Fair lady Arianne of Martell
Regarded as Dorne’s prettiest belle
Made Ser Arys randy
She found that just dandy
She craves for his loins when they swell

By Juanvito

Arys Oakheart

A white cloak does not make a man,
For men are made of flesh and bone,
Where desires serve to feed and fan,
The flames of greed and lust alone.

Yet the cloak bears greater vows than just,
Forsaking lands and lovers both,
Though breaking these, we still can trust,
That Arys holds his vital oath.

He fell on sands so far from home,
Meeting his end in Hotah’s wife,
His last line in the snow white tome,
Shows honour in his loss of life.

For though his princess he had lost,
Along with life, his love, his game,
He fights for her in spite of cost,
Not all white cloaks could say the same.

And as Arys falls, the count is done,
Of all true men to wear the white,
And though breaking vows, save this one,
He finds redemption in his fight.

by Jcooper


I loved a woman of the desert,
A proud, unbroken form.
For her I cast away my honour,
Lost my way in the sands of Dorne.

At her bequest, I took a quest
To crown a Virgin Queen.
My Cloak of White, I rent in two,
Gave up all that could have been.

For an hour’s love, a moment’s lust
My heart bled out on the sand.
Fr an arid grave, a lonely tomb
In this rain forsaken land.

by Winter’s Knight