After his years as a hostage in Lys following the Dance, Viserys returned to King's Landing with a beautiful Lyseni bride, Larra Rogare, the daughter of a wealthy and influential noble house. Tall and willowy, with the silver-gold hair and purple eyes of Valyria (for the blood still runs strong in Lys), she was seven years Viserys's elder. She was also a woman who never felt a part of the court and was never truly happy there. Yet she gave him three children before she at last returned to her native Lys. (The World of Ice and Fire)
From the founding to the present, Great Norvos has been a theocracy, ruled by its bearded priests, who are themselves ruled by their god, who speaks his commands to them from the depths of their fortress-temple, which only true believers may enter and live. (The World of Ice and Fire)
Norvoshi women, indeed, shave off all their body hair, though the ladies of the nobility will don wigs, especially when thrust into the company of men from other lands and cities. (The World of Ice and Fire)
"Mace Tyrell, Paxter Redwyne, and Doran Martell are wed to younger women likely to outlive them. (A Storm of Swords)
Smiles had never come easily for Quentyn Martell, any more than they did for his lord father. (A Dance with Dragons)
They took a stroll in her father's garden, Lady Mellario and the Dornish prince, with Areo Hotah following discreetly a few steps behind. He walks well, this prince, Hotah thought. No rushing or scurrying about, with nary an impatient gesture in sight. A patient man instead of a rash boy, unlike some of Lady Mellario's other suitors. Hotah would know. After all, he had been accompanying Lady Mellario in many of these walks with various young men before the arrival of this prince, none of whom had managed to hold her attention for long.
She had donned her best wig for the occasion, pretty dark curls framing her heart-shaped face. She turned to give Hotah a smile and a conspiratorial wink. He nodded in acknowledgement, striving mightily to keep his expression unchanged. Serve, obey, protect, the bearded priests had taught him. He had not been trained to counsel young love.
The prince spoke. "You have not spoken much of your stepmother, my lady."
"Mellario," she said, smiling, her hand grazing Prince Doran's arm lightly. "We agreed that you are to call me Mellario," she reminded him, letting her touch linger for a moment longer.
Her prince blushed. Who would have thought? After everything claimed and declaimed about Dornishmen and Dornishwomen with their wicked, wanton ways. The bearded priests were always going on and on about wickedness and sexual license in other cities, in faraway lands. Yet this Dornishman seemed so shy, almost nervous in her presence.
Her prince, she thought, her heart beating faster.
My prince. Mine.
Doran continued, "The Lady Larra –"
"My stepmother is from Lys. She was named Larra after a great Lyseni lady who married a Westerosi prince and then became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. At least, that's what she claims," Mellario said, wryly. The woman her father had brought home from Lys two years ago had many and more colorful tales to tell about her origin. More likely she came from one of the pillow houses in Lys, the malicious whispers went, but it must be a strange sort of pillow house if that were true, for in Mellario's watchful eyes, her stepmother acted more like an indulgent nursemaid to her much older husband than a wily seductress.
Her prince slowed his pace, his brows furrowed in concentration. "Queen Larra. I do not think I know the name." He paused, smiling ruefully before adding, "But perhaps my maester would know. I'm afraid I am not the cleverest –"
"Oh, I'm sure you are very clever!" Mellario quickly protested. "If you have never heard of a Queen Larra, then it must be because she does not really exist. My stepmother –" Mellario halted, pretended to cough, turned her face away from her prince's gaze. Careful, she warned herself. You do not want to appear like a bitter, sulky, resentful child to this man.
Though, it was hard not to be bitter about a stepmother only four years older than herself, who insisted on lording it over Mellario as the new mistress of the household, who persisted in calling Mellario "sweet child" despite her numerous protestations.
"You poor, sweet, motherless child," she cooed at Mellario at one point, to Mellario's great disgust.
I am no child of yours!
Her prince was speaking again. "There was a Lady Larra Rogare from Lys. She married a Targaryen prince, more than a hundred years ago. But I do not believe she was ever queen."
"Her husband was a prince, but not the heir to the throne?"
Doran nodded. "Her husband was the younger brother of the king, and the king had sons of his own. But Prince Viserys did become king in the end, after his nephews both died without issue."
"So why didn't this Larra Rogare become queen, if her husband was indeed king?"
"She was dead by that point."
"Oh."
