Chapter Four

The sunlight felt too bright on the day that Oberyn Martell would take Lyarra Snow out of Winterfell. At least, that was the impression that Ned Stark had on this remarkably fine Northern day. The sky was a full expanse of robin's egg blue, clouds dashed white across the heavens, the rays of light were plentiful and languid and the wind, a crisp, playful breeze. It was that rare summer's day that would have had his children begging for early ends to their lessons, so that they may explore their family's keep and the surrounding countryside with free abandon. It was that rare summer's day that mocked him now as Lyarra was lifted into a Stark wheelhouse by the atypically gentle Viper.

'Thundersnows and ice storms should rage when Lyanna's only child is swept away to Dorne,' Ned felt, looking critically at each of his children. Catelyn was inside today, the better for the both of them as the Quiet Wolf couldn't bare to look at his wife now. 'The Viper comes into my home, sups at my table, sleeps in my bed and then leaves me a marriage in shambles and a daughter lost.'

Though Ned wasn't callous, or perhaps naive, enough to blame it on the Dornish Prince alone. He had been confused when Sansa ran to his solar in tears, begging him to keep the Stranger from stealing Lyarra away. The Stark Lord had initially thought his daughter to be referring to Oberyn but as the story unfolded, his confusion turned to upset, than anger, than agony at the words spilled from his most innocent daughter's lips. Sansa wasn't one to lie, nor would any of his children malign their mother in such a way, so Ned was forced to accept the truth. When he did so, his reaction was not smothering fury, however quietly it stirred in his breast now, but a sudden loss of understanding, an uncertainty about the world that he hadn't since his father and Brandon died their brutal deaths.

'How could she?' He kept asking himself this, unable to find an acceptable answer. Catelyn was a pious woman. She believed in the Seven and their prayers; she had genuine faith that a plea made, at the altar of a southron deity by a true believer, would come true. This was not words thrown in a tempest or even a sudden act brought by heightened emotions… his beloved Cat had wanted Lyarra to die. 'She was a babe. An innocent. Even if you were unable to forgive my transgression, why take it out on the one person unable to fight back against you.'

Ned had taken the barest efforts to soothe his daughter's fears, still in a medley of shock, uncertainty and upset, before rushing to Catelyn to find the truth. Gods, had he hoped it wasn't true. Yet for all the denials falling from her lips, the pleas, the excuses, the flimsy explanations, her eyes had shuttered his own heart shut. It was truth. Sansa had not misspoken or misunderstood. Catelyn had… she had wanted to murder his own kin.

Ned's fury wasn't sudden. It wasn't the shocking thunder snow of Brandon, the summer storm of Lyanna or the encroaching ice of Benjen. His anger was a steady snowfall, foreseen and unremarkable, until one's entire keep was buried under several feet of snow. His anger smothered one's breath and stole the warmth from one's lungs, perhaps not as fiercely or suddenly as his siblings would, but with a surety that lasted for years.

Ned had banished Catelyn to her own rooms for the duration of the Viper's visit. The Quiet Wolf needn't his wife revealing any more culpable information to a man that was, by far, too provocative and observant for anyone's good. Then he had ordered the Sept torn down, not immediately, no, but as soon as the damned Dornishman left. The Sept had been a sign of his love for his wife, and perhaps a bit of guilt over the mummer's show of Lyarra's birth. That she had attempted to weaponize it against a Stark- any Stark, and especially a babe- was unacceptable. He had momentarily suspended his daughter's lessons with the Septa, silencing her protests with a swift look, and told his children to share the time they had left with their sister.

It was precious little, as it was. Despite Ned being as unhelpful as he could possibly be on the matter, Oberyn Martell had managed to get his cousin's clothing and personal effects packed with alacrity. He had rented a wheelhouse from the nearby town, after Ned refused to lend his own, and bought provisions from there as well. By raven, he had arranged an itinerary and schedule with the Dornish Captain that had brought him here and capped it all off by taking Lyarra to Wintertown to purchase Northern gifts for her Dornish cousins.

Everything thusly had been concluded within a sennight. The goodbyes proceeded as well as could be expected, with Sansa starting to cry before Lyarra had even extracted herself from Robb's arms. His eldest son had thankfully not taken to a temper over his sister leaving, preferring instead to glare balefully at an Oberyn Martell that was not helping by cheerfully waving at the boy. Bran, now dozing away in his nurse's arms, had sleepily accepted a goodbye kiss with minimal squirming. Arya had done the same, looking confused by the gesture, before Lyarra was raised into the carriage.

