Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.

Okay, at this point I think we can safely say Sara has become her own person completely, so this is now Oberyn/OFC. Anyway, that's what it's under now.

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! Keeping reading, enjoying and reviewing!

Chapter Fifteen

Reunions and the Hope of a Hurting Queen

The Vale: 2nd April, 303 AC

Oberyn:

Oberyn held onto Sara's waist for dear life, terrified of sliding off of the gryffin's back in spite of the strange saddle and harness contraption that he was strapped into to avoid that exact fate. Humans had not ever been meant to fly, and Oberyn was very much not enjoying the experience.

Oh, he'd had the same boyhood fantasies of riding a dragon as any other child as a boy, pretending to be Aegon the Conqueror riding Balerion and running around the Water Gardens along with his friends. But there was a huge difference between running around safely on the ground where humans were meant to be whilst flapping his arms like a bird, and sitting on a strange saddle with a belt to keep him attached to the gryffin's back, attempting to keep his legs in the right position to avoid hampering the creature's wings in spite of the cramps it gave him as the gryffin soared above even the clouds. He couldn't even see a smudge of green beneath him (not that he had dared to look down again properly after they had passed the tips of the mountains and entered the clouds). Above and around him was the light blue of a summer sky, and thick white clouds were below.

He felt more than a little ill with nerves at the position that he was in. Had the Gods, be they the Seven or the Gods of the Forest, River and Stone, wanted humans to be capable of flight, they'd have created them with wings. This was not an enjoyable experience at all, and Oberyn was desperate for it to be over with already. Though there were at least three more trips such as this ahead of him, something he was dreading and assumed was some sort of divine punishment for one his various sins.

His nephew apparently did not share his concerns. He was flying with a member of the 'Fighting Flock', what the Winterlands called their group of gryffin riding warriors, a slim young man by the name of Lieutenant Even Glover, and evidently having the time of his life. Oberyn had nearly had a heart attack the last time that he had turned to check on his nephew when he had seen him with his head thrown back and eyes closed as the air whooshed by and made his long silver locks fly behind him, his arms spread out to the sides as if he were about to embrace somebody. Thankfully, he had obeyed when Oberyn had yelled and gestured at him to stop least he fall to his death. The boy likely had not been able to hear Oberyn's elaborate swearing, but the prince's gestures had been easy enough for the king to interpret.

Oberyn had not been particularly reassured by Sara informing him with a (he thought, but it was so hard to tell with her) fondly mocking tone that all gryffin riders were trained to rescue anybody who fell, should the harness the person was wearing ever fail. How often did such things happen? He prayed to whichever gods would listen that it was merely a precaution. The Winterlanders had proved themselves extremely paranoid over the course of their time in the North, after all. Surely it did not happen often.

Thankfully, Oberyn's eldest daughter was not as insane as her cousin was. Whenever Oberyn glanced to the left to check on her, he saw Obara wearing a stoic look and holding tightly to the waist of her own companion on the gryffin that she was riding, a Free Folk woman (a woman of the Free Folk was not a lady, as Ygritte had pointedly told Ser Garlan with a slap, apparently highly insulted by the comparison. Given that Sara had always been incredibly scornful of 'those useless southron flowers without a speck of dust, let alone a brain, between their ears', Oberyn was unsurprised by the reaction. He had, in fact, found it rather amusing.) called Major Dalla, who was (save for Sara) the highest-ranking Winterlander in their little group. Sara was not a part of the Flock, but as Crown Princess, she had received training to a high degree of many different skills. Flying was one of them.

Although she had power in her own right, another part of her influence came from the fact that Dalla was the wife of Mance Rayder, chief of the Rayder Free Folk Clan, which made her the second in command of the Rayder Clan by default. Well, it was currently the Rayder Clan, but just because Mance was the current leader, did not mean that their son would inherit the title. Apparently, the Free Folk did not inherit their titles. Instead, they won them in battle or in contests. Rayder had defeated the other contestants in the trial to choose the clan's new leader after the previous one had died, and would hold the chieftainship until such time as he either was defeated by a challenger or died himself.

