The Princess of Blood Red Wine

Introduction: The Dead and The Living.

A/N: This is merely a reaccount, something merely to set the scene of the timing a historical reaccount if you will. After this chapter, the action starts with a prologue, so I'm trying to keep this short! But I hope you enjoy!

Westeros was rooted with the chills of dead. No matter if you lived in the far south, or in the far north, the dead would still haunt you the same. Stories of the night king spread amongst those at the wall and in the north which shivered and covered their bodies from the cold evil, that stayed. The South was left to burn in the sun, looking around for bones of the dead that was killed in war. Others left to be remembered in paintings. And others, forgotten. 

Dorne had grown cold and isolated over the years, cunning and unforgiving due to the years of the suffering they had faced. No one could blame them, after the death of beloved Elia Martell, killed at the hands of Rhaegar Targaryen, a prince. 

She was a soul, murdered by the blood of the dragon, one of the men who worked for him, attacked her and her children, her defenseless, left dead on the floor, like some burden.

Elia Martell, the song of a broken bird.

The name was a distant memory of a girl who lost her life to a man, who deserved no grace. A sister was lost, a mother, a daughter. Elia was a memory that most forgot in time, except Dorne. Everyone remembered the death of Lyanna, but never the death of Elia. They could easily move on. Yet there was no forgiveness, for the hells that Rhaegar had put the Martells through. Elia was his wife, and yet he held no love towards the girl as he went to claim Lyanna. 

Oberyn Martell, someone who had thought of the Targaryens with a fondness, lost his sister in the hands of a greedy one. The blood of the dragon was strong, but it could also be cruel. 

The Martells held the sun as a symbol, as for its brightness, could symbolise their golden beauty, their attitudes. The sun was a token for them, to always look up. The Martells' words; Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken, were only symbolic for their glory, how they were never conquered. But, during the time of the Rebellion, mayhaps that was not relevant, mayhaps. The dornish had lost. They lost Elia...

Dorne was not the same after losing their dear Elia. They were not easy, their lives shaped into the misery of her passing. Rhaegar Targaryen would not be forgotten for the atrocities committed against Elia Martell who had done nothing but love the vile man with all her heart, She loved him and their children and he abandoned her. An unfaithful, vile, snake of a man. 

Rhaegar had hurt many, including Elia Martell, and Lyanna Stark. 

Lyanna Stark, a name that made any Stark's blood go cold. Including Ned's. Every Stark grieved, but mainly Ned, who had lost her. Lyanna, his dearest sister. It was hard to come from a Rebellion with a dead sister, who was only sixteen...

Lyanna and Ned were close as kids, so it was no surprise, the death had left Ned feeling haunted by the memories of his childhood, with her. Lyanna was dead, and there was nothing Ned could do. Rhaegar had ruined his sister. Rhaegar had ruined the lives of the starks, and the martells. Two houses who grieved for their dead relative.

The death of Lyanna left Ned, feeling empty. To lose a sister,  that bond he had, was something he would never forget. Losing her was one of the moments of his life that he would live to dread. Anytime he'd look at a winter rose, his first thought was Lyanna. Whenever winter came, there were moments he looked at the cold air and frowned. The thought of Lyanna came too much to bare, for Ned, who lost his brother Brandon. The heir to Winterfell. To lose your brother was hard enough, but your sixteen year old sister? That overwhelmed him, with guilt. Could he had protected her? From Rhaegar, was there any chance he had, to keep her alive or was it her fate to die in childbirth?