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Blood in the Rivers: VIII

A/N: I apologize for the wait (again). Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on the last chapter. And thank you for all the shenanigans about dogs and unicorns last night. You all make me smile

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T - mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, my continued overuse of italics

Word Count: 9.2k (Don’t look at me)

Read Chapters I-VII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Eight: Pockets Full of Pebbles

“Raise your elbow.”

The bow was a bit too big for her little hands, even if it had been specially made just for her. But she did as her father bid and tried to focus on the target just a few feet away in the courtyard outside the keep’s armory.

“Perfect. Now loose.”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the side of the target. A shrieking giggle soon erupted from her throat as her father’s strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air.

“You are a natural, my darling girl! My little warrior!” His smiling lips pressed a kiss against her cheek as she continued to laugh.

“Oh, Brynden. You will have her running wild if you continue,” Vaella said, fondness in her tone betraying her love for her husband and child.

Brynden adjusted his grip on Y/N so he could hold her a little closer, little legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “She is already wild. Aren’t you, Y/N?”

There were few rivers in Dorne. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course. But the nearest was too far. She would not delay his soul’s rest any more than necessary. “All rivers lead to the sea, darling girl,” her father had once said. So, the Summer Sea was her only choice. It wasn’t the muddied rivers around Riverrun. It wasn’t The Trident in The Vale where her father had laid her mother to rest. “All rivers lead to the sea,” she repeated her father’s words.

She barely remembered filling a small boat with kindling and stones and small slips of parchment before carefully placing her father’s head inside, atop the makeshift body she’d made from rolls of black fabric and straw.

She would never recover the rest of his body. There had been a note shoved behind his teeth: his body was fed to a caged bear at Harrenhal. Another desecration. Oberyn had matched it by having Ilyn’s body hacked to pieces.

The words of a familiar prayer slipped by her lips as she finished, hoping his soul would find rest in the Seven Heavens and that he would be reunited with her mother. “Goodbye, papa.” The words were strangled in her throat.

Ellaria quietly stepped to her side. Oberyn soon followed. Harmen and Daisy took their places, too. Without a word, they each placed a hand on the boat and helped shove the small tender out onto the gentle waves of the sea. Her heart was in her throat as she watched it start to pull away from the shore and then Daemon was there, handing her the bow and arrow. Y/N nocked the arrow with her bandaged hand and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ to an injured-but-healing Trystane as he lit the end, letting it blaze with orange fire. A steadying breath is all she gave herself before she pulled the bow taut with perfect posture, just like her father taught, and let it loose. The arrow hit the boat and it erupted in flames. Her hands shook as she finally let the bow drop to her side. The stitches on her palm had torn. She didn’t feel it. Blood dripped onto the sand.

The boat drifted away and she watched until it sunk beneath the water.

The Realm had descended into chaos. Myrcella and her Lannister guards had disappeared the night Ilyn had tried to kill Trystane and Doran. Westerland armies tried to cross the Red Mountains into Dorne on the Prince’s Pass but were largely pushed back by the House Fowler armies. House Yronwood raised their banners and fortified the Bone Way, waiting for the Lannisters to try again.

Y/N had been wordlessly invited to join Oberyn, a healing Doran, and the lords and ladies of Dorne who had been at the Water Gardens for the feast and never left. All of them were calling for retaliation. For war. The men and women sequestered in the cooled undercroft serving as a war room did not bat a lash when she joined them. Some even voiced their approval for her plans, stating that she was a natural tactician, “a woman after Princess Nymeria’s own heart!” It almost made her smile. It was a small solace, to know that her opinion was valued enough to earn a seat at the table.

But it had kept long hours. Longer still when she would hide away in Sunspear’s grand library, poring over centuries-old texts about the Red Keep or Casterly Rock, trying to find some slip of information that could be used as a tool against the Lannisters. It had almost become some sort of sad little game to wonder who would be sent in to ask her back to bed.

“You are falling asleep in your seat,” Sansa would say. “Go to bed.”

“You look ill. You will be ill if you do not sleep,” Arya would grumble.

"You must sleep, My Tully,” Ellaria would whisper as she would gently massage the back of her neck. “Come lay with me.”

And sometimes it would work. But sometimes she would wave them on. But she found a surprising companion. Obella, not yet seventeen, quietly helped her find books in the library and show Y/N her own findings—mostly battle formations that had faded from common knowledge but would be brutally efficient. They came to a soft companionability, taking turns to bring food and hot tea to the library when the night grew dark or relighting candles that snuffed themselves out.

“Why do you come here?” Y/N finally asked after their fifth night together.

“I cannot wield a sword like Obara or a bow like you—or even a lance like Elia. But I do want to help.”

She said it with such conviction that it fractured a part of Y/N’s already broken heart. She only nodded and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward her with a sad sort of smile. “You’re helping more than you know.”

Obara, Elia, and Arya were her companions at the training grounds. The two Sand Snakes seemed to innately know the anger that had infested her bloodstream and would silently bandage Y/N’s fingers when she would rub them raw with overuse against the string of her bow.

She was a fine archer and Obara had taken it upon herself to find Y/N a Martell guard who preferred the short blades she was more comfortable with to help her train with those as well.

Her hand ached. She pulled the stitches from her skin on her own, too early for the ugly, jagged wound to be fully healed. But she did it anyway in the dead of night, tired of feeling the scratch of the knots against her palm. Obara said nothing when she saw the messy work when she bandaged Y/N’s hand the morning after

Obara would stand behind her father’s chair when she cared to attend the war stratagem but largely kept to the training grounds with their cavalry and infantry.

Time had turned strange. Days and nights melting into each other without any sort of rest. Tracking the date had not been a necessity or want. She simply needed to do all she could to help. To train. To lend her voice at the stratagem meetings. She could rest later.

Just before one of these meetings Y/N noticed a shaking servant, holding a crumpled missive in his hands. The seal of the Tyrells was broken at the edge. The poor soul looked like he was headed toward the gallows. “I’ll take it for you,” she murmured.

The servant mumbled a quiet but reverent “thank you, Princess,” before all but shoving it into her hand and then pulling open the heavy door to let her in. Her thumb slid beneath the broken seal and she quickly scanned the words, stomach curling with each line of ink

Oberyn noticed the fright on her face within a moment. “What is it, my moonlight?” He asked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she handed him the letter.

She was thankful that only Doran was present when Oberyn’s beautiful face slid into something monstrous as he read. He curled his fist around the letter as Doran lifted his head from the pile of missives from far-off Lords from the east coast of Dorne, keeping him abreast of any movement or changes in scheme they needed to employ. “Oberyn?”

“Myrcella and her guards washed up in Blackwater Bay.”

“And the Lannisters think we had a hand in it?”

“According to Olenna Tyrell, yes; Cersei thinks we killed Myrcella and she wants all of our heads on spikes.” Oberyn threw the remnants of the warning onto the table with a snarl.

While Y/N knew she would pray for the little princess’ soul to be carried off into the Seven Heavens when she was alone that night, her mind quickly turned toward how they would deal with this newest development. “They must have sailed near the Stepstones. Pirates and raiders-"

“The Lions do not care for logic, my moonlight. They have deemed us guilty.”

Her gut churned. She wanted blood, yes. But not Myrcella’s—not the innocent.

Before any other arguments or plans could be made—the door burst open and Elia was careening into the room, out of breath and dark eyes wild. “Ships! Greyjoy and Stark banners!”

Y/N scarcely recalled leaping up the stairs or dashing through the fortress and out into the dying sunlight to see the ships on the horizon—swathes of grey fabric and black wood rising from the waves like the Deep Ones of legend. Small tenders were already in the sea and rowing toward the shore. One of them had tied a bit of white fabric to their bow.

“Should we trust them?” Y/N asked.

Oberyn, at her back, sighed. “The Starks have not betrayed us yet. Remains to be seen with the Greyjoys.”

The fortress was abuzz with movement as the Northmen settled into their temporary lodging Sunspear was providing (the Ironborn loudly voiced that they’d rather row back out to their ships for rest). Battle plans were being drawn and redrawn. Alliances and promises made.

Y/N learned that after the Boltons had tortured and killed Theon as they took over Winterfell, Yara sent a raven to Robb. He would help her claim the throne of the Iron Islands against the claim of her uncle, Euron, in exchange for drawing the Boltons out beyond Winterfell’s walls so Robb’s men could attack them from behind and finally reclaim Winterfell and wipe out the Bolton line. They both had vengeance with the act and gained an ally.

The North was once again under the rule of House Stark. But Y/N could not delight in that bit of happy news as word was sent that Yara Greyjoy required a private audience with Y/N.

Daemon rowed her out to the Black Wind and promised to stay until she personally told him to go or she came back out to the tender to be taken back to Sunspear. “I would not have you languishing with the Ironborn longer than necessary, my lady,” he muttered before a rope ladder was thrown down.

As she reached the deck of the ship, several of the crew looked her up and down. She caught whispers of “the Mountain” and “princess” before she was led below deck by a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and cold, green eyes. He knocked twice on a sea-weathered door before a gruff, feminine voice called to let him in.

Y/N stepped inside and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It reeked of old hay and excrement—probably a holding cell. Yara was waiting, standing under the single beam of light the room had and holding a chain in her hands. It snaked across the hay-strewn floor and disappeared into a dark corner. This was the first time Y/N had come in contact with Yara Greyjoy—but her reputation obviously preceded her and was well earned. The smirk she had splitting her face was enough to warrant the rumors of callous humor and bloodthirsty nature.

“Ah, you’ve come. Perhaps you can get something out of him before I rip his tongue out. We caught him just off the Stepstones, trying to hide his hideous face under a hood.” She pulled at the end of a chain. The metal links seemed to sing as she continued to yank until the prisoner stepped into her line of sight.

Y/N nearly balked at the sight. “Lord Tyrion. A surprise to be sure.”

Tyrion looked no worse than he did all that time ago in the Water Gardens but his limbs were now all encased in heavy steel and his hair was a little more unkempt. “My lady.” He even bowed a bit.