At that point, it seemed to have dawned on Arya Stark that her sister was leaving.

"No!" A heartbreaking screech was accompanied by the three-year-old child fitfully kicking at her nurse's body. "I wanna go with Lyaa! I wanna go with Lyaa!"

Ned hurriedly took his daughter before the startled servant could drop her. He winced as one of her flailing arms hit his face. "I WANNA GO WITH LYAA!"

"You can't!" Robb shouted back, red-faced. "Lyaa's leaving!"

"NO, LYAA, COME BACK!" Arya twisted around in his arms and Ned nearly dropped her. The wheelhouse door closed but his dark-haired eldest was sitting, wide-eyed, against the window. "I DON'T WAN' YOU TO GO!"

"COME BACK, LYAA! COME BACK!" Arya shouted out, tears and snot coming out as her voice broke. "DON'T LEAVE ME!"

"TAKE ME WITH YOU!"

x

Lord Alleric Dayne of Starfall looked around with approval at the ready-set table awaiting him. Freshly steamed fish with lemon juice, hot buttery loaves of bread, a stuffed peasant that had been shot by the hunting party earlier, apple tarts from Starfall's own orchard and a two-layer cream cake spread with persimmon jelly. Everything looked appetizing and elegant, a casual evening meal that any hostess would have been proud of.

"Well done, Sister," Alleric complimented, proud that the thirteen-year-old girl had come so far in her house management lessons. He received a shy smile in return. "I'll rue the day a suitor comes to steal your talents from my table."

He was amused to find this elicited a blush on her pale golden skin, though she couldn't yet muster the courage to inquire as to whom it may be. No doubt Allyria's mind had flitted to Beric Dondarrion, a Stormlord that had made the trip directly to Starfall in hopes of negotiating a match with the beautiful Dornish noblewoman. Lord Beric, handsome, honorable and genial, if a bit boisterous, had made quite the positive impression on his little sister. In truth, the man had impressed Alleric as well, and a betrothal might have been set if he hadn't received notification of the Martells actions today.

"Try the poppy seed one, Brother," Allyria nudged the platter towards him. "The sailors caught a lot of white tuna today and I know that's your favorite."

"It's not Lord Beric's favorite," Edric added, falsely innocent, "He's allergic to tuna, isn't he, Aunt?"

Allyria reddened and then promptly cuffed the back of her nephew's head. "Hush, you."

"Thank you, Ally. I believe I will." Alleric intervened before any bickering could break out. A few minutes were spent with the three Daynes in the table filling their plates. Occasionally a lavender-clad servant would step forward to add additional platters or refill empty goblets but for the most part, the dishes were close at-hand and easily accessible.

As Alleric took his first bite of the meal, savory lemon-tinged tuna on his tongue, he considered the implications of House Martell raising Visenya Targaryen as their own bastard cousin. The Dayne Lord hadn't yet determined whether the decision was purposeful- though Oberyn jumping to conclusions and outright assuming the child to be Aliandra Sand's wasn't all too farfetched- and that was unfortunate. He could make far more astute decisions on the course of his family's future had he known this most important detail.

Nonetheless the possibility that House Martell might make a bid to retake the throne, with Rhaegar's youngest as their spearpoint, precluded any match between Allyria and a Stormlord. Lord Beric Dondarrion was a good man but he was also a dutiful one and Alleric would not have his sister become a hostage to her own husband. She would have to make a match with a good, loyalist House or simply one in Dorne. If that also meant she would live closely to him and he needn't lose another sibling to war and strife, well, Alleric could accept that.

'That should teach Ned Stark not to leave his lies so open-ended too,' Alleric smirked. He accepted the necessity of implying Ashara's name to hide the princess' identity and thus, hadn't refuted the rumors. He wasn't even too upset over the matter. How could he be when his sister had given permission for the falsehood before her untimely death? Acceptance did not translate to pleasure though and Alleric took a perverse pleasure in Ned Stark having to deal with another pair of upset brotherly figures over his presumably dishonoring their sister.

'He's lucky that we're Dornishmen with common sense. Stark wouldn't have gotten nearly as far with Ashara as he did if she did not permit it, and I'll presume the same for Aliandra as well.'

Alleric had spent enough years fostering in the Water Gardens to know the baseborn Martell cousin. Ari would have cut the wolf's balls off had he tried anything untoward and unwanted. She'd been a lovely, strong-willed woman and another feather to Ned Stark's cap that was wholly undeserved.

