( SUNSPEAR, DORNE )
LATE 285 AC
PRINCE OBERYN STRODE DOWN THE CORRIDOR, now a father for the fifth time. Since his return with Tyene and Arianne, he had been subjected relentlessly to the news of his newborn children from the castle staff. Eager yet hesitant to see the babies, he had also heard of his wife's ill health, and the three girls she had bore him. They were unnamed, still, and had been since their birth.
There wasn't a moment that passed when he didn't have Gwendys on his mind, a lovely girl and an honourable and dutiful wife, like no one he'd ever met before. He felt she deserved better, and though he truly loved her, deeply and honestly, and would have never wanted to do anything that would prompt her mistrust in him, there was still one single incident before their marriage that made him swell with guilt every time it rose to the forefront of his mind.
But for now, the girls were on his mind. Three trueborn heirs, all healthy and beautiful, he was told, and he didn't doubt it for a second, not with a mother like that. Yet to bear names, he already had a few in mind.
And seeing them all sleeping sweetly in their bassinets, made him feel more joyous than ever. Because these were not only his, but they were also her's. He couldn't think of anyone else in the world that he would have wanted to share a child with, at the time, even as she slept also, still in her childbed, distress wearing at her slumbered face.
As he looked at the bassinets, he couldn't quite breathe, consumed by the love he harboured for his newborn children. He hadn't felt this feeling as mothers from across Westeros and Essos offered up their children to him, not really.
"Hello," his wife said quietly, sitting up in bed. Noticing him looking at the triplets, she asked, "Do you like them?"
She had only matured more beautifully with motherhood, giving her a radiance and certain fullness that Oberyn had never seen before. Her hair was kinked from being undone from braids and was long and relaxed. She rubbed her eyes with her hand and yawned prettily.
"Is that truly a question that a you must ask? They're beautiful. The nurses speak of your hardship. I couldn't be more proud."
Gwendys smiled bashfully at his words.
It had been tough for the both of them. She may have thought that he wasn't trying, and that he was making excuses to leave, or that he cared for his sister more than her, but he was trying his best. He had been assured by the Maester that Gwendys wouldn't go into labour for a safe moon or so. Even then, he still felt laden with guilt for leaving her in such a time.
Inclining her head to the left, she asked, "Would you like to name them?"
"I would like you to name them," he smiled gently at his wife, and the mother of his children, "But I would like one of the girls to be called Meria, a namesake for one of the most powerful Dornish women there ever were."
"But . . . they called her the Yellow Toad of Dorne! Our daughter'll be called a toad!"
"We can call her Merry for short."
"Elly and Tremonda, then," she contended, namesakes of the two most important women in raising her. "My grandmother always spoke of how she disliked the names the both of us were given. Yale and Gwendys, she'd say, how misfortunate for the both of us. I've had a lot of time to think, so I put Yale backwards and came up with Elay. I like Elly. Tremonda after my mother."
"They sound lovely."
"How did it go?" she asked nicely, fluffing her pillow and propping it against the headboard. "Has the agreement been signed?"
