No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters, places, events, etc. belong to George R. R. Martin.

The year after Lannisport saw Elia reach her twentieth year and with this came the growing necessity in the eyes of her parents that she find a husband. After all, twenty was encroaching on mature and three and twenty was positively ancient. Time was running short, or so she was told.

Oberyn, of course, found this to be a grand jest.

"She is as lanky as a stable boy! What man will want a woman who can barely hold him between-"

But he was quickly silenced by the gradual outpouring of requests from various corners of Westeros, all asking to be graced with the presence of Elia Martell of Dorne.

But he was not quiet for long. Faced with the possibility of losing his beloved sister to men he was sure were unworthy of her, Oberyn fended off the suitors one by one, often with the power of wit, and a few by more...venomous means. Elia herself was not always so opposed to his intervention.

"Really, Oberyn, I rather liked that one," Elia remarked as they strolled along the pale marble walkways of the Water Gardens. Blood orange trees lined the pools and fountains, their green leaves falling gently into the clear embrace of the calm water below.

Oberyn glanced at her sideways. Her skin, already pale for one of the Dornish, had taken on a seemingly permanent pallor since the tourney at Lannisport. He still sorely regretted letting her leave the final feast without his aid, having found Elia crumpled in her bed the next morning with a chamberpot filled with vomit on the floor beside her.

"Really? Was it the rolls of fat along his middle? Or his leery eyes that always strayed to your chest?" he teased. "No, Elia, I think what entranced you the most was the enticing aroma of flatulence wafting from his fat behind."

Elia pretended to ponder and then nodded seriously, "Yes, you are right Oberyn. Ever since Baelor, I find myself oddly attracted to bodily odors."

Oberyn laughed alongside his sister, remembering the disastrous visit to Oldtown near the time Tyrion Lannister had been born. Baelor had been one of Elia's rare early suitors, when she had been barely thirteen, but the prospect had ended when he had accidentally broken wind in front of her and Oberyn. Oberyn guiltily recalled they had both rather like Baelor, especially in comparison with the current batch of admirers, but his unfortunate dubbing of him as "Baelor Breakwind" had prevented Elia from ever looking at the young man with a straight face again. Needless to say, Baelor had revoked his proposal.

After their laughter had subsided and all that remained was the happy gurgle of water from the surrounding fountains, Oberyn presented a question that had been floating around his mind and itching on his tongue for a few days. However, he felt a foreboding reluctance to voice it; he was afraid it might be answered in a way he might not like.

"Elia, I have heard something. A rumor that was told to me by...ah...a person of interest," he began, stumbling over how to divulge who had told him this tad bit of information.

"Meaning you heard it from one of your lovers," she filled in smoothly, adjusting the thin strap of her dress as she did so. She was well-accustomed to her younger brother's ways, bless her heart.

"Yes, well, the source was reliable enough for me to be concerned. What is this talk of Rhaegar Targaryen coming to Dorne?"

The laughter he had felt in her died, and Elia stilled. His sister stared blankly at the few children ahead of them who were splashing amongst the waters of a pool. Their happy squeals sounded like notes of music in the far distance. As he, too, gazed at the golden beauty of the Water Gardens, he felt his sister's fragile fingers brush his shirt sleeve as she guided him to sit beside her along the tiled rim of a clear pool.

"Elia?" he quipped when she still did not answer.

She turned her clear brown eyes to him. She was pretty, his older sister, Oberyn realized. Her eyes were large and luminous, her eyebrows dark and arched, and her lips rosy and puckered. But she was too slight to be beautiful; her assets were too small and light to be pleasing to most men. Her cheeks were too hollowed, her face too long, and her skin too sickly to be considered much beyond attractive.

But his older sister had an inner fire that Oberyn had long admired, one that he knew was not always visible. She was unbent and unbroken and would forever remain so because she was a Martell before all else. But if what he had heard was true, Elia would need a fire stronger than the sun's to last amongst the dragons.

"Yes, he is coming to Dorne." She was not looking at him anymore but still at the children playing, oblivious to everyone and everything but their joy.

"Why?"

"Because Mother has invited him."

"Why?"