“The Imp refuses to speak to anyone but you,” Yara said as she stepped forward to hand Y/N the end of the chain with a curled frown. “Was this the one you were intended to marry?”

Y/N bristled but was unsurprised that Yara knew of the Lannisters’ plot. All of Dorne seemed to know it, too. “It was Tywin, actually. His father.”

Yara sneered. “I guess the old lion does still have a cock.” She then left without another word and the door closed loudly behind her.

With a sigh, Y/N set down the chain and wiped her hands on her skirts. “Why have you asked for me, Lord Tyrion? Prince Oberyn or Doran would be the only ones to grant you more comfortable accommodations in exchange for information.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I do not trust them, just as they do not trust me.”

Y/N hummed. “I am surprised they kept you alive at all. The last time you were in the company of Starks, you were accused to trying to murder Bran and only survived Catelyn’s wrath by the gods’ grace and the help of a sellsword.”

“It was more the sellsword than the grace of the gods, my lady, I assure you. But it was under Robb’s instruction that the Ironborn did not tie me to the front of their ship to be pecked to death by gulls.” He pursed his lips. “I was nearly to Essos when my ship was blown out of the water and I was scooped up like some dead fish.”

“Then perhaps you should consider it luck that they found you and not your sister. She wants you dead. Robb wants leverage.”

“If you had counseled your dear king, he would have known that I will hold no leverage as a hostage. They would prefer me dead.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughts stirring in her mind. “You asked me here for a reason, Lord Tyrion. And it is not because you fear me the least. What is it you’re offering?”

Something crossed Tyrion’s face then. It was almost a smile. “You would have made a fearsome Lady of the Rock, you know.” But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Tell me, are the rumors of Myrcella-”

“Dorne had nothing to do with it. Doran and Oberyn may not care for your family but they do not kill children. They know the ache of the loss of a child.”

Tears gathered in Tyrion’s eyes and tracked down his dirty cheeks. “She was good and gentle.”

“She was,” Y/N said softly. “And I am sorry that the gods have called her home so soon. But we need your help to see this through. You have my word that Tommen will not be harmed when we take King’s Landing.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were waiting for her when she stepped back onto shore hours later. Y/N had slips of parchment crumpled in her hand and streaks of ink staining her fingers and across her cheek. “Is Sarella still in Oldtown?”

“You cannot believe him!” Robb snarled.

Y/N pivoted in her seat to glare at him, uncaring of the other lords and soldiers in the room. “What cause does he have to lie?”

“He is a Lannister!”

“He is hated by his family. They tried to kill him.”

Robb’s face continued to contort in rage as he stood from his seat, fist slamming against the wood of the table. But whatever words he had wanted to say stilled in his throat as Oberyn stood from his seat, too. Oberyn said nothing as he loomed at Y/N’s back. He did not move his hand to the pommel of his sword but the promise of violence was not missed.

The King in the North seemed to swallow his pride at the quiet show of strength but did not sit down. “There is no way to see if this is not a trap.”

And that was when Y/N had a smirk of her own, pulled the rolled missive, stamped with the seal of the Citadel, from the folds of her dress and unfurled it on the table. “Tyrion’s claims of the cisterns and drains of Casterly Rock have been verified, as have the rumors of Wildfire under the whole of King’s Landing.” She pushed the parchment toward Robb and watched his face as he read Sarella’s handwriting. Her findings had given Y/N hope that this war could be won without an unending number of battles. Less bloodshed. Fewer dead Dornishmen. Fewer families without sons and husbands and brothers. Tyrion had told her of how he used to smuggle his favorite girls in and out of his rooms by the way of the drains of Casterly Rock and how that flaw in the Lannisters’ fortress could be exploited and allow for an outside naval force to sack his ancestral home. He’d provided crude drawings of how the tunnels curved and turned from the cliffside up to the balustrades and towers. Tyrion’s placement of the wildfire under the capital were less precise but still damning.

“And what does The Imp want in return for this information?”

“He wants to be set free-” There was an immediate and expected uproar from the Northmen and Ironborn and a handful of the Dornish lords and ladies but Y/N pressed on. “-to live in Essos with little Tommen when this is over.”

Robb held up his hand and quieted the rabble as his lips pressed into a thin line. “We will need scouts in the Westerlands to know of any movement of their armies.”

Lady Maege Mormont, pallid face red with the heat and slicked with sweat, suddenly moved her dark eyes to Y/N and the Dornish prince at her back. “The Riverlands armies are still waiting for command.”

“The Riverlands have not declared to King Robb’s cause aside from a handful of men who still hold Riverrun,” gruffed an Ironborn who tried to hold Oberyn’s gaze but quickly wilted under the Prince’s unwavering stare.

“That is inaccurate,” Robb said, voice cutting through the room’s din without effort. “There is still a small battalion of men loyal to Brynden Tully waiting for a command just outside Pinkmaiden. It would be a sufficient number.”

Oberyn’s warm hand reached down to gently grasp her shoulder and squeeze. A quiet show of support. “Why have they not joined you in Dorne?” Y/N asked, voice steady.

That was when Robb finally sat again and he tried to look her in the eye but failed and glanced down at the maps in front of him. “Your father was waiting for my command to take the Golden Tooth.”

Y/N nodded. He had never made it to Pinkmaiden.

And everyone in the room knew it.

But Y/N’s face did not move and Oberyn’s steadying hand did not falter in its grounding warmth. “Then it seems you have your scouts.”

The meeting continued on into the night and only adjourned when Lord Stonehouse let out a snore, slumped over his plate of half-eaten supper. Y/N wrapped a bit of chicken into her napkin and set out on her own after kissing Oberyn’s cheek before he went to Doran’s side.

She was…exhausted. But, she still sought out the one frivolous activity she would allow herself. Grey Wind, Robb’s hulking direwolf, was curled on the cool marble of the grand hall and lifted his large head when he heard her approach. Ned had told her stories of direwolves during her time at Winterfell and she, a bit childishly, wanted to see one as close as she could manage. Y/N unwrapped the chicken and held out to him with a small smile that grew only a fraction bigger when it was quickly devoured and her fingers were licked clean, too. The direwolf sniffed at her hand for a little longer before pressing his head against her palm, wanting to be pet. And that almost made her laugh, this giant animal who unnerved most others he encountered was gently asking to be scratched behind the ears. (Robb had grumbled his acceptance of Grey Wind not being present in the war room because of how uncomfortable it made some of the lords and ladies of Dorne.)

“You’re just a big pup, aren’t you?”

Grey Wind whined, offended.

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice rung out in the hall and Y/N quickly gave a handful more scratches before trying to find her handmaiden. When she did, Daisy explained that Ellaria had requested Daisy get Y/N “in bed with no distractions!” when she heard the meeting had been adjourned early. So, she let Daisy lead her back to her chambers with a sigh and fuss for a moment or two before she helped her out of her clothes and into her silken nightgown with a small smile. “I feel like I have not truly spoken with you in ages, my lady.”

“I apologize, Daisy.”

“Think nothing of it. I know your heart and mind are occupied.” When she finished, Daisy lingered at her back with a nervous expression. “I know it is not my place-”

“You are my friend, Daisy. Speak freely.” She turned to softly squeeze at Daisy’s fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap.

“I worry about you. And I know others do as well.”

“I am going to sleep-”

“It is not your lack of sleep that disturbs me, Y/N. You…you are not yourself. For as long as I have known you, you have worn your heart on your sleeve. Only tucking it away when you think someone will betray you. I know your heart is broken. Let it be broken. A heart that bleeds alone still bleeds. It is easier to bear with someone at your side.”

Y/N frowned. “You are with me-”

Disappointment colored Daisy’s face as she sighed, cutting off Y/N’s words. “I know you are not this stupid, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean.”

And that poked at the festering wound Y/N had tried to seal over with brick and steel in the cavity of her chest. “When this is over, I will… I will mourn as I should. It would be selfish to do it now.”

Daisy clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “I have been told that war makes animals of men but I did not think it would make your heart stone. It is not selfish to love your father. It is not selfish to feel.” Before Y/N could even come up with some sort of rebuttal, her friend was striding toward the door and pulling it open. “Sleep, Y/N.” And then she was gone.

But Y/N did not sleep. She sat on her bed and listened to the night’s chatter die down as time slipped by. The fortress grew dark as only the necessary torches were kept aflame. The stars glittered in the moonless sky. Even as her body yearned for rest, she could not sleep.

All she could do was stare out to the sea.

But then she was moving. Slipping off her bed and slinking out of the fortress, wordlessly passing the stationed guards who made no move to stop her but watched her with careful, curious eyes.

“All rivers lead to the sea.” The words were murmured but felt like a rock had dislodged itself from the recesses of her lungs.

Cool marble gave way to paved stone and then to cold, wet sand she let squish between her toes as she walked closer to the sea’s edge. The water was calm. Gentle waves shimmered in starlight and lapped against the shore. She let the cool water splash against her ankles before she discarded her dressing gown. She took one step, then another, another, and another until she was treading open water in just her chemise, feeling the wet fabric glide around her in the water like a curious, silken fish. She dove beneath the waves to feel the chill and rhythm of the sea settle in her bones. For a moment, she wondered if she could spend forever at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the stars through the clear water, weighed down by pebbles sewn into her pockets. But when her lungs started to burn, she rose to the surface slowly and pulled in a deep breath of warm night air as she crested like a leviathan.

Y/N had always been a strong swimmer. Edmure had once joked that she was truly part trout when she would spend hot days swimming against the current of the waters around Riverrun. But she did not want to swim tonight. She wanted to simply feel the water on her skin. To feel the waves beat in time with her heart. To know that the water would always have a place for her.

Her legs stopped pumping and she let them rise to the surface and she floated atop the waves like a wash of seafoam.

The stars were shining above her in their celestial beds, bright and welcoming even as drops of salted water managed to sting at her eyes. She followed the lines of the constellations she knew by heart and licked the salt from her lips.