It was an interesting way of doing things, but thinking of some people who were utterly incompetent and yet held positions of power solely due to their birth (the Fat Flower came to mind immediately), Oberyn admitted that it was in many ways a sensible one.

He stiffened when Sara released one of her hands from the reigns and began making signs with her hands, communicating with the other two riders.

"We are just above the Mountains of the Moon," Sara called to him, her voice scarcely audible over the whooshing of the wind, even though she was likely yelling at the top of her lungs. "We shall begin getting lower, then fly straight into the Eyrie, landing on its roof most likely! Where ever we can set down!"

"How long?" he yelled back.

"A few hours at most," she replied. "You may wish to rest! You have not slept in over a day!"

"Sleep?" he repeated in disbelief. "In this situation? I wish to live, not fall thousands of feet to my death, thank you very much Princess!"

She didn't respond, but he saw the way her shoulders shook with laughter, and even in the midst of fearing for his life and those of his companions should any of them fall, he could not stop the smile it caused to spread across his face from forming.

Gods, he really was pathetic. He was the Red Viper, Prince of Dorne and one of its' most (in)famous and acclaimed warriors. He had nine daughters, had raised eight of them himself, had helped run the kingdom for the best part of twenty years as a member of Rhaegar's Small Council. Yet even the sight of Sara laughing at him made something in his breast swell with pride and delight that he had managed to make her smile, even if it was at his expense.

They had lain together several more times since she had revealed Mariah's existence to him, and they were sharing a bed. Nobody had said anything to him, though he'd received more than a few exasperated looks from his family and companions, whilst the Winterlanders all seemed like they wanted to geld, mutilate and painfully murder him. But nobody had outright confronted him over the issue, and if Sara had spoken to anybody about it (whatever it was) then she had not told him about it. He wasn't even really sure what they were doing with one another other than being lovers. Anytime he attempted to discuss it with her, she cut him off by coaxing him into more pleasurable activities than sorting out relationships or else simply changed the subject.

The rest of the journey passed in relative peace, and Oberyn felt no shame in the fact that he said a mental prayer of thanks to any listening deities that they had survived the journey intact.

Whilst Sara's brother Robb organized and led the troops being loaned to them by the Starks to the Riverwall along with Ser Barristan, Nym and Tyene, Sara, Oberyn, Aegon, Obara and Ser Oswell (who was at the back riding with a young lady named Captain Myriame Greystark and therefore out of Oberyn's ability to check on without risking slipping off. The man was a knight of the Kingsguard anyway, he'd be fine. Besides, Oberyn was far more concerned about his family than his nephew's guard.) were all flying to their confirmed allies so that Aegon could speak to them in person and then rendezvous with the Northron host. Although he had sent letters to all of the houses (even those he knew would stay loyal to the Lannisters for whatever reasons, be it power or hostage situations) commanding them to gather their levies, only Doran had been informed of their new alliance, as they would likely need to prove that the king was not a prisoner of the Starks, writing under duress.

Oberyn would give credit where credit was due: flight was far, far faster than riding a horse, or even sailing. At most, the entire trip, from the centre of the North to the Eyrie in the Vale, to Sunspear in Dorne, and then to Highgarden in the Reach and back to the Riverwall, would likely be less than a full moon, depending on how long they stayed at each place.

They had only left Winterfell early yesterday, yet they were now in sight of the Vale. It was astounding. Captain Greystark had told them that the flight from the Eyrie to Sunspear shouldn't be more than two or three days (with breaks for the dark hours because flying at night was apparently much too dangerous to risk, even for the most talented rider. It was almost guaranteed to be a death sentence for anyone foolish enough to try. Oberyn was willing to take their word for it) so long as the weather was alright and there were no unanticipated problems.

Oberyn wondered if dragons had flown as quickly as gryffins did, or if the larger size had made them slower.