He knew why. He was as sure of why Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was coming to Dorne as he was sure that Elia would soon be leaving it, no matter how Oberyn may rave and plead and protest.

"Because the Targaryens want the Martells in their bed. And Mother wants to spite Tywin Lannister."

Oberyn started; he had rarely heard his sister speak in such an acerbic tone, much less in such bitter terms. His eyes followed her as she stood up slowly, still looking at the distant figures as she spoke.

"Daeron the Good married Myriah Martell centuries ago, before the Blackfyre Rebellion. And his sister Daenerys married Prince Maron of Dorne. The king and his queen and the princes all have Martell blood in their veins. And Rhaegar Targaryen has no sister to wed and bed, so they must look beyond King's Landing to the closest thing they have to kin here in Westeros."

She turned to him then, and he saw her eyes were wet crystals in the long expanse of her face. However, her voice only grew more resilient, more steely.

"The dragon's' eyes have roamed far and wide, my dear brother, and they have come to rest on the steps of Dorne once more. And they have found what they seek and what they mean to take, and we are not strong enough to resist them."

Oberyn stood, swiftly and powerfully, until he towered over his sister. He folded her into his arms, feeling her small body remain as still and dormant as marble, and he wondered how his always vibrant Elia could be so immobile, so corpse-like.

And for a moment, Oberyn was afraid. Dorne was her home. This was where she was loved, where she was safe, not in that cold castle where winter would come and never leave, where the Mad King reigned and raved, where Queen Rhaella cowered under her brother-husband's talons, where Prince Rhaegar sat cold and unmoving and played that cursed harp of his.

If Elia left Dorne, Oberyn was sure she would die. She would fight it, he knew, but that bright sun that flamed in her body would dim, and she would wither away her spirit as well as her body.

It was with these thoughts in mind that he whispered into her hair, "No. No Targaryen will take you away."

Elia drew away from him and smiled wanly, a dim crack of feeble sunlight peeking from beyond the dark clouds that gathered on her brow.

"My darling Oberyn. Don't you understand? He already has."

Oberyn stared, slightly confused.

"The night of the final feast at Lannisport, it was the prince who helped me to the room. He did not say much, but Mother saw him and while I went to bed, they had a private audience. He was interested in Dorne, he said. It was inevitable that he would have to marry, and that marriage would have to come from Dorne because its 'blood had already mingled.'"

She looked at a point beyond his shoulder, her words coming faster and faster as her tale was woven in the afternoon sunlight of the Water Gardens, the memory of that fateful night spinning through her mind.

"Thank you, Prince Rhaegar, for returning my daughter to me. I should have known better than to entrust her safety to her brother."

Elia blushed slightly as her mother, the indomitable Princess Aida of Dorne, took in her daughter's disheveled appearance, her drained visage.

Rhaegar laughed softly, his deep timbre echoing in the darkened hallway.

"Please, Princess Aida. It was my pleasure; your beautiful daughter's company soothed the wound of being defeated at the hand of her countryman."

Elia quirked her eyebrow at her mother's rejoining chuckle. Rhaegar had intended to flatter, but Princess Aida had seldom taken to vacuous compliments in the past, whether they had come from a lord or a commoner. Was it because the speaker was the Crown Prince that she so readily accepted his words?

"Prince Rhaegar, I am flattered, as is Elia, I am sure."

Elia smiled her gratitude at Rhaegar but she could not hide her irritation at being spoken for. It was a habit of her mother's but an annoying one nonetheless.

"Yes, you have built quite an impression of me, Prince Rhaegar, one that I am not sure is entirely warranted."

The Prince smiled politely but the joy did not reach his eyes. No, the violet irises remained closed off, hiding his inner thoughts. Normally, Elia would have felt disconcerted, but, tonight, she simply felt too exhausted to care. Behind her mother was a feather bed, and on that feather bed lay pillows and a warm blanket and a long night's sleep.

"I truly appreciate your assistance, Prince Rhaegar, but I am afraid the night's revels has tired me. Now, if you will excuse me. Mother."

Elia curtsied to the Targaryen and moved to slip past her mother but halted when she felt a soft grip on her wrist. It was the Prince. His eyes were open, now, and sincere.

"I hope to see you again, Princess Elia. I was not lying; I truly enjoyed our conversation tonight."