With each wave, she knew the shore grew closer. She could let herself mourn until then, let the salt of her tears finally meet the salt of the water. She could let herself cry here, mourn here, in the water that welcomed her family home.

They came slowly and then all at once. Great, heaving sobs shook her entire body and nearly took her under as water filled her mouth when she let out a wail—the sounds wrenching themselves free from their hiding places within her tired soul. She cried and sobbed and wept. For her father. Her mother. For Ned and Catelyn. For Rickon and Bran and Hoster. Finally letting herself feel something for longer than a few stolen minutes. Y/N barely registered the arms wrapping around her shoulders and under her knees, the grip keeping her head safely above water.

It wasn’t until the tears ebbed enough to clear her vision that she saw Oberyn standing in the water, cradling her weightless form against the waves. His features were soft in the starlight and he said nothing as her sobs came again and she curled further into his grip.

He let her cry until she was spent and then walked her closer to the shore and helped her stand.

Ellaria was waiting just outside the sea’s reach with a stack of linen towels neatly folded near her feet. She plucked one from the pile and wordlessly started to dry Y/N off with a gentle touch before wrapping another around her shoulders. Oberyn slung one around his damp breeches then leaned forward to press a kiss against Ellaria’s temple, lingering for a moment, before doing the same to Y/N.

“The night is losing its battle with dawn, my loves. We must sleep,” Ellaria said, reaching out to tighten the towel around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N nodded, beyond exhausted. But her heart felt the smallest fraction lighter. And perhaps it was not the end of her grieving—it was just the start. But she knew it was a step forward. When Ellaria pushed her into the warm silk and linen sheets of her and Oberyn’s bed and then climbed over her to settle like another blanket, Y/N knew she would finally sleep. Peacefully. Oberyn climbed in after them and murmured soft ‘sleep, my darlings. We will speak in the morning’ into their skin and snuffed out the single candle on the bedside table. One hand brushed against Ellaria’s back as his other brought Y/N’s palm up to his lips to breathe in the lingering scent of salt and water as his eyes closed. Oh yes, she could sleep for eternity if they just held her like this for a little longer.

And the sound of the water, ever-present and ever-moving, lulled them into a quiet, deep sleep.

Morning came sooner rather than later and Y/N woke to Oberyn pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, fingers sliding under the thin strap of her chemise to revel in her soft skin. Much like Ellaria had the night before, he was lounging across Y/N’s back, weight pressing her into the featherbed with a comforting pressure. Ellaria was sitting up, held up by her elbow to look down at her with a soft smile.

It was something Y/N could get used to seeing every morning. She breathed for a few moments, simply wondering in how quiet the room was, how gentle Oberyn and Ellaria were with her. Briefly, she thought of how her life had changed since she had sent that first raven to Dorne. Being this comfortable, wrapped in blankets that did not belong to her, in the arms of not one but two people she was not married to—the scandal of it all. It was a soft sort of loveliness, even with the hurt of her loss. It seemed the water and the forgiving touch of the couple she loved had given Y/N her soul back; fractured and hurt. But hers once again.

“How are you, my moonlight?” He asked, voice quiet in the still of the room.

“I think I will carry this ache until my soul leaves to join whichever of the Seven Heavens the gods deem fit for me. But I know it will be easier to bear with time. Just as it was with my mother. Knowing they are together again gives me a small bit of happiness.” Y/N tapped at his thigh so she could turn to face him, letting her fingers trail through his hair when he laid his cheek against her stomach as they once again settled in the mess of blankets. A handful of grey strands pulled her attention as she let her nails gently scratch against his scalp, gaining a soft groan in return. “Thank you for last night. You… you both seem to know what I require before I even speak.”

Oberyn looked up at her, dark eyes warm but sad. “We each have had our own brushes with loss, my moonlight.” He paused. “We watched you close yourself off to everything aside from the coming war. Your eyes did not sparkle. You did not laugh. We had you, could touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. But you were lost to us.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and reached over to let her fingers roam across her exposed collarbone and the corner of her mouth tilted up when she heard the next breath catch in Y/N’s throat.

“It was never my intention-”

“You have spent too long in places where you cannot feel. You have swallowed your pride and anger and joy and grief in order to survive.” Ellaria said, fingers continuing to trail, burning her in their wake. “That is not how we live here, that is not the life we want for you.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath and let her hands drop to the back of Oberyn’s head, twisting the black and grey locks around her fingers without thought. “What is the life you want for me?”

Oberyn suddenly moved. His hands planting on either side of her shoulders to loom over her like some beautiful, terrible heavenly body. Her legs parted as he moved, cradling his hips with her thighs. “We want you to live, my moonlight. To live freely. Without restraint.”

“We want you to be angry, to be sad, to be joyful—to feel,” Ellaria said, hooking her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make Y/N look at her. “We want you to feel.”

They spoke of their hurts and anger, of their happiness and triumphs as the sun started to rise. “But none of it means anything if you do not feel it.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss and sighed against her mouth as she lifted a hand to slide against his side, delighting in how he shivered. “We want you to take the day. Do not attend the meetings. Do not go to the training yards. Sleep. Pray if it helps your heart. Eat something. Speak with Sansa and Arya. Let yourself feel.” He kissed her again before Ellaria stole another, too. But they eventually all made their way out of the haven of their soft blankets and dressed unhurriedly to meet the day.

“Join me for lunch. The little ones miss you,” Ellaria said, catching Y/N’s hand before she left.

“I will find you,” Y/N promised with a squeeze to her wrist before setting off to find Sansa.

The day passed smoothly, for the most part. She let herself cry again when she spoke with Sansa and joined Grey Wind and Arya in the sea before setting off to join Ellaria and the younger Sand Snakes for lunch as promised. The afternoon was filled with a trip to Sunspear’s sept for prayer and speaking with Daisy. No plans for battle. No talk of alliances. It was not all her heart needed to heal from her loss. But it was another step toward acceptance. As night descended on Dorne, she was rewrapping the leather binding on the handle of Dorea’s Morningstar, having nearly stepped on it when she was walking back to her chambers. The leather had been ripped and torn under Dorea’s exuberant thrashing and Y/N had a bit of leather to spare, not minding to part with it. Oberyn found her as she finished and smiled as she, a little bashfully, showed him her work.

“She will love it,” he said with a warm smile and tired eyes.

Oberyn led her toward Dorea’s chambers and they found Ellaria asleep in Dorea’s bed with a book of fairytales from the Riverlands opened on their laps. Oberyn only tiptoed in for a moment to press a kiss to his paramour and daughter’s cheeks. Y/N had followed to carefully pull the book away and set it on the bedside table and made sure that the blankets covered the pair, tucking them into bed against the sea-scented night air. She placed the Morningstar atop a table before they both slipped out.

“She must have had a nightmare. She rarely lets us leave her bed if some sort of monster has creeped its way into her mind,” Oberyn said softly as he closed the door.

“Does she have nightmares often?” Y/N asked.

“They come and go, as it is with all children.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers with a tired smile. “You will see when you have babes of your own.”

“You want more children?” She asked, head filling with something other than plans for war for a brief moment.

Oberyn’s smile widened and he pressed a hand over her stomach, fingers splaying. “I want as many children as you desire to give me.”

Something playful and teasing and almost unfamiliar bubbled in her chest and she smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, I see. You’ve seduced me in some attempt to fill these halls with little Martells. You have no love for me—just my ability to give you more heirs.” She even laughed, quiet in the hall.

But Oberyn did not smile now and his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and yanked her close. The heat of his body enveloped her instantly and the burn of his gaze struck at her heart. “Do not say such things.”

“It was-”

“I love you, my moonlight. Even in jest, I will not have you speak of yourself that way.” He released his grip on her dress to gently hold her face in his roughened hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “But it is good to hear you laugh again. I have missed the sound.”

Y/N nearly melted into his grip with a soft sigh and closed her eyes to savor his touch a little more. But then her mind started to wander, back to when she was still untouched by war and courtly politics. “I’ve always wanted one or two.”

He leaned forward to press his head against hers and Y/N could feel him smile as he kissed her forehead. “I can give you that.”

“I want them to have your eyes and good heart.”

Oberyn chuckled and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her a little closer. “As long as they are healthy, my moonlight, I will be happy.”

And as she curled beneath her blankets that night, mouth still tingling from the kiss Oberyn left her with, she thought of little Loreza and Dorea trying to teach two little ones how to read on the shore as the Dornish sun warmed their skin.

And the thought carried over to her dreams where Oberyn crooned in her ear some lullaby she couldn’t place, a babe in his arms.

“Could you throw one more?” Y/N asked.

The young squire chuckled and nodded, pulling another bruised blood-orange from the pile collected from the groves and threw it into the air. Y/N quickly pulled back the bow’s string and loosed another arrow. It soared through the early morning air and pierced the skin of the orange and ripped through before it sunk into the target. It lined up almost perfectly with the six other speared blood-oranges on the target, dripping red-pink juice across the wood.

Y/N waved off the squire moving to clean off the target and said she didn’t mind the work. “I am sure I have kept you from your duties for far too long.”

“It is a pleasure to serve, Princess. You are a formidable archer.”

“Flatterer,” Y/N mused and watched the squire try to hide a shy smile before bowing and dismissing himself. She carefully pulled the arrows from the target and licked the juice from the tips and threw the discarded oranges out into the garden to let them feed the soil. It was still too early for most others to come to the courtyard to train. The last handful of days had seen most of the Dornish armies leave Sunspear to relieve the sorties at the border and to lead an incursion into the Stormlands.

A sudden noise had her turning and ready to nock another arrow. But it was just Robb, still haggard from sleep, with Grey Wind trailing beside him. The pair stared at each other for a moment and Y/N had to will herself to loosen her grip on the bow and carefully place the sticky arrows back into a pile. Robb approached her slowly. Much slower than Grey Wind who nosed at her leather breeches before letting out a low rumble as her gloved hand found the spot behind his left ear he loved having scratched.

“We have not spoken properly, cousin.” His mouth opened and closed twice. “I have missed you,” was all he managed.