His thoughts drifted from one topic to another over the course of the flight, until he realized that their surroundings had changed. Now, instead of being surrounded by blue and white with the only breaks in colour coming from glimpses of his companions, he could see mountains and the ground (when he risked a brief look down at it) was covered with green grass instead of white clouds.

The Eyrie was right in front of them, and they flew in, right over the heads of the guards, who were much too shocked to think of raising their bows.

Lord Elbert and Artys came running out with a dozen guards just as they landed, skidding to a stop when they laid eyes on Aegon.

"Your Grace!" Lord Elbert cried. "Thank the Gods! We had feared the worst, even after receiving the letter. But this- What are you doing with them?"

He pointed an accusing finger at the Northrons, who had gathered together beside their mounts. All of them were tense and stoic, with their hands near to, but not on, the hilts of their weapons. Oberyn suppressed the urge to grimace. Lord Elbert had lost his cousin Denys, his uncle Jon and several friends in the most recent war against the Winterlands. Due to the Vale's proximity to the Three Sisters and the mountain clans' alliance with the Starks, his people often got into clashes with them. Only the Riverlands and the Western fleet got into more skirmishes, the Riverlanders with their Northron counterparts at the Riverwall and the West with the Ironborn.

This could be a very tense meeting.

"Egg!" a woman's scream interrupted the King's attempt at responding. "Uncle Oberyn!"

"Oberyn! Aegon!" she was echoed by a man's voice. Both were familiar, and Oberyn felt some of his tension drain as his niece and uncle came sprinting out of the castle doors. He had hoped they were safe, had been assured that it was so by the Winterlanders (who's spy network knew a discomforting amount about the movements of the south), but he had still been afraid for them both.

"Rhae!" Aegon cried, equally relieved. He opened his arms just in time for his elder sister to throw herself into his embrace, the Princess and future Lady Paramount of the Vale weeping freely.

"I feared the worst," she sobbed. "Thank the Gods that you are safe! Where is Mother? How are Margaery and the babe? Our other cousins? We have been without word for moons, save for a single letter ordering my goodfather to call the banners! You must tell us all!"

"Indeed," Uncle Lewyn agreed, his own relief clear as he took them in, clapping a hand on Oswell, his former squire,'s shoulder. "It appears you have a long tale to tell us, and a very interesting one at that."

"Yes, you speak truly, Nuncle," Aegon confirmed, glancing at the silent and aloof-looking Northrons. "But first, Lord Arryn," he turned to the man, who was torn between relief at the evidence of his liege's safety and blatant suspicion at the presence of the Winterlanders. "Might we partake of guest right? I vow by the Old Gods and the New, these people are our allies. Without them, myself, my wife and son would all be dead, not to mention my lady mother, my lord uncle, my cousins and our guards."

Looking as if he would prefer to throw himself out of the Moon Doors, Lord Elbert reluctantly gave in to the king's request, gesturing for some servants to bring forth the bread and salt.

Oberyn saw the Northrons relax the minute the bread touched their tongues, their hands abandoning their positions beside their weapons and the foursome stepping slightly away from their mounts, now that their safety was assured.

"Let us adjourn to my solar, my king," Lord Arryn suggested once they had all received the guest right. "I confess, I am eager to hear this story myself. And, as I failed to say so properly before, please allow me to express the Vale's relief at your survival. And you spoke of a son? What auspicious news, to hear that the realm has an heir! I trust that he and the Queen are well?"

"I thank you, my lord," Aegon answered. "Yes, thanks to the mercy of the Gods, my wife and son, whom we have named Daeron, are both very well, thank the Gods. Let us go to your solar, and I will reveal all."

Winterfell: 4th April, 303 AC

Elia:

Elia smiled softly as she kissed Margaery's cheek before leaving her gooddaughter in privacy so that the younger woman could nurse her son.

