Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people...
Note: Just gonna test this story idea out for fun. I love the character of Elia Martell and Ali Nowac has done some really inspiring snapshots of her life (which I can't recommend checking out enough, they may be short but they all gave me chills), but I just wanted to explore her in more depth myself. This may not work but lets give it a go!
Prologue parts will be her as a young teen, then we will move on to her life as a late teen and her relationship with Rhaegar.
Prologue (part one)
Elia aged Thirteen
Watching her brothers spar in the late afternoon sun, sweat prickling at her back as she fought the urge to twitch and squirm in her seat, she fanned herself idly and imagined she could move as swiftly as Oberyn. As a princess of Dorne she was expected to be swift and ferocious, a viper, yet Elia was as delicate and gentle as they came. It was her greatest failing.
Her regal mother sat by her side, her dark hair gleaming and her haughty expression fixed as she regarded her sons in the arena.
"I wish you would fight, Elia," she mused pointedly. Her gaze did not flit to her daughter for even a moment, her concentration on the match before them unwavering.
"I'm sorry Mother," Elia looked down and felt the shame tinge her pale cheeks.
"You are a princess of Dorne," her mother reminded her needlessly, her tone sharp. "It is expected of you to be able to hold your own against an aggressor."
"I know, Mother."
"They try," her mother sniffed. "Show Dorne you are worthy. Show me."
She wanted to crawl under a rock upon hearing this, dreading being set against one of her mother's beloved Dune Vipers, the elite women warriors of Dorne, in combat. She knew what was expected of her, though, and she would die before disappointing her country. She was Dorne. She tilted her chin upwards in a show of acceptance and determination she did not feel and spoke with a steady voice.
"I shall."
With those two words she knew her days would look very different, at least once her mother saw to her training and held her to her word. Never mind, she would honour her spoken vow, to do anything else would be dishonour of the highest degree. She set her small jaw and stared ahead at her brothers, watching them and imagining with difficulty that it were her, not they, who moved with such speed and assurance. Who fought with such bravery, fearless of harm.
"Very good," her mother commented absently, her attention now wholly set upon her sons once more. More specifically her beloved son, Doran.
"Wine, milady?" the servants presented some of the chilled, tart tasting blackberry wine which was so favoured in Dorne, and while her mother waved away the offer absentmindedly Elia held out a small white hand for the goblet, drinking deeply and shivering at the warmth which spread inside her. It was quick to chase away her anxiety.
Her mother shot a quick glance of disapproval. "Drink like a princess, Elia, not like some greedy whore."
"Yes, Mother," Elia murmered, sipping daintily at the rest of her refreshing drink, suitably chastised.
Once the match was over and her brothers were panting like dogs in the last rays of the sun, their smiles wide and their bodies covered in layers of dust, sweat and blood, they approached their mother and sister ready to share in the light refreshments.
"Did you see my speed, mother?" Oberyn asked grinning, his voice high pitched and eager. He was the youngest legitimate Martell and Elia doted on him, he was mischievous and fun and brave; all the things she wished she could be. Unfortunately their mother did not share this affection, favouring her oldest child above all, to the exclusion of her others.
"I did," she flashed a tight smile briefly at the younger son before reaching to embrace Doran who was the undisputed apple of her eye. Elia frowned as she saw the hurt flit across Oberyn's face before disappearing as rapidly as it appeared. She could sympathise with her brother, who had all the makings of greatness yet was unfortunately the youngest of the legitimate siblings and so would always be a drifting part in the cogs of their royal family.
"You were fantastic," Elia offered, giving him her sweet, shy smile and passing him a goblet of wine.
He landed on the cushions by her side with little grace and flashed her his dimpled smile. "No change there then," he commented nonchalantly, his eyes twinkling in his still round face.
"Oh, I don't know," she giggled softly, playing along with his good natured jokes. "I could probably still tickle you into submission, little brother."
At this Oberyn spluttered on his wine and squirmed to get out of her reach, yet he was too late. She sprang at him and tickled him under his arms, causing him to flail and drop his chalice into the sand, the dark red liquid spreading out in a large pattern as the sand absorbed it quickly. "'Lia, no!" he panted between giggles, but she pinned him down and danced her small fingers up and down his sides as he begged for mercy.