Y/N nodded. She did miss him, too. “We are a long way from Winterfell.”

Robb’s smile was small but sincere. He took a step closer. And then another. And then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her to his chest in a tight hug. Y/N’s arms wrapped around him tightly without a thought or care. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly shut them in a half-hearted attempt to keep them at bay. But then she was holding him in earnest and remembering how he and Jon would laugh in the Wolf’s Wood and string blue roses behind her ears with dirty fingers and would always make her smile whenever they could. It was so strange to see him now, the burden of a bloody crown on his head and scars littering his skin. It was strange that the boy she knew, full of smiles and fond of laughter, was now so quiet and serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The tears were coming in earnest now and she felt Robb’s own trickling onto the shoulder of her tunic.

“You saved Sansa. Arya. You kept them alive and I repaid you with your father-”

“Don’t say it,” she said, biting back a whimper. “Do not say it.”

He held her tighter. And she tightened her hold, too.

“What happened to us, Stark?” She whispered.

The claimant king shuddered in her grip, the tears continuing their descent. “I do not know.”

And the pair held each other for a little longer until they heard other guards and soldiers approaching the training ground. Y/N stepped back first and noticed the sadness in his eyes but he blinked and turned his head and it was gone. The careful mask of kinghood was back in place. “I did come to speak to you of something else, Lady Tully. If you would permit me a moment of your time.”

She nodded, her own mask upon her face, too, and let him lead her toward a quiet corner of the training grounds with Grey Wind trailing beside them. And with each step, she noticed how Robb seemed to hold his shoulders higher to his ears. “What is it?” Y/N whispered when they finally slowed to a stop, mask slipping.

“Your father’s men want to fight. Riverrun still answers to the name Tully. And you, dear cousin, are the only Tully left alive and out of bondage.” When Y/N was quiet, Robb continued. “We sent the raven to Pinkmaiden—they responded that they wanted a commander. A leader.”

“And you think that I-”

“You are a Tully. You are Brynden Tully’s daughter. You have outmaneuvered the Lannisters at every turn. Who else would I send?”

She had kept Robb’s request to lead the Riverlanders’ forces to herself for only a handful of hours, trying to find the words to tell Ellaria and Oberyn. She thought time alone would help her, but all it did was wear on her nerves. A nervous tittering called her attention and she turned to see little Loreza staring at Grey Wind—the direwolf had made it a habit to splash around in the cool water of the Summer Sea at least a few times a day and was currently submerged up to his neck in the water, letting the waves wash over his back.

Y/N smiled despite her heavy heart and walked to Loreza’s side, biting back the question of how she’d managed to evade her Septa’s watchful eye this time. Seeing Loreza so nervous broke her heart a little. She was too young to be so scared. “He’s very big, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost as big as a horse,” the young girl murmured, dark eyes flittering back to the direwolf. “Obella said she saw him eat a man!”

“Obella is just teasing. Grey Wind is gentle—especially to little girls.” Y/N knelt down to Loreza’s level with a smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Loreza seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding. Y/N held out a hand for her to take and led her over to the lounging direwolf. She held out her hand for Grey Wind to sniff and quickly lick before she scratched behind his ears. The water was starting to soak through her leathers but she turned to show Loreza how he liked to be scratched.

“Give him your hand, just like I did. Let him smell you.”

Loreza held out a shaking hand toward Grey Wind who sniffed all around before licking a wet strip across her little fingers and Loreza let out a loud giggle at the sensation. Her little dress was floating around her like a pale yellow lily pad.

“See? He likes you.”

Grey Wind continued to nose at Loreza’s arm as she started to run her fingers through his dark fur. “He’s soft!”

“I heard King Robb brushes him every night,” Y/N said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Loreza smiled at that and then let out a surprised squeal when Grey Wind licked at her face. “I think he likes you more than me!”

Loreza finally pulled her other hand from Y/N’s hold and happily pushed her little fingers through Grey Wind’s damp fur. A particularly tall wave washed over them and Loreza laughed as Grey Wind licked the water from her hands. “Would Father let me have a direwolf?”

“Direwolves are of the North, like King Robb and Sansa and Arya. And they are rare there, too.”

The girl pouted at that but did not stop her petting. “Will King Robb let me pet him while he is here?”

Y/N nodded and promised to speak to Robb on her behalf before she noticed a figure standing on the shoreline. “It seems your father has discovered us.”

Loreza looked back at the shore and grimaced. “I did miss my lessons today.”

Y/N urged her gently to find her septa, promising to speak with Oberyn, and watched her dash away through the water toward the sand and dodged her father’s hand as he reached for her with a teasing smile.

Y/N eventually pulled away from Grey Wind and squared her shoulders before pushing against the water toward Oberyn who waited for her.

“It is good to see you with them. You are gentle—but I do think you let them get away with far too many follies.”

Y/N smiled. “Even I missed a lesson or two when I was her age. A little rebellion is good character.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and pulled her close despite her wet clothes before brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ve spoken with Doran. He wants me to lead a command of my own into the Crownlands.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She knew he was a seasoned commander but the thought of him leaving the safety of Sunspear had not come to her. Perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking he would always be safe.

“And the wolf king has told me of his plans for you.” Oberyn looked at her and she held his gaze, even as she felt his sigh against her wet skin. Slowly, far too slowly for her liking, he reached up to hold her cheeks in his hands. “Do you truly mean to lead them? If this is the wolf king pressing you-”

“I have to, my prince. Robb or not.”

“Does your honor demand it?” He asked, almost teasing. But his tone lacked its usual warmth.

“It does.” Y/N reached up to cover his hands with hers and keep him close, half-scared that he would walk away, too. “Just as yours requires you to do the same.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the waves against the sand to listen to as time stretched on. Oberyn was looking at her, truly looking at her all the while and it was the sadness and resignation in his eyes that dug straight through her heart. He kissed her softly without a word before stepping back. “I would have you safe.”

And Y/N wanted to ask what he meant but he grasped at her hand and led her without a word toward the armory. “She is an archer, she needs to be able to move,” Oberyn said as he started to dig through the careful stacks of pieces of armor and accoutrements the blacksmith had forged for the Dornish forces. He quickly found pieces of light armor; shining mail, vambraces and pauldrons stamped with Martell suns, a light cuirass which would fit her feminine form. And as she gathered all of her armor to her chest, equal parts excited and anxious, she watched Oberyn turn to her. His dark eyes held some secret sentiment. Sad and proud and something else she could not place.

When they found Ellaria, she seemed to already know their news. “Oh, my two warriors.” And then she was gathering them close and lathing slow kisses against their lips and pushing them onto the bed. “Just let me have tonight, my loves. Just tonight before the Realm rips you away from me.”

And there was nothing carnal in the way they all burrowed under the blankets as the sliver of the moon rose or the way hands roamed and lips parted with gentle sighs. It was just love, simple and soft.

The younger Sand Snakes filtered into her rooms throughout the afternoon to watch Y/N pack away the essentials, just enough to fill two small saddlebags. Dorea tried to give Y/N her beloved Morningstar, “to keep you safe!” but Y/N quickly and gently pushed it back into the young girl’s hands. “You have to keep your mother safe until your father and I return. You cannot do that if I have your Morningstar, right?”

Elia sniffed at that and suspiciously turned her head away.

“And your sister, Elia, she will protect you," Y/N said, acknowledging Elia's pain without making it a point of conversation. Elia did not like to dwell on emotion.

It earned another sniff and a curt, “don’t die. I like having you around.” ("I do, too!" Dorea added.)

Nymeria and Tyene arrived soon after with words of encouragement and two matching vials of poison. “Just in case! Father likes to slick his blades with it. Perhaps you could dip a few of your arrows?” And that spoke volumes, at least to Y/N, about how they cared for her in their own way.

But Sansa was near tears despite the steadiness of her voice as she let herself into Y/N’s chambers. “Must you go? It feels like I've just had you return.”

“You know I must, little one. Robb’s asked it of me and I know you would do the same if Winterfell was still under Bolton colors.” Y/N reached out and pulled the redhead into a familiar hold and said nothing when she felt tears start to wet the fabric of her tunic. “But I will come ba-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say something you cannot know to be true.”

Y/N pulled back and grasped at Sansa’s chin. “I am coming back. The Stranger themselves could not stop me.”

Sansa nodded with a watery hiccup and pulled her close for another hug before there was a knock at the door. Y/N kissed Sansa’s forehead before calling out a welcome to whomever it was. Ellaria stepped in, a roll tucked under her arm and Sansa quickly excused herself and shut the door tight on her way out.

Ellaria was quiet for a moment before she walked to Y/N’s side. There was a quietness to her features now but tears still pooled in her beautiful eyes. She pressed a kiss against her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, before touching her lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss that tasted like citrus and salt. She sniffled just once as she pulled back and she handed the bundle to Y/N with a single wobble of her chin.

Y/N unwrapped it and marveled as more and more of the gift was revealed. The bow was black, darker than night and stronger than steel. It was dragonbone. A rare prize indeed.

“Father said it was one of the smaller bones from Meraxes. It was meant,” she had to clear her throat. “I meant to give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would rather you have it now. I know your aim will be true.”

Y/N quickly set the bow down on the bed and pulled Ellaria close without a word, trying to somehow convey the hope that she would return through the touch alone instead of words she knew would fail. “I love you,” was the only phrase she dared whisper. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When dawn broke the next morning two Northmen Robb entrusted with her care were waiting for her at the stables. Qēlos nuzzled into her palm as the mare's tack was secured and Y/N smuggled her an apple to devour as she swung up into the saddle. Y/N was finishing saying goodbye to a tearful Sansa when Ellaria and Oberyn appeared at the stables. Oberyn was already dressed in his light armor and Ellaria had donned a fauld of four lame across her waist. A little armor of her own. Everyone around them seemed to understand the need for privacy and quickly vacated the area or decidedly avoided pointing their gazes toward them.

“We will not try to dissuade you. Your wrath is justified and glorious.” His hands reached up to cover hers on the reins. The warmth slowed the wild beating of her heart just a fraction. “But we will ask that you do not forget us.”