Elia could not really remember what she had said to him that was so enlightening, but she smiled at him anyway, ignoring the fear that crept through her body at his words, the tendrils of cold that crept up from the calloused fingers enclosing her wrist.

"Thank you, Prince Rhaegar."

Elia tugged her wrist slightly, and he let go, his eyes still vibrant- too vibrant, Elia now thought as she moved away. As she shifted past her mother, she felt the Princess' signet ring press into the palm of her left hand. A moment's cold touch, but it disappeared as Elia pushed into the chamber. Mother was planning something.

Elia walked slowly toward the door that led past the antechamber and into the sleeping quarters, listening for any more wisps of conversation but heard none. And, yet, Mother did not close the door on the Prince either.

As Elia entered the bedchamber, she heard a deep voice saying, "Princess, if I could have a word, in private?"

Elia closed the door and leaned against it, breathing as quietly as she could lest she miss any of the words that were spoken next.

"Of course, Prince Rhaegar. Please, come into the drawing room; we will not be disturbed in here."

Footsteps and the sound of chairs being scraped along the stone floor came through the screen of the wooden door.

"Princess Aida, as I am sure you have heard from...various sources, my father is intent on arranging a marriage for me. And…"

"He said the king was still refusing to comply but that he would cave eventually. The king would never let Lannister blood into the Targaryen line, especially with Tywin as hungry for power as he was. It would be a matter of time, he said, until the request for my hand would come."

"What did Mother say?"

"She hates Tywin. She told him so, that she had been hoping for his words."

Princess Aida of Dorne was nothing if not blunt. She was a good mother, but she was a Martell first, a ruler second, and a mother and wife third.

"She said that she would consent, as would Father, when the time came, but that he would have to promise to protect me. She remembered Queen Rhaella and what the king does to her. He promised. And that was that."

"Does Mother know that you know?"

"Yes, of course. She hasn't told me herself, but she knew I was awake. She knew that I was listening. She knew that if I opposed the match, I would have said something to her."

Oberyn stared at her, the question clear on his face. How could she not oppose it?

"Elia, she wants to send you to King's Landing. You know what they say, about the Mad King- they call him the Mad King, Elia! Use your brain!"

Elia whipped to look at him, irritation blazing in her eyes.

"I do understand, Oberyn. I am using my brain, and if you would do the same, you would see why this marriage is important. I have driven away all suitors save the Stark children, and I will not let myself be married to a mere babe. I know what you will say, that being a woman of Dorne is not the same as being a woman of the Stormlands, that we have more power here. But, I am not just any woman. I am a Princess of Dorne, a valuable alliance for the Targaryens, and their support is an even stronger tool for us, for our people."

The words had flowed out in a stream, faster and faster until it had become a rushing river of desperation.

"Elia…"

Oberyn had words but none that would convince Elia to put this notion out of her head. He simply let his frustration consume his body, his anger at Rhaegar-fucking-Targaryen for thinking he could take his sister away, at Mother for saying yes, at Tywin Lannister for provoking her years ago, at the Mad King for being mad, at Myriah Martell for marrying a Targaryen in the first place, at Aegon Targaryen for bringing his dragons to Westeros, at the children playing happily in the Water Gardens even as his sister suffered-Oberyn wanted to stab something(preferably Rhaegar Targaryen's face).

Elia took a deep breath, looked at Oberyn, and smiled at the mingled pain and fury that resided in his eyes and on his face, in the twist of his jaw and the clench of his fists.

"Oberyn, I understand your anger. But I will be with Ashara and with Arthur. And the prince, if he turns out mad, I will not lay idly beneath him if he tries to rape me or beat me. I am of Dorne, after all. And the sun can burn more than any dragon's flame."

Oberyn did not respond, merely worked his jaw in continued fury as his sister pecked his cheek and walked away to play with the children in the fountains of their home.

2/19/18:

Hello, all. Long time no see, I know, and I apologize for the hiatus. This isn't a new chapter, just a touchup, but I am working on the next bit in the story. It will be up soon, but I wanted to brush up on some serious flaws that I saw in the narrative first. Hopefully this will help the rest of the story flow a little better. Thanks for the patience, everyone!