"Elia Martell, stop this right now." Her mother's sharp voice cut through their giggles and she dropped her arms to her side immediately. Both children looked up at her, identical pairs of wide eyes finding hers, holding identical expressions of pleading confusion. "Act as befits your station."
They exchanged sheepish looks and settled down obediently to hear of Doran's unrivaled technique and stamina as the sun set over the horizon, the sudden chill bringing goosebumps up their arms.
At the evening meal that night, as Elia sat on her cushion and picked at the spiced lamb and vegetables set before her, the Dune Vipers performed their acrobatics, their bodies a rippling mass of finely tuned muscles which performed incredible feats before her very eyes. This was what her mother wanted her to achieve, this was what she dreaded. The food stuck in her throat and she could not swallow, her eyes fixated on the young women before her, some barely older than her.
Oberyn lay a warm, chunky palm over her wrist and squeezed with sympathy. By now the whole palace had heard of her mother's plans for her, of what an embarrassment her daughter had turned out and the remedy for such a shameful daughter that the queen had in mind. She flashed her little brother a troubled smile and together they watched the Vipers as they twisted and turned, their whips licking the sand, like their namesakes. They studiously ignored the meaningful glances thrown in their direction from about them, aware only of each other and the warriors before them.
"You are the blood of house Martell, you shall rear your head as a viper not to be defeated," Oberyrn whispered eventually.
"I am no fighter, dear brother," she nibbled her lip as she whispered low enough that her light voice would not carry. "You know its true."
He shrugged and bit into a juicy chunk of meat, setting his jaw in determination, his dark eyes glinting in the torchlight. "I shall teach you," his offer was well meaning but Elia nodded sadly.
"I do not want to fight," she admitted finally. "I could never hurt another."
He looked into the fire intently and was silent for a while, lost in his own thoughts. "I fear you may need to one day, sister," he turned intense eyes towards her and she shuddered.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know," he paused, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. "I just fear it, that's all. You're so fragile and I worry what may happen if I'm not there to defend you."
She laughed at his intense mood, her little brother who was never serious and always laughing. "Don't scare yourself so, Oby. I am a princess of Dorne, no one would dare harm me."
"Yeah, you're right..."
"I'm done with eating, let's dance!" she grabbed his arm and hoisted him up as he resisted, claiming he had not yet done with his food. "Dance with me?" she pleaded with shining eyes, tugging him gently away from his meal.
He groaned and allowed himself to be led away, staring back to his plate regretfully as he watched a servant clear it away. She laughed at his expression and spun him around as the drum beat quickened and others came to rejoice around the fire with them.
"There will be more food, little brother," she smirked playfully. For royalty there was always more food.
He laughed in return and threw himself into the dance as he would a sparring match; wholeheartedly. As the vivid colours of the Dornish nobles in their beautiful robes, the scents of the spiced foods and wine and the sounds of the thrumming music rippled around them, he swirled his older sister in his arms and for a while both forgot their worries as they lost themselves in the festivities.
Dizzy, panting and exhausted they finally flopped back down on their cushions, shouting with hoarse voices for more wine and giggling to themselves with sheer joy. Further delicacies were later presented on burnished platters and while Elia did not touch another morsel, Oberyn ate greedily, his head spinning slightly from the rich, unwatered wine.
"Thank you Oby," Elia murmered sleepily after a while, curling up on her cushion as they watched the other nobles dance merrily into the night.
"What for?"
"For being you and for cheering me, like you always do."
It wasn't long after that when she fell into a deep sleep, unnoticed by their parents or other siblings. He glanced down tenderly at the one person in his life who seemed to see him for who he was, who seemed to enjoy his company and cherish him, and he kissed her warm forehead gently. He then asked a servant to bring a blanket, covering her from the night's chill, and for a little while he watched as the light of the large fire before them illuminated her face, her features slackened in sleep and peaceful, the planes of her face soft and pleasing to the eye. She may not have the fierce streak necessary to be a Dune Viper, he mused, but she would certainly possess a dainty beauty when she was older, and he was aware that beauty itself could be a weapon. He had watched as his mother used it frequently.
His sister would do well. She would carve her own path and maybe it would be different from the usual Dorne way, but he vowed he would one day see her valued for her own gifts, not forced to conform to his mother's expectations.
"Get up, princess," the mocking tone grated on her and she forced herself out of the dirt, wiping the streak of blood from above her eye and wincing as the sand stung the tender gash. Above her, leering down with a superior smirk, stood Ashara, her mother's chosen trainer.