"There's something that I would like to speak of today," Alleric began, once the dinner plates had been cleared and dessert brought over. "I've sent a request to Prince Doran and have received a reply. He has agreed that his brother, Oberyn, could take on another boy to squire. You'll start as a page first, of course, and will share lessons with Daemon Sand, Bastard of Godsgrace, but I think it's a good opportunity for you, Edric."

"Page?" His son's blue-violet eyes widened. "To Prince Oberyn?"

"Indeed. They do us a great honor." Alleric paused. "The Prince Oberyn is a skilled warrior and you would do well to listen to his words on battle and strategy and only on those subjects."

The blonde-haired boy appeared confused by this distinction but nodded regardless, trepidation and excitement warring in his eyes. "I will do our House proud, Father."

"I'm certain that you will," Alleric said warmly. He often regretted that he and his dearly departed wife had managed only one child but never more so, than when he saw how lonely young Edric was. "Allyria, you will be travelling to Sunspear as well, to be a lady-in-waiting for Princess Arianne."

"I will?" A minute frown crossed his sister's face as then she hesitantly looked towards the pleased child. "Brother…"

"I shall make as many trips as I reasonably can to visit you," Alleric stated calmly. He would prefer the discussion not turn to the grievous injury he had lately received in the Greyjoy Rebellion. The maester had done well to clean and bind it but it suffered him ill now and weakened him beyond his age's measure. Allyria fretted over it endlessly, while Edric remained ignorant of it. "However, it shall be for the betterment of our House if we were involved more at the royal court."

"Brother, Edric is your only son and Heir," Allyria interjected. "Would it not be wiser to have him squire to a knight of House Dayne, that you may continue his lessons from home?"

"As I said, our House cannot seclude itself from the rest of Dorne," he refuted. "I understand your concerns, Allyria, and have taken steps to amend it. While in Sunspear, Edric will continue undertaking lessons from tutors and may occasionally even benefit tuition from one of the finest minds in Dorne, our own ruling Prince. This is an inestimable opportunity for him."

And if it should give Alleric a chance to take measure of the Princess Visneya or foster a friendship between the two, all the better. Edric's lessons would be a cut more advanced than expected for the son to a minor, if wealthy, House and would be open to any friends that he should make there.

"As you say, Brother." Allyria nodded to him. She turned a small curve of her lips to her nephew. "You know, Edric, Prince Oberyn will have five daughters and a newly found niece staying with him. No better opportunity for you to find yourself a pretty girl and fulfill your duty by expanding the family, don't you think?"

Edric turned bright red. Alleric bowed his head to hide his smile at the two children that he had the occasionally dubious delight of raising. Allyria lifted up her wine glass and smirked. And life went on as it always had within the ancestral seat of House Dayne.

x

"Open your mouth now, that's a good girl," Oberyn coaxed, as he pushed a crystal decanter of mint green towards the dark-haired child. Lyarra obediently tilted her head backwards, a brief interlude of straight white teeth before she greedily drank down the elixir. A disgusted look crossed her face as the pleasantly-coloured drink defied expectations to taste akin to charbroiled pigskin bathed in vinegar.

"Tell me when your stomach settles, so that you may have a light supper," the Martell prince ordered, receiving a nod. He turned and washed out the empty vial before tucking it away in his alchemy set. He hadn't thought a need for it on this trip but was glad that Ellaria insisted he pack it. Lyarra, the poor child, had need to consume two soothing mixes for her seasickness already. "Do you have the sick bucket with you?"

"Yes, Nuncle." The child still blushed endearingly when she enunciated the word, with all the careful vowels of one determined to mimic his soft Dornish drawl. Oberyn thought to tell her that his accent was a medley of influences born of travel and that her attempts to learn it wouldn't blend her in with anyone but it was too adorable to stop. "Will we reach a port soon?"

"Not for another day and merely to restock on freshwater and foodstuffs. We'll stay in the cabin."

The dark-haired girl nodded again, though a brief flash of disappointment crossed her face. Oberyn had discovered, when they spent a day within White Harbor, being supped by House Manderly, that Lyarra hadn't travelled anywhere outside of her lonely corner of the world. This, he had decided, was a tragedy and informed her that he would arrange a trip to Essos after she settled in for a few moons at Sunspear. By habit, he tied it into a lesson for her, insisting that she should pick one of the Free Cities and learn the basic vocabulary of their eventual destination. As her eyes lit up at the prospect of it, the Viper considered that the bribe may have been unnecessary. Lyarra, like Sarella, had a truly wonderful thirst for learning within her.