Originally, Margaery had planned to have a wetnurse attend to her babe's needs, instead of doing so herself. Elia herself had nursed both Rhaenys and Aegon but she knew that was unusual for a highborn lady, especially a queen. And even she had never changed one of her children, or winded them. The thought of doing so had never even occurred to her, something that now made her feel guilty as she observed the actions of the Northron mothers scattered around.

Lady Olenna had sneered at her when she had inquired as to how Margie intended to have the babe fed early on into her gooddaughter's pregnancy, contemptuous of the idea of her granddaughter spending time caring for her child when she could be 'performing her duties as a queen'. A.K.A: spreading Tyrell influence on her family's behalf. Olenna had proudly stated that she had been a very traditional mother, leaving the care of her son and daughters to wetnurses, septas and tutors when they were older.

Elia had bitten back a remark about how well her neglecting her children's care in favour of spreading her influence had worked out. Mace Tyrell was a bumbling fool under his mother's thumb whom everyone made a mockery of, Janna Fossoway was an empty-headed fool whose greatest joy in life was gossiping about clothes (not even people. Just clothes and fashion). Mina Redwyne was the only one of the trio that had any brain at all, and she was too busy trying to keep her imbecilic husband and gambling sons from sending her marital house spiralling into debt to do anything noteworthy.

But though Margie had at first planned to follow her grandmother's lead (though she had confessed to Elia and her mother Alerie that she had always planned to spend more time with her children than Olenna had ever done, and to be very involved in their education also) their circumstances had prevented that. The looks the young queen had received from the Northrons when she had asked about a wetnurse had made even the ever-composed Margaery Targaryen of House Tyrell flush a deep red.

Apparently, in the Winterlands, the only times that a mother did not feed her babe herself was when she was (a) ill or dead and thus incapable of it or (b) If her milk had dried up early or had never come. They believed that nursing was the most important part of developing a mother-child bond, and that, should another do so in their place, it would disrupt the creation of that sacred bond. They also claimed it was worse for the child's health, as the mother's milk was made specifically by the Gods for that child, and using milk for another babe would increase the chances of the babe's health being damaged or weak. The thought of somebody willingly refusing to feed their own babe was shocking and awful to them. In addition, all mothers, be they high or lowborn, were expected to care for their infant's basic needs themselves, again to aid the mother-child bond.

Margaery had not brought it up again after that, simply asking to be shown the proper way to do such instead. Elia thought she was actually happy about it, because there was a certain sparkle in her eye when she announced that she needed to feed her child that said so. (Though she was not so positive about changing the child. Elia had done so in Margie's place a few times, and it was one thing she was pleased queens were not expected to do in the south. Who knew that such a tiny form could produce so much waste?)

But Margaery preferred to care for her son's needs in private for the sake of her modesty, and so she was typically left alone when she was feeding her child.

Elia left the chambers and began making her way back to the nursery, hoping to be allowed to see her niece. She was allowed around Mariah, who was a lovely child, but had to be supervised. That stung, but she had already learned that it was not due to fears of her physically harming the child. What concerned them was that she would start telling the girl about the Seven and converting her. Elia was willing to put her (admittedly not very strong. None of her mother's children were very religious, in fact) religious opinions to the side in exchange for getting to spend time with her Northron niece. The 'Snow Snake' as Oberyn had taken to calling his youngest daughter affectionately, was a bright and sweet child, and spending time with her distracted Elia from her worries over her family.

She was lost in thought as she wandered in the direction of the Royal Wing where the Starks lived, wondering how long it would take Egg and Oberyn to reach the Eyrie. As such, she failed to notice Arthur Dayne rounding the corner until they knocked into one another.

"Apologies, Mother Queen," he grunted, grabbing her arms to prevent her from falling. Realizing what he had called her, he quickly correct himself. "Apologies, Queen Mother."

She smiled and waved it off, hoping her cheeks had not turned pink. It seemed that a taste for Northrons ran in the Martell line, because her younger brother was not the only one of their group who had developed an attraction to a Winterlander.