Y/N’s poor heart leapt into her throat and she hurried to move her grip, pulling Oberyn’s hands up to her mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “The gods themselves could not take you from my mind or heart, my prince. I will see you again when this is over, when the Lions are dead and the Realm can have peace.”

Oberyn untangled his hands from hers only to grasp the back of her head to kiss her, artfully stealing the air from her lungs with ease as his mouth moved against hers in slow, unyielding ministrations. As he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair for a moment before releasing her. His fingers trailed down her arms to tighten the lacings of her vambrace. “Then I shall see you again, my moonlight.”

Ellaria was quiet but kissed her soundly. “Come back,” was all she said.

“I will,” Y/N whispered in return.

And then they were off. Y/N looked back at the gates of Sunspear after every new turn on the road, watching it grow smaller and smaller. The Northmen offered no words but did give sympathetic smiles after they caught her sad expression.

But then there was a thundering of hooves against the sand-covered road and Obara was at her side in a moment, dressed for battle and saddlebags packed. “You will not fight alone, Little Fish.”

And then Arya, on a horse that was definitely not hers, was galloping to her side, too. “I’m coming, too!”

Y/N knew she should tell them no. Send them back to Sunspear and Oberyn and Robb and Safety. But one look at their determined faces left her sighing. “Your father and brother are going to kill me, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Obara said with a smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills @nyrnerosmartell @5hundreddaysofsummer @honestlystop @huliabitch @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @karmezii @thesadvampire @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040 @paintballkid711

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ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years

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Blood in the Rivers: VII

A/N: I apologize for the wait. I hope you guys still like this little story of mine.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T (Maybe M??) For Blood, allusions to smut, my continued overuse of italics, poorly written, soft confessions of feelings

Word Count: 8.3k (Someone please take my computer away)

Read Chapters I-VI here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Seven: The Price of Happiness

All of Dorne was a delight to the senses. The food was better, the wine more tart, the air itself smelled sweeter and punctuated with the scent of salt of the ocean and the heat of the sun-warmed walls. It was paradise. Never in her life had she met a family more loving and open with their affections—or their squabbles. The Sand Snakes welcomed her with open arms and quelled most of the fears that turned Y/N’s stomach.

And having the company of Sansa and Arya gave Y/N an immeasurable amount of joy. Simply knowing they were alive and well and within her reach let a small bit of weight lift from her shoulders. All of them melded together into a strange camaraderie that Y/N quickly grew accustomed to. Arya trained with Obara, Elia, and Obella—and little Dorea would sometimes sneak away from her mother and Septa to try to keep up with the older girls. And Arya was insistent that Y/N join them at least three times a week. Sansa would sup with Nymeria and Tyene and would drag Y/N along when she wasn’t occupied with Ellaria and Oberyn. They would read to little Loreza to help her sleep. Sarella was still in Oldtown but had sent a raven with a kind word, welcoming Y/N into the fold.

All of it was…perfect. So perfect that Y/N was waiting for something terrible to happen to knock her from the pedestal of the happy life she’d created at Sunspear.

“You are quiet, My Tully,” Ellaria said as they sat together on the sand of the strip of beach just outside the fortress’ walls. A handful of handmaidens waited to be called, standing in Sunspear’s forgiving shadows, with a half dozen guards. Ellaria had stolen Y/N away from Manfrey Martell’s lessons. Oberyn’s cousin was the current Castellan of Sunspear and had been teaching Y/N the proper way of keeping the household and surrounding city running smoothly, as it had for centuries.

“I am enjoying the view,” Y/N replied as she watched Ellaria tie her skirts a little high around her waist as she wanted to wade into the water. Her four daughters were all laughing and splashing a few paces away, without a care and nearly infectious with their joy.

“We agreed to not lie to each other, My Tully. Nor keep secrets.” When she was finished tying her own, Ellaria pulled Y/N to her feet and made quick work of tying her skirts, too. She grasped her hands and led her out to the lapping water.

It was warm and clear—a far cry from the usually-muddy waters of the rivers around Riverrun. Ellaria continued to lead her in until their bundled skirts were in danger of getting wet from the shallow waves but did not release her grip even as they slowed to a stop. She pulled Y/N a little closer and brushed a kiss against her shoulder, exposed in the Dornish style dress Nymeria’s favorite seamstress had tailored especially for her in a pretty sky blue. The ugly scars from the arrow were exposed but very few paid them any mind.

“Tell me what is burdening you.”

“You will think me foolish,” Y/N murmured.

“Never.”

Y/N sighed and squeezed at Ellaria’s hands before wrapping her arms around herself. “Everything here is so…lovely. A paradise.”

“Just as I told you all those moons ago at that wretched wedding; I knew you had the right heart to make Dorne your home.”

It was almost as if Ellaria was trying to banish whatever gloomy thought Y/N had with kisses as she stole one from Y/N’s frowning mouth and then another as she started to smile. “And I am grateful to be here, to have you in my arms now—you and Oberyn both. To be welcomed to happily by your family. But I am worried…the gods have only afforded me this happiness to rip it away from me. Surely I cannot be this happy for the rest of my days.”

“Why do you think that your happiness must have limits? The gods delight in their creations. Why should we not delight in them as well?” Ellaria smiled and looked like a goddess herself in the sunlight and surrounded by clear, sparkling water. “Your happiness does not have a limit because the gods deem it so. Only you can determine how happy you are in this life. I have chosen to take every opportunity to seize happiness, joy, whenever I can. You have brought me such joy, My Tully. I want you to have the same—but you must let yourself.” Ellaria pulled Y/N close again and pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Will you let yourself?” She asked against her lips.

“I will try,” Y/N answered with a laugh.

A sudden splash of water had her sputtering and Ellaria chuckled. “You will,” Ellaria stated, wet fingers trailing against Y/N’s cheek.

Ellaria tasted like saltwater and sunshine when Y/N kissed her again. “I love you,” Y/N said, the words bubbling out of her throat before she could even think to stop them.

“My heart has been shared between you and Oberyn since I saw you at the market. I love you, sweet girl, and I will remind you of that fact every chance you give me.”

“You travelled through the Kingswood during a battle?” Y/N could feel her throat tightening with each passing word. Word had come to Oberyn that the Lannisters knew Sandor had been seen in Dorne. Ellaria’s words about embracing joy—and the fact that Ellaria loved her—had lifted her mood for the past handful of days but the news had quickly soured her disposition. She asked plainly what had happened on the way to Dorne with Sansa and Arya and expected to hear that he had taken the most benign route possible and then be on her way. That was not the case. “I told you to take her to safety-”

“The little bird’s alive, ain’t she?” Sandor griped. “She’s fine.”

“Thank the Seven,” she retorted, face still contorted with rage. “I cannot fathom your reason for endangering her—you know the Stone Crows-”

“Aye, the Stone Crows,” he mimicked, remembering the Mountain Clan men Tyrion had brought to King’s Landing and used as reinforcements around the castle during the Battle of the Blackwater. “Stupid bunch of brats with swords. They bleed just like the rest of the Lannister’s cunt forces.” But he dropped his voice and leaned close, letting the scent of blood orange he had on his tongue waft over her. “You were right to leave her care to me. I would never let any hurt come to her. Do not doubt that again.”

Y/N scowled. “And Arya? You were just letting her run about, killing people?”

“She is a little beast. There is no taming that one. You’re lucky I got her here without gagging her.” His burnt face twisted. “I’m sure you taught her that.”

“The only thing I tried to teach Arya was how to use a bow.” Y/N grumbled and rubbed at her temples. “But, thank you for seeing them here—safely. It means a great deal to me.”

“Did you truly kill Gregor?”

The question surprised her, as did the soft tone (as soft as Sandor could be, anyway). “I did.”

“Was it quick?”

“Not as quick as I would have liked.” Y/N sighed. “I am sorry I took that from you, your revenge.”

“You did what you had to do. He deserved what he got.” He glanced at the door to Sansa’s chambers. He had been assigned, by a smug Oberyn who knew that Sandor wanted to leave, to be Sansa’s sworn sword. “The Little Bird would say the gods were kind or some other stupid shit.”

“Are you certain seeing his rotting head would not quell some of that rage? To see he is truly dead? The Silent Sisters haven’t taken it for cleaning just yet.” It was still sitting in a box in one of the fortress’ undercrofts. (Arya had poked at it with the end of a quill and Sansa had steadfastly refused to look at the decomposing lump of flesh when Y/N had told them about her own ‘adventure’ in King’s Landing.)

“No,” he said, final and direct.

“Very well. But I am sure you will lay your eyes upon it eventually. Oberyn has said he wants it dipped in gold and strung up in chains within the throne room once it is clean.” Y/N looked at Sandor, truly looked at him. “Please, be kind to Sansa. While she is learning the ways of the world at Prince Doran’s behest, she still has a gentle heart. And she is very fond of you even if you and I both know nothing will come of this childish infatuation of hers.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed but he did not say anything.

Y/N took a small step forward, knowing she needed to say this if only to sate the small bit of fear she had in her heart. “But if I ever catch you breaking her heart or using her as your brother intended to use me, I will make sure your skull sits next to his.”

“My lady!” Daisy dashed into the hall and barely cast a glance at Sandor. “Prince Oberyn is waiting for you in his solar.”

Y/N nodded and looked one last time at Sandor and received a half-hearted glare in return before she let Daisy lead her through the gilded, warm halls even though she had traversed this path too many times to count, often in the dark of the night. She tried to shake off the foreboding feeling of the Lannisters knowing Sandor was in Dorne and the annoyance that the swordsman also put Sansa and Arya in harm’s way with minimal success. Daisy left her side with a smile as they reached the opened door and Y/N sighed as she spied him sitting at his desk intensely focused on whatever task was set in front of him. Bits of parchment were scattered about. A well of ink was precariously perched near the edge. The entire room was draped in shades of ruby red and highlights of orange that shimmered in the sunlight that streamed in from the large windows, opened to let in the salted air from the ocean below. Sumptuous cushions were piled beneath the western window and a small table with a cyvasse board was set up across the room near the door that led to his bedchamber. He almost seemed to be a work of art she was fortunate to look upon—a god at rest captured by the finest artist the world had ever known. While she had readily admitted her love to Ellaria, she could never seem to find a time to say it to Oberyn. She knew she loved him, loved him like she loved Ellaria. But it seemed inappropriate to blurt it out over a meal or in the heat of some tryst. (And Ellaria found the entire situation hilarious.)