'Thankfully the trout failed to shame that desire from her.' Oberyn would have indulged his cousin's curiosity with port cities along their path, had it not meant travelling to Gulltown, the Whispers, King's Landing or Stonehelm along the way. He had no desire to walk the Vale or the Stormlands with a child in tow. "What would you like for supper?"

"Sardines and crackers," the child responded promptly, making him smile. She had been red-eyed and quiet ever since their departure from Winterfell and to draw her out of her melancholy, Oberyn had started sharing tales of his own adventures. Lyarra had been fascinated by the sailors of the Summer Island and declared that she, too, would become a sailor. Her initial efforts were hampered somewhat by the revelation that Lyarra's stomach disagreed- fiercely- with moving water but she made an earnest effort to stay to the sailor's diet still. "Can I have watered down rum too?"

"No." Oberyn made to put the kit away but saw dark violet eyes avidly follow it. "Is your stomach still troubling you?"

Lyarra shook her head. "You can make medicines?"

"A few," the Viper allowed, deciding not to delve into his preference for poisons instead. "The one you tasted is a common remedy for seasickness that pairs well with anises and quinces to settle one's stomach. It was created by the Alchemist's Guild a good thirty or so years ago."

The dark-haired girl cocked her head to the side. "Aren't the maesters the ones to make medicine?"

"Yes but maesters are a recent inclusion to Westeros. They have only been here for four centuries." At her startled look, he smiled. "It's long for us, yes, but in the way of things, the world existed long before us and shall continue to exist long after. We survive as we will in the time we have and seek to make some small contribution of our own as proof that we were here to do so."

Lyarra took this in for a minute and then asked, "Can I make the medicine?"

"The seasickness remedy? Certainly. I have the agents here and when you have need of it next, you may help me make it."

For this, Oberyn was treated to a wide and sincere grin, rarely shown in the tucked away smiles and mirthful eyes that Lyarra Sand normally greeted the world by. "Thank you, Nuncle."

He waved it off. "It's a pleasure to have another Martell to meddle in alchemy with. It's a dying art."

At her inquisitive look, he expanded. "The maesters have taken on several of the fields that were primarily under the purview of the alchemists, particularly medicine and metallurgy, after the dynastic change. It's a shame, of course. While the maesters do good work, they're less willing to delve into the less applicable fields of the art or experiment for the sake of experimenting."

"Did my mother practice alchemy?" Lyarra inquired softly.

This had been another thing Oberyn had carefully encouraged. Lyarra had not been a child encouraged to ask many questions but neither had Ned Stark been one to deny her, except on the subject of Cousin Ari. The Martell prince had made it clear that he was willing, and indeed eager, to introduce her to this aspect of her heritage. Lyarra was to ask as many questions about her mother as she wished.

"She did not but she practiced a related art, cryptography," Oberyn answered. "She was particularly adept in the art of using numbers to form her own codes. You'd find the talent useful as an alchemist, as the field is determined to keep its secrets, particularly the more… interesting concoctions that they devise from common hands."

"Interesting?"

"Dangerous."

"Ah," Lyarra mused. "A lot of alchemists are cryp-to-graph-ers then?"

"All alchemists are cryptographers, though not every cryptographer is necessarily an alchemist."

"What my mother learned… can you teach me?"

"We can have our first lesson now," was Oberyn's reply, as he walked to another trunk in his cabin, rummaged within and then grandly unveiled the board. "Have you ever heard of the Philosopher's Game?"

At her refusal, he explained. It was a rare, advanced mathematical board game originating from Lys that set opponents onto a limited battlefield where pieces were captured by complex number theory. Often used as a teaching aid, it was similar if not exact to cyvasse and far less popular due to the intellectual rigour it demanded. Limited to four pieces- rounds, triangles, squares and pyramids- that were all inscribed with a set of numbers, it added to its natural difficulty by making pyramids a collection of pieces, instilling multiple methods of capturing another piece and devoting victory not to whomever caught the other pieces but could arrange an arithmetic progression of them. All of the Martells were taught it to some extent or another but only Doran and Aliandra had truly excelled.

It was also the ideal first step for a budding cryptographer. Or, he amended, thinking to the bright, unveiled interest in her eyes when she caught sight of the kit, for a budding explosions connoisseur.

"Here, both of shall have a parchment and ink to calculate our sums. This one needn't be filled entirely as we will be starting with the basics. We will each have eight rounds…"

x