She had been surprised that Paladin Dayne, in spite of being leader of the Winterlander Army, had not gone with his apprentice to help run it. However, Queen Ashara had told them that it was very important for Robb to gain respect and recognition in battle as Arthur's future replacement, and the same for Crown Princess Lysara. Were Arthur to go with them, it would cast doubts on whether it had been him or them who was really running the show. It made sense, and Elia had found herself spending time with the man. He was a charming man, and she liked him very much.

Arthur Dayne was "the Sword of Morning", a title passed down through his family to the most worthy and greatest warriors born to the House. There was magic involved somehow, though Elia had not been given any details. Those were all kept close to the chest of Hosue Dayne. The Queen of the Winterlands had, however, been gracious enough to explain the same outline that everyone else knew about it.

The sword, Dawn, would allow anybody of Dayne blood to touch it, but to wield it required a certain type of character. Without that character, the sword would be too heavy to lift, let alone wield. There could be centuries without a Sword of Morning (Queen Ashara, who had become a friend to both Elia and Margie, had informed them that the longest period recorded without a Dayne being worthy of Dawn was two-hundred and fifty-three years) or it could pass from one generation to the next. It all depended on the people available and what they were like. There were also cases recorded of a Sword losing his ability to wield Dawn after turning corrupt. It was always a sure sign that something was wrong with the warrior if they lost the ability to use Dawn.

Dayne was not just the Sword of Morning, but head of the Order of the Paladins. From what Elia had gathered, King Eyron IX Stark had formed the Order in response to the knights of the Andals. They were, in essence, the Winterlands' version of knights. However, they took their vows in godswoods instead of in septs, and all wore the same uniform of a navy tunic and black breeches, with a symbol called a triquetra sewn on their left breast, just above their hearts. The symbol apparently represented the three stages of life: birth, adulthood and death, and was very important for the First Men. Unlike with the knights of the south, you did not need to be highborn to attain the rank. But you did have to have seen combat (real combat, not just mock battle like in a tourney) and you could not bribe your way to the rank if you did not have the necessary skills to do reach it. (At least in theory. Ashara had acknowledged that their systems were not flawless, just as close to it as they could manage. They had many 'checks and balances', she called it).

Paladin Dayne had silver hair and purple eyes, similar to Rhaegar, but his was more natural, with the silver closer to gold than white like the Targaryens and hints of dark blue in his purple gaze. She preferred it in all honesty. Rhaegar's silver locks and violet eyes had been almost ethereal, making him look almost inhuman, as if he really were a living god the way the Doctrine of Exception was sometimes interpreted. They had unnerved Elia a great deal up for the first part of her marriage, until she had managed to get used to them. The colour of Arthur's eyes was, softer, for lack of a better description. His skin was tanned from many hours spent outside training or fighting, his hands calloused and his muscles strong and sure. Another contrast to Rhaegar, who had been constantly pale with soft hands due to the amount of time he spent studying in the library.

Most different of all, Elia felt like a woman when Arthur Dayne looked at her, instead of just Rhaegar's sickly and scorned first wife, and an attractive woman at that. It was a feeling that she was beginning to feel addicted to.

"I was looking for you," Arthur told her in his accented voice. His skill with Andaii was improving. He had asked her to give him lessons after hearing her and Oberyn practicing with Mariah, and it was a good distraction from her worry over Rhaenys (and now Aegon too, since he was no longer within her line of sight), so she had agreed. She tried not to dwell on just how much she was enjoying the time she was spending with him.

It was shameful of her, really. Her husband had only been dead a few months, and yet here she was, already turning her eyes to another man.

Yet Rhaegar had never really acted as a husband to her. Oh, he had done his conjugal duty but only until Aegon's birth. After that, he had stopped visiting her bed, and she didn't bother trying to kid herself that it was due to his concern for her health if she were to become with child a third time. It had, and still did, hurt a great deal, the way that Rhaegar had taken another woman as a second wife. Elia might have been the one with the title of 'Queen', she might have been assured that her son would be before Cersei's, and Rhaenys before Valaena in the succession, but that was all a cold comfort to the wounds his actions had left on her heart. She had loved him once, before he had shamed her, broken her heart and then lost himself in the library.