His head snapped up as he heard her footfalls and his lips pushed up into a smile as he set down his quill and waved her over. “Come here, my moonlight.” He reached out to her with ink-smudged fingers and pulled her into his lap as she laughed.

“What are you working on?” She asked, pulling the bit of parchment he was scratching at off the desk. It looked to be a correspondence to his brother Doran—at least that is what she assumed before Oberyn took it from her grasp and flung it over his shoulder.

“Nothing of importance.” He pressed a kiss just below her ear just to hear her laugh again as his grip squeezed around her waist. “I do have something from home for you though.” He patted at her thigh to have her stand and then he strode over to the single trunk in the corner and opened it. Something blue was clutched in his hand and his smile was contagious as he turned toward her. “Come, my moonlight. Let us see if it will suit you.”

Y/N did as she was bid and walked to his side. Blue velvet unfurled from his grip and she unconsciously reached out for it and let her fingers trace over the delicately embroidered, inky black trout at the center of the cloth. Small, red Pentoshi towers lined the hem in sparkling thread. As she pulled it closer, the faded scent of evergreens and her mother’s perfume met her nose.

Oberyn carefully pulled the cloak from her grasp and then set it upon her shoulders and fastened the aged silver clasps, fashioned to look like fish scales, onto her dress. It fit perfectly. He smiled as he said, “your father said it was the cloak he had made for your mother when they were married. Her bridal cloak—now your maiden’s cloak.”

Y/N flung her arms around his neck and held him tight. “Thank you. Thank you for this.” She knew exactly what it was when he had first pulled it from the trunk. Her mother had always wrapped her in the cloak when the air turned cold within the halls of her father’s keep. It would drag behind Y/N’s little legs to the delight of her mother who would then chase after her and scoop her daughter up into her arms. The cloak would be wrapped around her tightly to escape the chill by her mother’s careful hands. It was like she could hug her mother again in a strange sort of way.

Oberyn laughed as he returned the embrace. He pulled back just enough to press his lips to hers, delving his tongue into her mouth with ease and delighting in the happy sound it coaxed from her throat. His sneaking fingers slid to grab at her ass and smiled against her mouth as he did so.

“But I have a question for you.”

“And I shall answer.”

Oberyn looked at her, dark eyes shining in the sunlight but…the smallest bit of trepidation also seemed to color his face, too.

“What is it, my prince?” Y/N asked, voice soft.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“I realize that I have pressed this all upon you like a man half-crazed. I did not even ask if you wanted to be married—or if you would prefer a life like Ellaria—or a life outside of Dorne and free of me when this war is over. I only had the agreement drawn up after you told me of Tywin’s intentions. I could have stolen you away after your betrothal to him was made public but I knew it would cause bloodshed—and you, my moonlight, have a gentle heart.”

Y/N smiled as she looked at him, heart squeezing. Knowing he further delayed his want for vengeance because he cared for her meant more than words could say. Her thumb swept across his cheeks and she savored the warmth he exuded. “You have a gentle heart, my prince. And I am blessed by the gods to know it.”

Oberyn kissed her softly. “My own mind can be a cruel place. And Stark—Robb—had mentioned how you never spoke of marriage when you were young. It was not something you ever wished of.”

“I was blessed by parents who loved each other fiercely. And Uncle Hoster knew he could never bring a match forward that my father would approve of so he did not try. A child loved as much as I was would only demand the same love in a marriage. It was made increasingly apparent that a loveless marriage was what most women had, especially women of my station. I would not marry if I did not love them. If I was not sure that my heart was safe.”

She could almost taste the words bubbling on his tongue as he opened his mouth, “and I know that I have hurt you-”

“I want to marry you, Oberyn.” She said with a smile, feeling silly, happy tears sting her eyes with Ellaria’s words once again ringing in her head. “I want to call you my husband and I want to be your wife.” Her heart was light and singing in her chest. It was true. She knew that with every fiber of her being.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“You love me,” Oberyn breathed. And then he was smiling at her as if she had hung the sun and stars.

“I love you.” And it was so easy to say.

Oberyn’s warm hands cradled her face and he pressed his mouths to hers. This kiss was the softest he had ever given her, almost reverent. “You love me,” he whispered into her panting mouth as he pulled her ever closer. “Tell me. Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” The words were hummed, happy. “I will love you forever.”

And she believed him.

Y/N woke when she heard a tapping at her door.

“Y/N,” the voice whispered on the other side. “Are you awake?” The door creaked open and a small figure slipped in. Arya climbed into her bed and slipped beneath the silk sheets when Y/N waved her forward.

“What is wrong, Arya?” Y/N asked, pulling the younger girl close and trying to keep her eyes open. Dinner with Oberyn and Ellaria had lasted well into the night and was filled with sweet wine and spiced foods and heated kisses that seemed to eat time. The realization that they all loved each other left them drunk on each other’s presence and the wine certainly did not help. Her throat was sore from overuse and she could still feel phantom fingers between her thighs. She must have only been asleep for an hour before Arya knocked.

“Bad dream.”

Y/N hummed and pushed her fingers through Arya’s hair. If she was being honest, Y/N was almost surprised it took Arya this long to crawl into her bed. Sansa had done it at least a dozen times since Y/N had arrived at Sunspear. But Arya, genuinely, kept her hurt close to her chest so Y/N did not blame her for taking the time she needed.

“I keep seeing the Freys toss Mother’s body into the river.”

Y/N instinctively tightened her hold. She had not realized Arya had witnessed the Red Wedding. Sandor must have taken her to The Twins in hopes of reuniting Arya with Robb and Catelyn—a bloodbath greeted them instead.

“I see it over and over when I close my eyes. I want them dead. All of them. Every single Frey needs to be dead-”

“They will be. I’ll make sure of it.” Y/N pressed a kiss to Arya’s forehead. Despite her exhaustion, she meant her promise. All of them would meet The Stranger for their crimes. The joy Ellaria spoke of, that Y/N was quick adopting, seemed to have stretched to vengeance. There would be joy to see their enemies bleed. There would be joy to see them dead. “Even if I have to do it myself.”

“The Boltons, too,” Arya said, voice starting to tighten with unshed tears.

“Oh, yes. We’ll rip them out. Root and stem.” The traitorous Northern house would see a gruesome end, too. No matter if they were holding Winterfell or not.

Arya let herself cry then, curling farther into Y/N’s hold and Y/N rubbed her back with soft hums, letting the young girl finally express her grief. But, eventually, Arya’s sobs quieted to even breaths. She had fallen asleep on Y/N’s chest just as another knock came at the door. Sansa slipped into her room and Y/N found herself between the Stark sisters as the moonlight shone through the balcony opening. “A bad dream?” Y/N whispered as Sansa snuggled into the overstuffed pillow beside her.

Sansa shook her head. “I am happier than I have been in a long time. And I owe it all to you.” She reached out to grasp one of Y/N’s hands as it still rubbed at Arya’s back.

But Y/N shook her head. “You survived because you are strong, little one.”

“It is because of you that Arya is here, that we are alive. We are safe. Together.”

Y/N squeezed her hand. “You and your sister both have been through great and terrible trials. You must be there for each other.”

Sansa pressed closer and tightened her grip on Y/N’s hand. “Can you sing to us? Like you did when we were children?”

Y/N wanted to say that she and Arya were still children—just grown too quick by the terrors of the world. “What would you like to hear, little one?”

“Jenny’s Song. You sang that the night before you left Winterfell.”

“That is a sad song. Are you certain?”

Sansa nodded.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts…”

Daisy flittered about her chambers, gathering a handful of dresses and chemises and folding them neatly into a pair of saddlebags. Prince Doran had sent Y/N a raven and requested that she, Oberyn, and Ellaria travel to the Water Gardens so he could make her acquaintance. “Truthfully, I have written Oberyn several times inquiring when I would meet you but he has taken it upon himself to hoard your time. If you are agreeable, I would have you visit the Water Gardens and would host a feast in your honor. Lords and ladies are already arriving so I hope to see you soon.” He signed the missive with a flourish.

When Y/N asked Oberyn about ignoring his brother’s requests to visit the Water Gardens he smirked and kissed her. “It is not a crime to want you all to myself.”

Y/N chided him with a smile and said she’d already sent a raven back to Doran stating that they would be there the following night. The palace Doran called home was only three leagues away along a pleasant, coastal road. Oberyn knew it well as he usually visited his brother once every fortnight. (“But I have been preoccupied, my moonlight!”)

“I can pack my own bags, Daisy,” Y/N said, noticing a strange rigidity to her friend’s posture as she went about her unnecessary task. She tugged at Daisy’s skirts like a child, slowing her from her quick pace. “Something is troubling you.” And then poor Daisy nearly collapsed in tears and Y/N hurried to wrap the other woman in her arms, shushing her sobs. When her cries quieted, Y/N held Daisy’s wet face between her hands. “Tell me. Let me help you.”

Daisy sniffled. “Daemon wants to marry me.”

“But that is happy news?” Y/N asked, genuinely confused. Daisy and Daemon seemed more in love than ever since coming to Dorne.

“Father will never allow it.” More tears trickled from Daisy’s eyes.

Seeing her dear friend so distraught pulled a heated type of anger from her chest and Y/N curled her hands tighter around Daisy’s face, making sure she listened. “Your father didn’t say anything when we were trapped during the Battle of Blackwater. He did not send a raven to see how you fared. He did not inquire after you after I moved you to Dorne out of a selfish desire to keep you by my side, to keep you safe. Tell me: do you want to marry Daemon?”

