Princess Elia Martell
Elia smiled as she unfolded the letter, her fingers tracing over the familiar handwriting.
She sat in her chambers in Sunspear, the afternoon sun streaming through the arched windows. The heat was oppressive even in the shade, but she barely noticed. Her attention was fixed entirely on the words before her.
My dearest Elia,
I hope this letter finds you well and that the Dornish sun has not been too cruel to you. Though I imagine you thrive in it while the rest of us would wilt like flowers. King's Landing continues to be as insufferable as ever, all politics and posturing and none of the honesty I've come to value in our correspondence...
Despite her brother's wishes, Elia had kept in contact with the dashing Lannister knight after he left Sunspear. It hadn't been difficult, really. A captain she'd befriended—a weather-worn Dornishman who sailed regularly to King's Landing with spices and wine—had been more than happy to carry letters for a generous princess who paid well and promised a small favor or two.
For months now, he had been bringing Gerion's responses back folded in oilcloth, hidden among the manifests and cargo records.
She liked Gerion. More than liked him, if she was being honest with herself. There was something about him—his humor, his easy confidence, the way he wrote about the world with such keen observation and gentle mockery, which always made her smile. The way he treated her like a person rather than a prize to be won or a political piece to be maneuvered.
She wished to court him properly. To see where this connection might lead.
But Prince Doran did not approve of the match. Her brother thought a fourth son, even from House Lannister, was not worthy of a Martell Princess. Never mind that Gerion was clever and capable. Never mind that he made her laugh. Never mind that when she read his letters, her heart beat faster.
In truth, the disapproval only made her contact with Gerion more enticing. Forbidden. Dangerous in the most delicious way. Her stomach fluttered just at the thought of him, she easily admitted to herself, remembering the way he'd looked at her during their brief time together in Sunspear. How the warmth that had not left his gaze even when two eyes became one.
Elia understood well her duty to Dorne. She knew her marriage was a matter her brother would decide, weighing alliances and advantages. She was a tool of statecraft, as all highborn women were.
But more than anything, she wished to have a love match.
And if she couldn't have it—if Doran ultimately married her to some lord twice her age for political gain—then at least she could enjoy her time before that fate came to claim her.
At least she could have this. These letters. This connection. This hope.
She continued reading.
...I have news that may interest you. Lord Steffon Baratheon is organizing a voyage to the Free Cities in a few months' time. To Volantis, specifically, on some errand for the king. Ser Galladon Tarth has asked to join the expedition for his own purposes—trade contacts, he says, though I suspect the young knight has grander ambitions than simple commerce.
I have decided to accompany them as well. The voyage promises to be interesting, and I confess I've grown weary of King's Landing's particular brand of tedium. We'll be gathering at Tarth before the departure. Lord Steffon's fleet will stop there to collect Galladon and any supplies the island can provide.
I'll be arriving at the island in two months' time. I understand Tarth is quite beautiful, all cliffs and sapphire seas. They say the Evenstar's seat looks out over the straits like something from a song.
It would be a shame to visit such a place alone, don't you think? A fair and noble maiden might find the journey educational. Diplomatic exchange between great houses and all that. And I believe Ser Galladon mentioned your handmaiden, the lovely Lady Ashara, had inquired after him during our time in Sunspear. Perhaps she might appreciate the opportunity to renew their acquaintance?
Of course, this is merely a suggestion. I would never presume to dictate your movements. I only mention it in case you found yourself with an unexpected desire to see what Tarth has to offer.
Yours, in hope and affection,
Gerion
Elia read the letter twice more, her smile growing with each pass. He wanted to see her in Tarth after all these months apart. And as was Gerion's wont, he made sure to give her the perfect excuse for it. Ashara and Galladon Tarth.
Determined, and already formulating her approach to Doran, she rose from her seat. She folded the letter carefully and tucked it into her sleeve. Then she swept out of her chambers and down the hallways of Sunspear in search of her handmaiden.
She found Ashara Dayne in the gardens.
The younger woman sat on a stone bench beneath a lemon tree, completely engrossed in a small leather-bound book. Her dark hair fell forward, partially obscuring her face. She didn't notice Elia's approach, too focused on whatever she was reading.
When Elia finally came close enough to see the flush on Ashara's cheeks, she knew this was going to be entertaining.
"Ashara."
The girl almost jumped out of her skin. She flipped the book closed with a snap and sat on it, her face going even redder.
