A Prince of House Targaryen

A Threat or Salvation

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Oberyn Martell

Oberyn worshipped his sister. Despite being less than two years her junior, there was something about Elia's quiet determination, her grace, that made her seem so much older and wiser than he. Even when he grew taller and became broad of shoulder, his voice deepening, and thick black hair beginning to grow on his chin, she always made him feel like a little brother.

Though he enjoyed his mother's songs and his lessons with Doran, it was Elia's stories that he craved. Many a night, he would steal into her bed, despite the heat, to hear her soft voice weave worlds around them and feel the soothing motion of her delicate fingers combing through his hair. His favorite stories were the embroidered ones. Every so often, Elia would emerge from her lesson and press a scrap of linen into Oberyn's hands; the first piece had a simple illustration of a castle and the words, "Once, long ago, there was a Queen and a Knight. They were noble and beautiful, and they loved each other."

He hadn't understood at first, but the following week Elia had given him another scrap and then another, and the story began to unfold. After a few moons, he began to wait outside her chambers on days he thought she might bring him a new piece of the tale, so eager was he to see what the wise queen and the gallant knight would do next. On his eleventh name day, Elia brought him a roll of silk, richly embroidered in vividly colored thread, telling how the Queen and the Knight befriended a young dragon. Oberyn had cried as the light began to fail, and the flickering flame of a candle failed to do justice to the beautiful images he had already committed to memory.

It was still mounted above his bed the night before they left to deliver Elia to King's Landing, and Elia smiled Oberyn's favorite smile as she ran her fingers over the raised patterns the thread made.

"I still have the rest," Oberyn said, reaching into the small set of drawers at his bedside and pulling out a pile of linen scraps. "I read them when I cannot sleep."

He handed the pile to her, and she sat on the edge of his bed to flick through them. She sighed and held out her hand, beckoning him to sit beside her so that she could rest her head on his shoulder.

"Remember this, little brother," she told him. "The world has many wonderful things to teach you, but be careful what you learn. Very few places treat their girls as Dorne does, but our ways are the right ones."

Elia pressed the little handful of embroidered rags into his hand, encasing his calloused hand in her tiny, delicate ones. "When you take lovers and have daughters, remember these. And if you have sons, remember to teach them as you have been taught."

Her dark eyes shone, and Oberyn felt a pang of loss; to miss her before she had gone was ludicrous, yet the ache in him at the thought of her going to King's Landing, of possibly never returning to Sunspear, to her family, to him, was already beginning to press upon his chest.