“I do,” she hiccupped. “More than anything. He even sent a raven to his lord father for his approval.”

“And he gave it readily, did he not?” she asked, already knowing the answer and watched as Daisy nodded. “Then you have no barrier. If Lord Allyrion requires a dowry, I will pay it. I will pay for the entire wedding if it means you smile again.” If Y/N was allowed to be happy then surely Daisy was, too. Her good, sweet Daisy.

“But Father-”

“Your father can come to Sunspear and speak to me if he thinks to stand in the way of your happiness.”

Daisy sniffled again and pushed out a shaking breath. “I would never ask you to-”

“You didn’t ask, Daisy. But I am telling you that I will not allow your father to keep you from being happy.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Daisy’s forehead and felt a bit of tension leave her shoulders. “You and Daemon are traveling with us to the Water Gardens. We can celebrate your betrothal alongside mine.”

Daisy’s smile was watery but sincere and she suddenly lunged forward to wrap her arms around Y/N in a tight hug. And Y/N was simply happy to see Daisy relieved of her turmoil—at least for a moment. And she meant what she said; she would fight Daisy’s father for her to marry Daemon. And she knew she would win.

The Stark sisters and the Sand Snakes met them at the gates of Sunspear and wished them a pleasant journey. “Please give Prince Doran my regards,” Sansa said before they departed. Y/N knew she missed Doran’s company and teachings, he had sent her away from the Water Gardens to Sunspear when he’d been given word that Y/N was coming to Dorne. And while Sansa liked not having to sneak through the halls to avoid Myrcella, Y/N knew she adored Doran and everything he taught her.

The ride was enjoyable and short and Y/N took the opportunity to let her mare run through the shallow waters. The horse was a gift from Oberyn, a traditional Dornish betrothal gift. Sand Steeds were a point of pride for the Dornish; could run for a night, a day, and another night without tiring or floundering. Most were treated as dotingly as children. The horse was as dark as night with a burnt orange mane and tail—Y/N had named her Qēlos, the High Valyrian word for star. She was the most beautiful horse that Y/N had ever seen and the smoothest ride she’d ever experienced.

But soon the palace of the Water Gardens crested on the horizon, rising from the sand with white and yellow stone and brining the scent of blood orange groves. Lush greenery spilled over the walls as did the sound of trickling water. The golden gates were opened by a pair of hooded guards who bowed as they passed. Servants lined the courtyard to welcome them and handle their horses and bags, each of them bowing in turn as well. Y/N barely had time to admire the beautiful, arching architecture of the palace before Oberyn and Ellaria both grabbed at her hands and all but pulled her inside. She craned her neck and looked everywhere she could as she was pulled this way and that, down a hall, around a corner, further into the shadowed halls by her eager betrothed and paramour. The entire palace seemed to hum with life. Chambers and apartments were filled with visiting lords and ladies. Servants were slipping by, arms filled with dresses or linens or food. Music whispered from around some other corner.

They eventually slowed in front of a beautiful white door banded with bronze and two guards nodded at Oberyn before pushing it open. The solar was filled with more white marble and fluttering white curtains that overlooked the manicured gardens and a handful of pools and fountains. The furniture was a warm, golden wood and every surface had a bowl of some sort of berry or wine or golden trinket or statue. A man in a wheeled chair was sitting behind the perfectly organized desk and looked up from his work with a smile as he heard the door open. His face was kind and greying black hair was cropped to his shoulders. Robes of orange hugged his thin shoulders and sparkled with golden thread.

“Doran, this is-”

Doran waved a hand and dismissed Oberyn’s introduction. “Lady Tully. We meet at long last.”

Y/N quickly curtseyed and placed her hand in his when he reached for her, smiling when he pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “It is wonderful to meet you, Prince Doran.”

He patted her hand and then wheeled himself around the desk. “You are early. I would have met you at the gates.”

“We never keep your time tables, brother.”

Doran chuckled affectionately. “I know. But you are all here now. I will make the proper introductions at the feast tomorrow. I want you to enjoy my home before the wedding.”

“You will come to Sunspear, won’t you?” Ellaria asked with a smile.

Doran nodded. “I will be there next month for the festivities. I would not miss my only brother’s wedding. I would have preferred to have it earlier,” there was a pointed look at Oberyn who only smiled, unperturbed, “but I understand that Oberyn wanted you to be ‘settled’ in Sunspear before making you a Martell.”

Y/N smiled at Oberyn without thinking. It had been Oberyn’s idea to hold off on the wedding and she was grateful. Having the stretch of time, letting her heart settle, before her life changed again in another way was a quiet kindness that she would always hold dear.

“Did little Loreza enjoy the book I sent for her nameday?” Doran asked.

“She did,” Ellaria answered, “insisted on having Sansa read it every night.”

“Sansa sends her love,” Y/N quickly added.

“She is a fine lady. I was lucky to have her here despite the unfortunate circumstances.” It was said so earnestly that Y/N couldn’t help another smile splitting her face.

A quick knock at the door revealed Daisy, escorted by a beaming Daemon, carrying a familiar wooden box. They both curtseyed or bowed in turn before carefully setting the box on the edge of Doran’s desk and then excusing themselves, Daisy winking as she went and letting Daemon curl his hand around hers right before the door shut in its frame again.

An anticipatory silence stretched through the room as they all looked at the box. It was simple. No embellishments or special cuts of wood. It was just a box. But Doran reached out and dragged a finger across it like it was made of something precious.

“I shall like to speak with Lady Tully for a moment,” he said quietly without taking his eyes off the box.

“Of course,” Oberyn said before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “We shall just be at the pools,” he added, mostly for Y/N’s benefit so she could know where to find them.

Ellaria also kissed her cheek before following Oberyn out, providing some comfort, and soon Y/N was left alone with the ruling Prince of Dorne.

Doran rolled back around his desk and gestured for Y/N to take a seat in the ornately carved chair across from him and she quickly settled onto the white linen cushion. She was equal parts nervous and hopeful as Doran gave her a soft look she couldn’t quite decipher. “I will admit that I had my reservations when your raven first arrived. Fostering your little wolf was not a part of my plan but it was a welcome surprise. Lady Sansa is quite the student. She would have made quite the formidable Princess of Dorne.”

Y/N cocked her head to side at that, wondering what he meant, but he pressed on.

“And now you have brought me a wonderful gift.” He opened the box, sliding the wooden cover off with ease and then reached inside. The oversized skull had been dipped in gold only a few days prior and glittered in the bright sunlight as Doran held it aloft. “To know he is dead has brought my soul a small reprieve of the ache it has felt for decades.” The sound of the skull hitting the desk as he set it down was low and heavy. His fingers spanned over the cap and his nails bit into the gold. “Oberyn has always been the viper in the grass—ready and willing to strike at a moment’s notice. A willful little brother who seemed to outshine the sun whenever he was happy and burn anyone who tempted his wrath.” Doran fixed her with his dark gaze. “But I am sure you have seen that firsthand.”

“I have,” Y/N answered.

Doran nodded and did not move his hand from the dead man’s head. “You are like him, aren’t you? A burning rage just simmering beneath your skin. But you are able to hold your wrath and ruin back to play the game.” He hummed and Y/N tried not to fidget in her chair like a child. Doran was more perceptive than almost everyone she had ever met and she was waffling between being impressed and being innerved. “If you can kill a beast like this and still be gentle, you will be a fine Martell.” His fingers finally lifted from the skull to reach out toward her again and Y/N readily placed her hand in his and smiled as he squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need, simply ask. I will make sure you receive it.”

The feast was a decadent affair. Filled with food and wine and music to delight every sense. And the assembled crowd had roared when Doran introduced her as, “Lady Y/N Tully—Slayer of the Mountain!” Oberyn kept a hand over her leg, dragging his fingers against her thigh and growing more and more bold as the night continued on until he was all but cupping her through the flowing blue silk of her skirts. Ellaria pressed berries against Y/N’s smiling mouth as she laughed, knowing exactly what Oberyn was doing.

The sticky night air had her pulling off the thin cloak she had about her shoulders, letting the golden Myrish lace pool around her waist. A few of the guests let their eyes linger on the scars on her exposed chest and back—or the thin bit of scarring across her cheek and then asked if she’d be willing to tell her story. Stating “I was shot by a fool” was infinitely less riveting than “I was able to evade The Mountain’s blade” but both stories gained her a bit of fanfare regardless. The golden skull was displayed in front of her on the table like a shining beacon of how she, a lady, brought a small bit of vengeance on behalf of the ruling family of Dorne.

“The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children.” It was something Manfrey had told her during her studies, face solemn and sad. And Y/N watched almost every person revere the gold-dipped skull in a sort of wicked appreciation before they were formally introduced.

The only person who seemed unnerved by it was Princess Myrcella, tucked into the arm of Prince Trystane. She was too polite to wrinkle her nose at the display of carnage and vengeance but pointedly did not look at it even as Trystane marveled at how large the skull was.

“Dorne suits you, Princess,” Y/N said to Myrcella knowing the young Princess was just as much out of her element as Y/N had been in King’s Landing.

“You as well it would seem,” Myrcella said with a small smile. “I hope to speak with you about…about your duties here. Prince Doran has said you’re very capable.”

Y/N nodded with a smile of her own. “I shall answer any question you may have, Princess.”

Trystane, heir to the throne of Dorne, was definitely his father’s son but seemed to have inherited a bit of a flirtatious streak from his uncle as he managed to snag a berry from Ellaria’s bowl while getting Y/N to agree to a dance. He winked as he walked away with a furiously blushing Myrcella still on his arm and Oberyn laughing into the night air.

“Careful, my prince, it seems Trystane is trying to steal our Tully,” Ellaria mused with a sly smile.

Oberyn leaned close to press a kiss against Y/N’s throat and smirked when she shivered. “Is it true, my moonlight?”

“Oh, yes. You’ve found me out. It was all a ruse to marry a too-young prince and have the Riverlands invade Dorne.” She gasped as Oberyn pinched at her inner thigh, pleasant ripples shooting up her leg and coiling in her stomach.

