipped out and escaped.

Once the realization hit me, I let out a loud masculine yell that could've shook the entire castle for how loud it was. I was so angry that I wanted everyone residing in Pyke Castle to hear. They deserved to hear how irate I was.

"I heard you from almost the other side of the castle. What's wrong?" my wife asked after she came running to me out of nowhere.

I clenched my fists and yelled through gritted teeth, frustrated with what Anaysha had done.

"She's gone! Your daughter escaped! Anaysha...she slipped through the front entrance, and she's nowhere to be found!" I shouted.

"She couldn't have gone far. Just try and keep calm, Brandeth," she said gently, trying to calm me down.

"How can I be calm when our daughter had escaped from an execution that was supposed to happen?" I asked, still seething.

My wife gave me mournful eyes as she offered a thought that I never thought of until this point. "If it was meant to be, it would be meant to be. But since she escaped, maybe the timing of the execution—which I don't think should happen in the first place—wasn't right."

"How can you not agree on whether or not Anaysha should be executed? She committed crimes against the king. I am not going to make an exception just because she is our daughter," I said, still standing firm in my place.

Then, I thought about it for a second. Maybe the timing for this execution wasn't right. Maybe it needed to be a time where Anaysha least expected it.

"You know what, that doesn't matter now. What matters now is that whenever Anaysha comes back, then she'll immediately go on the chopping block," I said. "No exceptions, Giyana."

I continued to bask in the light of the villain, while my dear wife walked away. Wherever Anaysha ran off to, I needed to conquer that land, which would inadvertently lead her back here. To her death.

* * * * * *

ANAYSHA

The harbor was eerily frightening upon arriving there. As the black sea hypnotically ebbed and flowed in a consistent time frame, a light gray fog hovered over it and the land surrounding it. But it was luckily easy to move around here on land, so it wasn't all that bad. Every shiphand was operating as if nothing was out of the ordinary, loading the next shipment of resources on the ship heading toward who knows where. I hoped it was somewhere far away. Somewhere that I could easily forget about my father and all the hell he dragged me through.

I was curious about where this ship was, so I decided to take some initiative and walk up to one of the shiphands and ask about where this ship was heading. At the time I strolled up, this particular shiphand was helping other men load a heavy crate onto the vessel, but once it was all loaded, he stopped working and came down to meet me face-to-face.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you while you are working," I apologized to the young, nineteen-looking shiphand.

"It is not a problem, Your Highness. It is never an inconvenience when you appear," the shiphand said. He bowed to me as anyone would if I was in their presence. "Now, how can I be of service?"

"I am in need of transport," I stated. "I was supposed to be executed first thing this morning, but I managed to escape before my father could fetch me. I need to get as far away from here as possible."

"I'm terribly sorry about that, Your Highness," the shiphand simply said.

I glanced once again at the ship, which had almost all the resources that it was shipping away onto it. "Where is this ship headed?"

"Dorne."

"I assume it would be its capital Sunspear. Is that the exact location?" I questioned with great curiosity, knowing that my pen partner—the most feared man in all of Westeros—was there.

"Yes, Your Highness. These resources are going directly to Sunspear," the shiphand confirmed.

I didn't hesitate in voicing my desire to leave. I had to get out of this hell. "Then, I request safe passage to Dorne immediately."

The shiphand also didn't hesitate in a ride on the ship. "Of course, Your Highness. Anything for you," he said, showing me onto the boat.

Before the ship took off, I took a look back on the Iron Islands—specifically the island of Pyke, because that was the island my family and I had lived on for ages—for one last time before the departure. Would I be able to see my home ever again? I'm not sure, but I'm holding out as much hope as I can. Enough hope can go a long way.

#creative writing #oberyn martell #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #fanfiction #prince oberyn #oberyn nymeros martell

0 notes