"Elia!" She let out a breath, pressing a hand to her chest. "You scared me..."
"And quite the fright it was." Elia raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smile. Her eyes flicked down toward the book currently being crushed beneath Ashara's backside. She stepped closer. "I wonder what could make you so... high-strung."
Ashara's ears turned pink. She looked up at the bright sky, squinting against the sun. "Ah, well, the weather, I suppose. It's quite hot today."
"Is it?" Elia asked innocently.
Then she pounced.
Ashara squealed as Elia's fingers found her ribs, tickling mercilessly. "Stop, stop please!" She giggled madly, trying and failing to bat away Elia's hands. "Elia!"
They struggled for a moment, proper decorum forgotten in favor of friendship and mischief. Ashara tried to push her away, but in the chaos, Elia managed to get her hand beneath her friend and snatch the book.
She jumped back, triumphant, and quickly flipped it to read the title embossed in faded gold on the cover.
A Caution for Young Girls
"Ho, ho." Elia grinned wickedly. "The life and tales of Coryanne Wylde, is it? How lurid, 'Shara."
"That's not..." Ashara huffed, breathless, still flushed from the tickling and now mortified besides. "I was only curious. I didn't know it would be so... so..." She threw her hands up in the air, at a loss for words.
Leaning in, her handmaid made sure to whisper as if the lemon trees might be scandalized. "By the gods, Elia, the woman put metal rings on her nipples. Rings, Elia!"
Elia laughed, the sound echoing through the garden. "You Stony Dornish are too Andal for your own good. Mother gave me this book to read when I turned two and ten."
Ashara gasped. "Two and ten?"
Elia shrugged. "Trust me, it's best to know about these things, and wield them for your own purposes, rather than be preyed upon by older men when you know nothing about nothing." She held out the book. "Here. Finish it. It gets wilder."
Ashara took it gingerly, like it might bite her. She quickly slipped it into one of her skirt's pockets, glancing around to make sure no one had witnessed this exchange.
Elia smiled fondly. For all her beauty and wit, Ashara could be charmingly innocent about certain matters.
Ashara crossed her arms, trying to regain some dignity. "If you insist, then I'll finish... studying it. Later. For educational purposes only."
"You do that, dear." Elia's smile turned sly. "In fact, I know a Wylde who might be able to give you some more tips. Well, half-Wylde."
Ashara frowned. "Who?"
"Why, Ser Galladon Tarth, of course. A Wylde on his mother's side." Elia watched her friend's face carefully. "We'll be seeing him very soon."
"What? He's here?" Ashara sputtered. She looked around the garden wildly, then down at her simple dress, perfectly fine for a casual afternoon but not the kind of thing one wore to meet visiting knights. "But I'm not even..."
Her eyes flicked up to catch Elia's amused expression.
She scowled. "I'll get you back for this, Princess," she said with as much venom as she could muster, which wasn't much.
Elia laughed again. "I never said we'd be seeing him today, dear. But if you're so intent on seeing your oh-so-comely, oh-so-tall knight, then worry not. I'll make arrangements for a voyage to Tarth." She paused dramatically. "On your name, of course."
"Wait. What?"
But Elia had already turned on the spot. She waved airily to Ashara and stepped away, ignoring her friend's increasingly frantic pleas behind her.
"Elia! Princess! You can't just— Elia!"
Oh, but she could. And she would.
xxx
One hour later, Elia left Doran's solar with a smile on her face.
She'd presented her case carefully. Ashara Dayne was of marriageable age and should be considering potential matches. As her lady, it was Elia's duty to find her a good match, and Ser Galladon Tarth had more than positioned himself as one. He was heir to a lordship, and had proven himself both martially and in matters of trade, which Doran already well knew. Dornish merchants spoke highly of the opportunities at Dawnrest, Tarth's growing port town. Strengthening those ties between their two kingdoms through marriage would benefit both House Dayne and House Martell.
Elia was quite proud of her arguments, and Doran had considered them with his usual measured thoughtfulness. A two-week visit to Tarth, properly chaperoned, would allow Ashara to assess Ser Galladon's suitability. It was reasonable, even prudent. And if nothing came of it, at least they would have deepened their understanding of a useful trading partner.
He'd approved without reservation.