She forced her bruised fingers to once more close around the wooden practice stick which lay in the dust, but with two of them broken, swelling and purple, her grip was pitiful. That was just tough, though, as she had discovered that explaining this to her teacher would only get her more damaged so she stood, her head throbbing and her vision swaying as she lurched forward towards the older girl, raising her weapon to strike.
Crack.
Before she knew what had happened she was back in the dirt, her weapon discarded to one side just out of reach and an intense pain like fire running up her arm. She could not move it. She cried out in agony and Ashara bore down on her angrily, her heavy weight making it difficult for Elia to breath.
"Dune Vipers do not whimper or cry, princess," she snarled, grabbing Elia by the hair and yanking her head backwards. "Should I tell your mother of this?"
Elia tried to plead with the girl, but she could not control the sobs of panic for long enough to form a word.
"Training is over for today," Ashara spat in disgust, picking up the feather light girl easily and carrying her over to a tent where she could summon a physician. Maybe she had pushed her too hard, she could see the bone in her left arm jut out unnaturally. It wouldn't do well to damage the princess irreparably.
"No," Elia blurted, regretting it as soon as she had spoken. What was she thinking, she longed for nothing more than for this brutal training to be over with - for good. Yet her pride would not allow her to fail in this manner. She spluttered and sat up in the older girl's arms.
"If you insist," Ashara dropped her to the ground and shrugged. If the wretch wanted more who was she to say no? She would see what the princess was truly made of. "Get up and fight me."
Elia could not use her left arm, her favoured arm, so pushed herself up feebly with her right. Ashara gave her a disdainful look as the princess of Dorne squirmed in the dirt to her feet, but found some respect for the spirit which refused to be broken. "Maybe I can make something of you after all, princess," she mused, dark eyes twinkling. "Maybe you'll make good canon fodder, you're brilliant at taking a beating it seems. We've found you a skill."
Elia scowled at the jibe and found new strength to stand, her legs shaky but holding firm. She felt the gaze of her brother Oberyn from where he stood under the shaded canopy and straightened up, determined he would not see her showing weakness. "I am a princess of Dorne, not cannon fodder," she asserted, her voice weak and raspy but her eyes blazing. She swayed slightly, feeling dizzy in the heat as sweat trickled down her sides. She craved water, her throat scratchy and mouth dry. She stood her ground.
"Then prove it," Ashara moulded her body into a natural fighting stance, no weapons in hand. Elia mirrored her movements, holding herself ready for fluid movement and hand to hand combat. Ashara feigned a punch and Elia's stomach clenched, nausea rolled over her as she tasted fear but she did not flinch. They began to dance around each other, testing borders and moving in a roiling motion which the Dornish favoured, always keeping their opponent guessing as to their next step.
Ashara struck, her blow landing on the side of Elia's skull and dazing her slightly, knocking her off balance until she stumbled to recover her stance. She knew Ashara could have finished her off and was now just playing with her and she set her jaw. Her head throbbed, her arm felt like it was on fire and her eyes prickled with tears as she fought down the pain.
Yet it was anger which won out, anger she had never known she was capable of until she was faced with this humiliation and pain at the hands of a Dune Viper.
Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken. The words of her proud house echoed around her mind as she felt a surge of vicious energy spread through her like venom. She was a Martell.
She struck back, missing completely but sending her opponent into the direction she wanted. She quickly lashed out with a kick, weak from exhaustion but connecting with the older girl's tensed stomach. They both froze in shock, Elia had never managed to land a blow before. Ashara brusquely wiped down the from of her tunic where dirt from Elia's foot had left an imprint and smiled.
"Well done, Elia." It was the first time she had referred to her by her name and Elia's heart swelled at the sudden warmth in her voice.
Then the black spots she had seen dancing behind her eyes for the last few minutes enveloped her and she blacked out, Oberyn rushing down the dunes to check she was okay.
"Your sister is weak," Ashara informed him.
"Hold your tongue, bitch!" Oberyn snarled, drawing Elia's tiny body into his strong arms and picking her up. Her head lolled back and he had to stop himself from lashing out in rage at the girl who had done this, remembering she was just following the queen's orders.
Ashara laughed at his vehemence and walked away, turning over her shoulder and smirking. "She has spirit though, I admire that."