“Careful. Careful.”

The mischief that sparkled in his eyes made Y/N smile and she placed her hand over his and squeezed, for herself more than him she supposed, and she grasped Ellaria’s hand, too. “The gods could not take me from you both. I promise you that.”

But then Harmen Uller then swept her into a dance, not necessarily waiting for her to accept his hand before pulling her out of her seat, and drew a hearty laugh from her throat as they nearly bowled over other dancing couples. Ellaria then stole her for a dance of her own and then Trystane proved himself to be a graceful dancer, too.

It was all so…perfect.

Y/N pressed a kiss to Ellaria’s cheek as Oberyn danced with little Lady Coryanne Uller, Ellaria’s niece. She was a girl not but five and already named the heir to Hellholt after her father.

“I just need a moment to catch my breath, my love.”

“Do not be too long. I do believe Lord Allyrion is waiting his turn for a dance,” Ellaria said with a chuckle.

Y/N smiled and promised she would be back soon and then started toward one of the side doors of the grand hall, passing Doran as she did and squeezing his shoulder as she went. A servant opened the door with a soft smile and a small bow, letting her out into one of the halls. She slipped through and heaved a sigh when the door closed behind her. The music was muted and the air cooler against her heated skin.

A soft noise caught her attention in the quiet of the hall and her curiosity led her to peek around the corner to see Daemon and Daisy wrapped around each other. Again. Y/N stifled a laugh and turned away, continuing down the hall in the opposite direction. A handful of guards were stationed along the wall, each of them acknowledging her presence in one way or another as she found her way out onto a portico overlooking the still water pools. The blood orange trees swayed in the cool night breeze and brought the scent of citrus to her nose. She leaned against a carved column with a hum, resting for just a few breaths.

“My lady.”

Y/N stood straight and looked out into the night.

A short figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in a hooded cloak and walking with a limp. They reached up to pull off the hood and-

“Tyrion?” The name was pushed out of her in a rush.

The Lannister cautiously moved closer to her on the pink marble of the pools’ terrace. “My lady, I have come to warn you-”

“Warn me? Your family would be insane to think they could come to Dorne and leave unscathed.” Tyrion pursed his lips—it was then that she noticed how bruised his face had become. Molted purple and blue skin covered half his cheek and arced over his eye. “What did she do to you?”

“Cersei has never been fond of me,” that was all he said. “I am sailing for Essos. But I needed you to understand—they know.”

“Know what? Now is not the time for riddles-”

“They know that Dorne has sided against the Crown.” His bruised face flushed with a vibrant blush she could see even in the dim light. “They are coming. And Cersei and my father are determined to hurt you.”

“They won’t make it through the Bone Way. If the Targaryens and their dragons could not conquer Dorne, a tired army from the Westerlands cannot.”

“My lady, please, listen to me. They are not coming with an army—not yet. I told you—they want to hurt you.”

“Let us help you. Oberyn can-”

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice echoed in the hall and reverberated out into the night air. “My lady?”

Y/N turned. “A moment, Daisy!” But when she turned back, Tyrion was gone.

Daisy stepped out onto the portico with a frown, lips swollen from her rendezvous with Daemon. She glanced out into the dark, looking for what Y/N had been seeing. “What is it, my lady? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N cast one last glance out into the dark terrace and saw nothing. Tyrion was gone. “It must have been the wine.” She needed to speak to Doran. Now. But she refused to spoil Daisy’s happy night. News of her betrothal to Daemon had been met with joy and cheers just before the feast had begun and Y/N wanted to let her friend have as much happiness as she could.

“Prince Oberyn is looking for you.”

She nodded and let Daisy lead her back to doors of the grand hall before shooing her way. “Go. I know Daemon is waiting for you in the shadows.” The happy and embarrassed blush that bloomed on her cheeks made Y/N laugh before she skittered away, back into the arms of her love.

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and smoothed her skirts. It would do no good to run in screaming that the Lannisters were coming. She had the most tenuous grasp on belonging here, in Dorne.

“Are you well, princess?” One of the servants asked, hand on the door and ready to let her in. He was young, she could tell. Probably no older than Arya.

“Not a princess just yet,” she said with a smile and trying to ignore how her heart was in her throat. “But I thank you, yes. I am still acclimating to the heat, I am afraid.” It was an easy explanation.

“Shall I fetch you some water?”

Her smile grew. “No, no thank you. What is your name?”

“Gyles, princess,” he said with a tip of his head, dark hair shorn short.

She chuckled. He seemed insistent on the honorific. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Gyles.” She turned to the other servant, not wanting to be rude. “And you? What shall I call you?”

“Ilyn, my lady.” There was a sickly sweetness to his tone and his smile a bit too wide for his face.

Something about him turned her stomach within an instant but she smiled regardless, the perfect lady. “Pleased to meet you, Ilyn.” She turned to Gyles and nodded, letting him push open the door. Y/N slipped in and quickly moved to find Doran but was swept up into a familiar embrace.

“You mustn’t slip away without a word, my moonlight. You are the guest of honor.”

She turned in Oberyn’s grasp and felt a small bit of relief at the sight of his smiling face. “My prince, I must speak to you and your brother.”

His smile faded. “What has happened?”

She shook her head, letting her hands slide across the golden brocade of his robes to grab at the leather of his belt as if that would keep her mind from spinning. “I cannot tell you here. Please, my prince, please.”

Oberyn’s lips drew into a thin line and he nodded once before grabbing her hand and leading her toward Doran.

She did not sleep.

Ellaria had to pull Y/N from Doran’s solar and put her to bed like a child when she had started to sway on her feet. But all of them, every single one of them, were so sure that the Lannisters could not touch them.

But Y/N could feel a terrible, creeping sensation engulfing her entire body. She wanted them to be right. She wanted the Lannisters to be too weak or foolhardy to actually hurt the Martells. But something in her stomach told her to be wary.

So, she sat on the edge of her featherbed and looked out the open window and into the night sky. Watched the water lap in the pools while the air smelled of the lush gardens. She hadn’t readied for bed aside from kicking off her golden sandals, staying in the blue silk dress Oberyn and Ellaria had insisted she wear tonight. They liked her in blue. “We will have all the time in the world to dress you in our colors, My Tully. For now, we shall see you in blue.”

The din of the feast eventually faded as guests retired to their chambers or fell asleep in their seats in the grand hall, bellies full of good food and drink. None of them knowing of the threat of the lions. As the dark sky started to turn pink with dawn, she heard it.

Someone was whistling.

And she knew the tune.

And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know.

She slipped off her bed and over to the door, taking care to open it slowly to avoid the creak of the hinges.

In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.

She stepped out into the hallway and listened. There was nothing. Nothing except for the whistle.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o’er his hall, with no one there to hear.

Y/N followed the sound across the fortress, hearing it grow louder with every step. Her heart roared in her ears. Her knees knocked together like a newborn foal. She was not brave.

She was scared.

Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.

A figure slipped around the corner and she pumped her shaking legs, willing herself to go faster, to please go faster as she followed and Y/N realized with a terrible sense of dread that the only door in that hallway led to Prince Doran’s personal chambers.

A scream rang out.

Y/N pushed open the door in time to see Ilyn standing over Doran, bloody knife in hand. Trystane was huddled behind his father, sitting in a pool of blood. Doran was clutching at a gushing wound across the top of his chest, eyes hard and defiant.

Before she could even think to do something rational, Y/N ran at Ilyn and tackled him to the ground. The marble was unforgiving to her legs but she barely felt it as she struggled with the man over the knife, climbing over him in an attempt to gain the upper-hand, to keep him subdued. Her hand closed over the blade as he shoved it toward her throat and she felt it cut through her palm, tearing skin and muscle from the bone. She hadn’t even realized she was screaming until Ilyn slammed his other fist into her throat and rendered her silent for just a moment. The blow shoved her backward and off him just enough for the would-be assassin to scramble up to his feet and dart back out into the hall.

Y/N scrambled over to the Dornish princes, trying to see if they needed help but Doran waved her on, pressing a fist against his wound. “Go!” He said through gritted teeth. “Get him.”

And Y/N did as she was told. By now, the halls were filling with people—some wondering why people were screaming and others seeming to know exactly what happened.

“Stop him!” She screamed, pointing her bloody hand at the fleeing Ilyn as she continued to give chase. “Stop him!”

Ilyn heard her scream and sneered at her over his shoulder just as he made it to the entry hall.

She wouldn’t catch him. She knew it. He was too fast but she could run until her legs gave out. “Stop him! Stop him!” She continued to scream, praying someone would.

Just as Ilyn stepped into the growing sunlight, he stumbled. A choking, gurgling sound escaped him and Y/N ran to see what had stopped him. It was Oberyn—the head of his spear buried deep in Ilyn’s stomach.

Oberyn’s mouth was moving, she could see it. He was coaxing something from Ilyn even as blood dripped from his mouth and spattered against the marble floor. But all she could hear was the thump-thump-thump of her heart and the blood pumping through her veins.

Y/N jumped as Daisy grasped at her uninjured hand. The poor girl held up her hands with a shaking smile, like she was trying to help a feral cat. “My lady, I need to tend to your hand.” The words were muffled.

Y/N let Daisy lead her back into the great hall where the remnants of the feast had not yet been cleared away and slumped into the chair deemed hers the night before. She barely winced when Daisy started to clean her angry wound. She barely noticed when the maesters came in to help.

What she did notice, however, was a box placed atop her forgotten dinner plate. Her name was written on a bit of parchment in a familiar scrawl.

Her fingers shook as she reached out for it.

“Don’t, my lady,” Daisy hissed. “You don’t know what’s inside!”

But Y/N unlatched it and pushed open the lid. Her scream choked the air from her lungs.

Sitting inside the box, on a golden cushion, was the head of her father.

A/N: Welp. Please let me know what you think. :)

#Oberyn Martell x Reader #Oberyn Martell Imagine #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x Reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #Game of Thrones Imagine #asoiaf #game of thrones

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