Her smile turned impish as she made her way back to her rooms. If Elia failed to mention that Ser Gerion Lannister would be arriving at Tarth at precisely the same time, preparing for Lord Steffon's voyage to Volantis, well, that was simply a fortunate coincidence. These things happened. And surely her brother wouldn't expect her to track the movements of every minor lord and knight in Westeros.
She kept her expression serene as she walked back through Sunspear's corridors, but inside, her heart was singing.
Two weeks. Two weeks with Gerion, far from her brother's watchful eyes.
It was more than she'd dared hope for.
xxx
Prince Doran Martell
As Elia walked away from his solar, Doran stepped from his desk toward the window.
Outside, the Shadow City sprawled below Sunspear. Mud-brick buildings crowded together in a labyrinth of narrow streets and winding alleys, their walls painted in faded ochres and dusty reds. Market stalls created bursts of color beneath bright awnings. Smoke rose from cookfires and workshops, creating a haze that caught the afternoon sun. Even from this height, he could hear the distant sounds of it. Voices calling out prices, children laughing, the clatter of cart wheels on stone.
Somewhere in the warren below, spending the coin Doran had only recently given him, was a Dornish captain who'd promised his dear sister to secretly pass messages between her and her Lannister knight.
The captain had come to Doran the moment Elia made contact with him. Smart man. He understood that the favor of a princess did not go as far as the favor of a prince, even in Dorne. Especially when that prince controlled trade licenses, harbor fees, and a hundred other small levers that could make a captain's life either profitable or miserable.
Doran had paid him well for his loyalty. And for his continued discretion. He saw no need to tell his sister he knew of her secret correspondence. Let her believe her secrets well-kept. Let her think herself clever. It was better this way.
If he pulled too tightly on the leash, she would revolt. She would bite back. Like any hound of good breeding, she had her pride, as was her right as a princess of Dorne. He did not blame his sister for it. In truth, he admired her spirit.
But understanding her did not mean indulging her.
Though she might love Gerion Lannister—and Doran believed she did, in the way young women loved when they'd found someone who made their heart race—he could never allow such a disadvantageous match. No matter how rich Tywin Lannister was. No matter how well-positioned. No matter how many connections Gerion himself had cultivated.
A fourth son with no lands, no inheritance, no real power of his own. Elia was made for more than that. Made for more than a knight with nothing to his name but the name itself.
Dorne was made for more.
Doran turned from the window and went back to his desk, pulling on a cord hanging from the ceiling. A moment later, the door opened. Areo Hotah stepped inside, his longaxe strapped to his back, his face impassive as always.
"Yes, my prince?"
"Call on my brother for me," Doran said. He settled back into his chair. "If he refuses on account of some engagement or another, even if he's with a woman, tell him I have a task for him. A task of the utmost importance for the future of Dorne."
Areo Hotah nodded once. "It will be done, my prince."
The door closed behind him.
Doran knew his giant protector would have to fulfill the summons himself. If he sent any other man-at-arms to fetch Oberyn, his brother would simply brush them off with some jest or excuse. But he would not refuse a man he respected like Areo Hotah. Not when he'd never won against the Norvoshi in the yard.
Elia would be allowed her fanciful voyage to Tarth. Two weeks to see her Lannister knight, to imagine a future that could never be. He would not deny her that small happiness, even knowing it would ultimately come to nothing.
But Oberyn would be going with her. Not to ensure she remained a maiden—that mattered little in the grand scheme of things. Dorne was not the rest of Westeros. They did not place a woman's entire worth between her legs. And if it became an issue, excuses could always be made. Tales of horseback riding accidents could be spread as explanation for a missing maidenhead. The maesters understood these things. As long as her reputation was kept intact, as long as there were no whispers of impropriety that could damage her prospects, Elia was free to do as she wished.
What truly mattered was for Oberyn to ingratiate himself with Gerion Lannister and Galladon Tarth. Ingratiate himself enough that he be allowed to join them when the time came for Lord Baratheon's voyage to Essos.
Doran had his sources in King's Landing. He knew Aerys was sending his old friend across the Narrow Sea to find a bride of pure Valyrian blood for Prince Rhaegar. Some girl from the Free Cities to continue the Targaryen line, to give the mad king the well-bred dragons he was obsessed with.
It could not be allowed.
When the time came, Oberyn would ensure no bride was brought back for Prince Rhaegar. No living bride, at least. No matter what it took.
For Doran Martell already had a bride in mind for the Targaryen prince.
xxx
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