Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Martell Arrival
...
Elia Martell POV

A  few weeks later

The gentle rocking of the ship stirred me from sleep, the familiar creaking of the timbers. It had been a moon since I'd set out on this voyage, leaving Dorne behind in search of a future I wasn't entirely sure I wanted.

My mother had been relentless, spinning webs of alliances to find me a suitable match.

I sat up in my cabin, the scent of salt air mingling with the faint perfumes still clinging to my clothes, remnants of the grand halls I had visited.

Suitors, I thought bitterly. Each left a more bitter taste than the last.

Except one.

The memory came flooding back—Oldtown. The Hightower rising above the city like a sentinel, and Oberyn charming everyone in sight as we were welcomed by Lord Leyton and his children.

Among them was Baelor Hightower. He was kind, thoughtful, a stark contrast to the pompous lords I had been paraded before.

I remembered how his words about the Citadel held me in rapt attention, how I had allowed myself to imagine a future by his side. For a time, I was almost half in love with him.

But then came that fateful feast in Oldtown's great hall. Baelor beside me, speaking of manuscripts, his voice soothing amidst the laughter and chatter. Oberyn, ever the mischief-maker, teasing me about my growing fondness for him.

And then it happened.

A low sound, unmistakable—a fart, escaping from Baelor's chair. Silence fell over the hall. I turned to look at him, his cheeks as red as Dornish wine. Beside me, Oberyn snickered, then burst into uncontrollable laughter. The whole table followed.

"Baelor Breakwind!" Oberyn howled, tears in his eyes. "A man with such airs!"

I tried—gods, I tried—to maintain my composure. But I couldn't hold it in. Laughter bubbled up from me, unbidden and unstoppable. After that moment, I couldn't look at Baelor without remembering, and the spell was broken.

Perhaps it wasn't meant to be, I had thought as we sailed away from Oldtown.

The memory faded, leaving me with a bittersweet smile. Oberyn had ruined it, of course, as he always did. But maybe he had saved me, too. No suitor had ever felt right. Not even Baelor.

I yawned as I stretched my arms out, blinking sleep from my eyes. Rising from my bed, I reached for my brush, sighing. The useless servant who was supposed to help me with my hair and dressing was undoubtedly off on another escapade with my brother.

Oberyn, my mischievous little brother, though I loved him dearly, seemed to live without restraint. I sometimes wished he'd exhibit more control, especially when it came to boundaries.

As I brushed my hair, I caught my reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall. Olive skin, brown eyes, and the dark hair of House Martell—Dorne flowed through me like a current. I considered myself beautiful, though not the most beautiful in the realm, and I was content with that.

After tending to my hair and washing my face, I began the tricky task of dressing myself. It wasn't easy without my maid, but I managed.

After finishing, I headed out of my room. As I made my way down the hall, I paused, hearing sounds I was all too familiar with—moaning. I winced, recognizing them immediately.

One set of noises came from my mother's cabin, where she was undoubtedly with her lover, and the other from Oberyn's quarters.

I sighed deeply, pressing my hand to my forehead in frustration. Of course, Oberyn was with my maid. Again.