Oberyn carried her away and was even more relieved than her to hear that she was banned from training for months while she recovered from multiple bone breaks.
Her mother was not impressed with this, passionately demanding she should still train but being overruled by the king who, seeing her anger, soon decided it was necessary to order a trip to the mainland for their royal children. It was an idea he had formulated a long time ago, as it was always necessary to cultivate relations with the main houses of Westeros and this provided the perfect opportunity. His wife was overbearing at the best of times, but seeing how she flared in anger at the perceived failure of Elia in training, he decided some distance would do both of them good. He only regretted that he could not join them.
They would sail in three weeks. Elia could not believe her luck when she heard the news.
"Are you excited?" Elia's eyes shone with expectation as she faced him, her younger brother with whom she was soon to set off to Westeros to meet some of the powerful families she had studied in her lessons for as long as she could remember.
Oberyn shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalent as he felt himself no longer a child, at eleven, and did not want to appear too enthusiastic. "It should be fun," he offered, fighting down his urge to bounce up at down at the thought of being allowed on such an adventure. They were packed and due to sail in a matter of hours, so here they sat in their generous cabins, inhaling the rich sea air and watching as the sailors outside went about their mundane chores, so unusual and incredible to the wide eyed children who had never seen a man scale a huge pole before.
"What do you think the Lannisters will be like?"
"I hear Cersei's gorgeous," Oberyn's eyes twinkled and they both laughed.
"Where's Doran?" Elia asked after a little while of excited chit chat. "I heard he has his own cabin."
"He does, the captain gave him his."
"Shall we go say hi?"
"Sure, now mother isn't around he may want to spend time with us," Oberyn smiled hesitantly. Elia nodded and they left their servants to sort their belongings into the compact storage spaces while they pranced away to play cards and dice with their older brother, hoping he would want to see them and not just wave them away as he had taken to doing in recent months. He was seventeen now and felt too mature to entertain his younger siblings, yet on the ship they would be his main companions for the weeks of sea travel so he was stuck with them.
After more than a week of sea travel, seeing nothing but shimmering water in every direction around them, broken only by laughing dolphins and diving birds, a huge land mass finally emerged in front of them and Elia pointed and squealed with joy. "Oby, we're nearly there!"
Oberyn walked over to where she stood, her hair being whipped in every way by the harsh sea breeze, her skin flushed an unusual pink and her expression rapt as she gazed straight ahead toward the horizon.
"We should dock in four or five hours, Princess," a sailor who wandered past informed her, a smile on his face as he saw her expression.
The sailors had come to know the children a little over the course of the journey, showing Elia and Oberyn how the ship functioned and indulging their exploration of every nook and cranny of the vessel, explaining anything which they found unusual and laughing at some of their escapades. Elia, as the only young girl, was especially doted on by the rough, hard working crew and the feeling of affection between the two younger royal children and the crew was mutual. Doran, however, was more reserved and did his best to stay apart from the crew, disliking some of the hardships life on a ship entailed and counting the days before he could be in the grasps and comforts of civilisation once more.
"Thank you, Harlan," she replied, giving him a smile before turning back to the sight of the ever growing land mass which held so much promise in her mind. She had always imagined living in Westeros, with its glamourous history and people.
She did not leave her spot at the helm of the ship for the rest of the journey, drinking in the sight of this strange land greedily. Had she been born here she would never have had to train in the martial arts, coming home each evening dusty and bone weary. She would have focused on womanly arts, gentle arts which her soul would rejoice in, wearing pretty gowns instead of animal skin training tunics which sweltered under the glare of the harsh sun.
"What's wrong?" Oberyn asked seeing her gaze as the longing for a different life overwhelmed her.
"Sometimes I just wish-" she stopped herself and forced a smile. "It is nothing, dear brother, I'm just overwhelmed."
He nodded, unconvinced, and they spent the rest of the journey in thoughtful silence as they regarded the looming land mass before them.
Note: I call her trainers, the original elite femme fatales of Dorne, the "Dune Vipers" and they are gonna be similar to the league of shadows in their martial arts expertise and legendary status. They will later be destroyed, all butchered in unarmed combat, by Oberyn's bastard daughters who will take up the name of Sand Snakes, having outgrown the training these warriors provided them from early ages and taken their place as Dorne's legendary warriors.