They buried the girl at dawn, in a shallow grave beyond the low stone wall that marked the edge of the estate. No septon came. There was no singing. Just Nymella and Talia and a pair of servants who'd been paid extra to dig.
The sun crept up over the dunes, painting the sand in shades of rose and gold. It should have been beautiful. Nymella had seen too many mornings like this to care.
Deimos slept through it all, swaddled against Talia's chest. He was warm. Too warm, almost, heat seeping through the cloth. Talia shifted uncomfortably, glancing down.
"He hasn't cried since last night," she whispered. "Is that… is that bad?"
Nymella watched the child for a long moment. His chest rose and fell, slow and steady. His fists were clenched even in sleep.
"No," she said finally. "not for one his size."
They returned to the house as the servants filled in the grave. Life went on, as it always did. Bread needed baking. Floors needed sweeping. A prince's bastard did not change that.
Yet it did, he grew fast. too fast, some whispered. Not even three names day old and, he was the size of a child twice of his age. He ate voraciously, draining wet nurses and then bowls of mashed dates and goat's milk with equal enthusiasm. He slept little, eyes tracking movement with unnerving focus.
He did not laugh much anymore. As when he did, it was sudden and sharp, a barking sound that made other children pause mid-play.
Nymella kept an eye on him when she could. Not out of affection, exactly, but a sense of responsibility she couldn't quite shake. He was her work, in a way. Her mistake, perhaps, for naming him.
One afternoon, when the heat lay heavy over the courtyard and even the cicadas had fallen silent, she found him sitting in the dust with a wooden toy horse clenched in his fist. The toy was splintered, one leg snapped clean off.
"Did you break it?" she asked.
He looked up at her, with child like seriousness . He did not answer. He was slow to speak, When he did, it was in short, blunt phrases, as if conversing with others itself were an inconvenience.
Nymella knelt, prying the toy gently from his grip. The wood creaked, protesting. She frowned, examined it. The break was clean, she couldn't for the life of here understand how the boys was this strong this young.
"You need to be gentler," she said, though she wasn't sure he understood.
She gently pated his hair. "You'll hurt someone if you don't control that strength of yours," she muttered, more to herself than him.
He tilted his head, studying her, and for a fleeting, foolish moment she had the absurd thought that he understood far more than he let on.
A few moons had passed and it was announced that Prince Oberyn had finally returned to Sunspear.
The city buzzed with it, as it always did when the Red Viper slithered back home. Stories preceded him of duels fought and won, of beds warmed and abandoned, of poisons brewed and used. Nymella heard them all, filtering through servants' whispers and the sing-song gossip of the market.
But what she did not expect him to come here specifically of all places .
One evening, when the sun bled slowly and the heat loosened its grip. Oberyn himself walked into the courtyard.
He wore red and gold, light armor worked with sunbursts, his dark hair loose at his shoulders. He looked exactly as the stories described dangerous and charming smiling, eyes briming with amusement and calculation. A man who belonged nowhere for long and everywhere at once.
Nymella stiffened and bowed. "My prince."
Oberyn waved the courtesy away without breaking stride. "Please. If I were every woman where to bow in my presence I would never rest ." His gaze slid past her almost at once, snagging on the figure half-hidden behind a pillar.
Deimos stood there, barefoot in the dust.
He was tall for his age, unnaturally so. Near four feet already, all long limbs and built shoulders, dark hair falling into eyes too intent for a child. He did not hide when he realized he'd been seen. He only watched.
Oberyn slowed.
"Well," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. "So that's him."
Nymella's respond cautious yet dutifully. "Yes, my prince."
Oberyn crouched, lowering himself until they were near eye level. The smile returned, easy and charming, a kind that disarmed blades and broke hearts in equal measure.
"Hello, little one," he said. "Do you know who I am?"
Deimos considered him. His head tilted slightly, the way he did when puzzling over something. Then he answered, voice low and careful.
"You're Prince Oberyn."
He barked a laugh. "A keen eye. And?"
Deimos squinted, seemingly thinking hard yet in reality testing the waters." my farther as others say"
A ripple of amusement and slight melancholy passed over Oberyn's face. "yes... a farther" He leaned back on his heels. "And what are you called little one?"
"Deimos."
The name seemed to amuse Oberyn. " A strong name, not one I would give you but strong nonetheless"
Deimos shrugged an somewhat awkwardly. "It's mine."
"He's big," Oberyn said, glancing up at Nymella now. "Bigger than most thrice his age."
"He eats well," she said carefully. "And he's strong."
"Mmm." Oberyn's gaze returned to the boy, sharper now, measuring his worth.
Oberyn straightened slowly.
"His mother?" he asked turning back to Nymella.
"Dead, my prince."
The word fell between them like a dropped plate. Oberyn's smile faltered, not much, but enough. Regret passed across his face, quick but then vanished just as quickly.
"A shame," he said.
Silence stretched. Deimos looked up at Oberyn again, not expectant. Merely curious.
For a moment, Nymella thought that was it, and that he would turn and go as easily as he'd come.
Instead, he snapped his fingers.
One of the men shadowing him stepped forward and offered up a wrapped bundle. Oberyn took it, knelt once more, and held it out.
"For you," he said.
Deimos not one to reject a gift readily took it readily. He looked at the cloth, then up at Oberyn's face, searching for something.
"Is it sharp?" he asked.
Oberyn's smile turned wolfish. "Very."
That seemed to satisfy him. Deimos accepted the bundle with both hands and easily tore of the bind over the cloth, revealing the curved blade beneath.
Shorter than what he normally see on the patrolling guards but not by much.
Nymella felt it then, a small tightening in her chest perhaps disappointment that it was not a spear.
The prince had always favored spears. Especially gifting them to the bastard daughters he sired/acknowledged, to the girls he laughed with and kissed and taught to dance on the edge of danger. Spears were a form inheritance. An invitation.
An blade was… different. A gift, yes. But a passing one. Something that could be taken back. Or forgotten.
Claiming a girl costs less, Nymella thought bitterly. Life for a bastard daughter in the wild would be harder than that for bastard son. and while Dorne has equality in its succession laws, it's not necessarily a place where men and women are equal in all else. It's possibly dangerous to the stability of House Martell to have a bunch well trained, courtly, and well connected male bastards running around Sunspear. A boy could be a threat, a shadow that grows longer with age.
Deimos traced the curve of the blade with reverent care, thumb stopping just short of the edge. His eyes shone with a form of excitement.
"I'll treasure it" he said solemnly.
Oberyn laughed again, softer this time. "I believe you."
He stood. Just like that. No blessing. No promise.
"See that he's fed," he said to Nymella over his shoulder. "A strong boy should not go hungry."
Then he was gone, laughter and color and danger sweeping out of the courtyard as quickly as they had come.
Deimos remained where he was, blade still in hand
He did not wave. He did not call out.
He only watched until Oberyn disappeared from sight.
Nymella watched Deimos critcially.
She had delivered the lords and lady's. Bastards and paupers, the lesser buried once the grow full of themselves or when one had been embraced too lovingly than an other. But when it came to Deimos she didn't just see a bastard she so someone with a destiny ahead of them. A many great things, perhaps even terrible, yes, but great.