That put paid to their conversation for a while. They walked side-by-side in silence, Doran glancing at Mellario from time to time. "She did not die in childbirth," he finally said, gently, watching her expression with great care.
He remembered, and he understood, without her having to say anything. He understood what had given rise to her sudden silence.
It was not a mistake, wanting him. Choosing him. Her prince. Her man.
My mother died trying to give my father a son, she had told him, during one of their previous conversations. It was her third attempt. The first boy lived for half a day, the other two were stillborns.
He told her about Mors and Olyvar, then, the brothers who died in their cradles. I still dream of them, playing with me in the Water Gardens.
I was my father's heir, until he brought home his new young bride and she finally gave him the son he had been waiting for, the son he had always wanted, she had told her prince.
In Dorne, her prince said, the eldest child is the heir, never to be supplanted, male or female.
Tell me more about the Water Gardens, she asked her prince.
Doran had met with her father after that, and the two men had spent a long time talking behind closed door. Mellario had inveigled that much from Hotah, who had been standing guard outside the room.
"Nothing will come of it," her stepmother had poured cold water on Mellario's joyous anticipation. "He is a prince. Do you think he can discuss marriage on his own terms? His father would –"
"His mother is the one who rules in Dorne, not his father, "Mellario interrupted sharply.
"He is so very plain for a prince. Quite far from my notion of the charming, handsome prince from a distant land sweeping you off your feet. So solemn, too. Does he ever laugh, or even smile? Does he even know how to? Your father laughs, constantly, when he is with me. And he knows how to make me laugh, which is equally important in a marriage."
"Prince Doran smiles and laughs in my presence," Mellario said, adamantly.
"If you say so, my dear," her stepmother said, dryly. "Though, I wonder if he is much too old for you. He must be thirty at least, or more."
"He is not yet thirty!" Mellario spluttered. "And at least … well, at least he is not more than twenty years older than I am."
Her stepmother laughed. "Well, well. The claws are out, I see," she said, looking and sounding merely amused rather than angry. This was what frustrated Mellario even more, this attitude of condescending indulgence affected by her stepmother.
And in any case, her Dornish prince was only eight years older than her. That was nothing, compared to the vast age gap between her father and her stepmother. There was no comparison to be made at all. None, she insisted.
"Was Larra Rogare's prince much older than she was?" She asked Doran now, as they continued their stroll in the garden.
Doran shook his head. "No, she was the one older than her husband by a number of years. Seven, if I am not mistaken."
Surprised, Mellario asked, "Was she so very old, when he married her?"
"No, no, she was still young, but he was younger still, almost a boy."
"How did she come to meet this young Westerosi prince?"
"They met in Lys." Doran paused, choosing his words carefully. "Prince Viserys was by way of being a hostage in Lys, in truth. This was during the period of the Targaryen civil war known in Westerosi history as the Dance of the Dragons."
"Was he forced to marry the daughter of one his captors?" This was a darker, more troubling tale than Mellario had ever imagined.
Doran considered the question for a long time. "I wish I could say no for certain," he finally said. "But in truth, history is vague on the details of how the marriage came about. We are only told that Prince Viserys was finally ransomed for a large sum by his brother the king. When he returned to Westeros, he brought his beautiful Lyseni bride with him. But it is said that Prince Viserys grew stern and was never the same man after Lady Larra left him to return to Lys, so however the marriage came about, he must have been very fond of her."
"Left him?" Mellario was stunned. "But you said … you said she died."
"She died in Lys, not long after her return." Doran apologized. "Forgive me, my lady, I did not mean to mislead you earlier. But the fact is, if Lady Larra had not died before he husband became king, even if she was no longer living in Westeros at the time, she would still have been considered queen when her husband ascended to the throne. They were still married in the eyes of gods and men, despite the separation. It was her death that prevented her from ever becoming Queen Larra."
"A queen who lived far away across the sea. How strange."
"I'm sure … she had her reasons. For leaving."
"I suppose it was easier to leave, since they did not have any children."
"But they did have children. Lady Larra gave birth to two sons and one daughter."
"Oh. I misunderstood earlier, when you said she did not die in childbirth. I thought she never had any children."
What happened to the children, she was about to ask, when Prince Doran suddenly took hold of her hands. "My lady … Mellario …"
She knew. She knew what was coming, and her heart leapt with joy. Yes, she said, yes, yes, yes, when he finally broached the question. Take me away, take me with you to Dorne.
This was her prince, not Larra Rogare's.