Surely, in light of that, it was not a shameful thing for her to seek out another for comfort? She had never been unfaithful to Rhaegar when he lived, after all. She was a widow now, and her life was hers to do what she willed with.

"Oh?" she tried to hide how pleased the fact that he had been seeking her out made her feel from her voice. "Might I help you with something, Paladin Dayne?"

"Arthur, I ask you call me Arthur," he murmured. She dared to hope that the look in his eye was one of tenderness.

"Arthur," she repeated, smiling brightly at him. "But if I am to call you by your name, then you must call me by mine, yes?"

He smiled back at her, his almost indigo eyes deepening to a shade nearly blue enough to be described as navy, something she liked due to the way that it further decreased his resemblance to her late husband.

"Elia," he said. She felt her smile widen. "I have gained permission," he chose his words with clear care, evidently recalling their lessons. "To take you to visit the Great Library. Will you go with me?"

"I would be delighted to come with you to see the Great Library," she agreed instantly and eagerly.

In the south, women were not generally encouraged to read, though her homeland was far more liberal than the rest of the Six Kingdoms. But Elia had spent many days abed recovering from one illness or another as a child, unable to play with the other children or even attend lessons. And so, she had read book after book, losing herself in them to distract herself from the hours of loneliness when her brother or friends were unable to spend time with her. Learning of the Great Library, an entire keep maintained by certain Scholars graduated from the University and their apprentices, had delighted her. It was the largest collection of books in the world, and the ultimate goal of the Library was to obtain a copy of every book written.

She had asked to see it, and been disappointed to learn that, due to fear of the books being damaged, permission from the Chief Librarian and an escort were required. Arthur had promised he would see about obtaining such for her.

"Will we go now?" he extended an arm with a pleased expression. She took it willingly, happy to follow him everywhere and anywhere so long as he continued to look at her like that.

"You said that the Scholars have a sort of motto?" she recalled as he began guiding her in the opposite direction of her chambers. "What is it again?"

"In your language?" he replied. "I believe that it would be 'the only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing'."

Elia blinked. "Who said that?" she asked, expecting to hear about yet another famous Stark. The rulers of the Winterlands definitely had great reason to be proud of their heritage, at any rate.

She was surprised, therefore, when he answered: "Scholar Myranda Manderly, the first Chief Scholar of the University."

A woman as not only the head of such an important organization, but the first head? Elia could only dream of such freedom. Even in Dorne, the Andal expectation of a woman's submission to the men of her life was strong.

She wondered what her life would have been like, raised in a culture like the Winterlands where spouses could obtain a dissolution of their marriage, a colscaradh (divorce) if their spouse hit them or had an affair, whether it was a wife having an affair or harming her spouse (same sex couples could wed here too!) or even the other way around, with a man raising a hand to his wife. Women and children were not considered property of their fathers or husbands in this place. And to cap it off, custody of any children and financial compensation were awarded to the victim in such scenarios. Queen Ashara had stunned all of their group silent when she had claimed that the souths laws made marriage akin to slavery.

The worst part was that she was right, and when she pointed out the similarities, they all realized it. It made Elia's heart ache to picture what her life might have been like, had she not been bound by the laws of the south.

She could have left Rhaegar after he shamed her, left him and raised her children in Dorne, away from Cersei's poison, her husband's indifference and the cruelty of the capital. She could have met another man and been loved and respected, instead of humiliated and pitied.

Glancing at Arthur out of the corner of her eye, Elia wondered if there was still a chance for her to have a loving relationship, or if she was a dreamy fool.

She prayed for the former, and the slight smile that played on his lips whenever he looked at her gave her hope for it too.