Destiny of Man
Chapter 5: The Red Viper of Dorne
"If I received a copper for every Andal head I collect, I shouldn't have to keep raising taxes."
King Theon 'the Hungry Wolf' Stark during the Slaughter of Andalos
It was beyond a doubt that Oberyn was my favourite uncle.
That might seem harsh considering I loved Prince Doran Martell and got excited whenever he left Sunspear to visit the Water Gardens and check up on his little sister and brother's brood. There was just something about the older prince's experience, his calm nature, and the fact you could easily talk to him. Doran always offered sage counsel as reliable as he was methodical. A man so unlike the Red Viper who was all pleasure and intensity and was easily swept up in his passions. Doran Martell was his opposite. He was gentle grass hiding Oberyn's viper until the unsuspecting foot got too close.
Doran Martell was slow, deliberate, and soft-spoken. A man whose every action was the response to slow and meticulous deliberation. Enough for many people to look down upon him and think he was slow or craven or whatever else. Only a few knew of the strategist underneath. Even the readers of the books apparently. Uncle Doran hadn't yet gained the gout he'd be suffering from so he could walk without a wheelchair or even a cane. I couldn't help but wonder whether the illness was destined to appear at some point, however. The idea did worry me. I didn't like seeing anyone in pain, and least of all my own family.
Yet despite Doran being closer to me personality-wise – at least I liked to think that was the case – it was Oberyn Martell who practically raised me alongside Mother. Doran was the Prince Regnant of Dorne and Sunspear and his duties seldom left much time for being a father. Such duties explained his strained relations with Arianne, for instance, and it was a tragedy for that's what I knew he'd prefer being.
Without a father thanks to Rhaegar getting his chest smashed in, it was Oberyn who raised me as if I were his own son. It was Oberyn who pulled me out of my shell and the slump that was my youth. That was when I seldom talked and would rather isolate myself from everyone else due to a range of factors but most predominately the social anxiety infecting me from my past life. The Red Viper was the one who gave me confidence and gifted me a spine, as well as training to fight with sword and spear and throwing knife. He told me stories of his travels following the Martell tradition of sailing up the Rhoyne to our ancestral lands where Nymeria once ruled as Princess of Ny Sar, as well as his visits to the Free Cities. He was a talented storyteller and would make even the mildest things sound like grand adventures. I'd be wrong to say they didn't fuel my desire to visit Essos despite it being full of slavery and other such horrors. A part of me wondered that if I took the journey and sailed up the Rhoyne whether I'd run into a blue-haired boy in a little poleboat.
That'd be an interesting story, I mused as Rhae dragged me out of the courtyard and into the lusciously decorated halls.
In no way was this a castle. The Water Gardens weren't designed to be defensible and, other than a small wall topped with iron spikes to keep out the occasional thieves eager for a rich-tasting orange, it was practically open. It was a palace designed for comfort so nobles across Dorne but most of all its royalty could retire when Sunspear grew too hot. It was also where I'd spent my entire life in this world and knew every part like the back of my hand from exploring every nook and cranny. The interiors were beautiful. The corridors were wide and open with high vaulted ceilings and walls adorned with mosaic floral imagery, interlacing patterns of scrolling and interlacing tendrils, palmettes, seashells and geometric shapes.
Imagery of water was the most common as it turned out. Water held massive cultural significance in Dorne, just like it had been in my former world. Throughout history both here and there the most powerful dynasties used hydropolitics to influence and control lesser houses without a reliable source of water. Paintings of rivers filled many a wall with crocodiles barely visible under lily-filled currents, brightly painted boats sailing the Greenblood, imagery of the Seven but seldom presented like the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and were strongly influenced by the gods and goddesses of the Rhoynar who settled here.
There had been a religious syncretism between the followers of the Rhoynish Parthenon and those of the Faith of the Seven and it showed with how they were portrayed. We passed mosaics of the Mother Above as the Mother Rhoyne standing on the back of a large turtle, pouring crystal-clear waters out of an ewer as her people cried out in joy for the source of life. There were turtles and fish, crabs and water snakes in abundance, men and women and children catching them with short spears as they stood in the shallows, princes armoured in scales of polished silver atop the backs of the Old Men of the River. There was no imagery of battle to be seen. The Water Gardens were designed to relax the body and clear the soul. There was no place for conflict here.
Water wasn't only represented on the walls but flowed through channels in the marble floor feeding pools and fountains. They were covered with lilies, rich-smelling flowers and brightly spotted scaled koi. The high ceilings were held aloft with slender pillars wrapped with vines and there were soft furnishings aplenty like wide silken couches, plush Myrish carpets that felt like you were walking atop the clouds, carved wooden screens from the Summer Isles, tapestries from Lys, Norvos and Qohor. The pink and white marble kept the halls at a steady cool temperature which was refreshing after playing in the sun, though I doubted the servants would be happy I was dripping water inside.
It was much cooler inside than out which caused me to shiver slightly. My body was still wet despite brushing myself off with my tunic and then foolishly putting it on thanks to not having towels on hand. Though I could approach the Red Viper shirtless and mostly red – and my uncle would only laugh – it would be improper. As a prince, there were certain standards one needed to uphold.
"You could have told me sooner, sister!" I whined in a purposefully childish voice. "That way I wouldn't be dripping water down these here halls!"
Rhaenys rolled her eyes at me. "I'm as much surprised as you are, brother. I didn't know he'd be back so soon, and Mother told me to get you. It's your fault you were splashing water. If you were in the library you wouldn't be having these problems now would you?"
I huffed and followed her deeper into the palace. "Do you know where our uncle was last?"
She shrugged. "He's been travelling the Free Cities speaking to archons and merchant princes."
"I know that. I just don't remember which one."
"He was last at Braavos after visiting Myr. To get a more favourable trade deal with the latter and to speak on behalf of lowering interest rates with the Iron Bank. Not to mention speaking with the current Sealord." My sweet sister shook her head disapprovingly. "The thing about republics is that they change hands repeatedly. It's like the elected office is a hot coal being juggled from one faction to another. We have to speak with the new rulers else they might get different ideas from their predecessors and warn them it's in their best interests to continue the current arrangement."
The disadvantage with democratic systems, I knew all too well. At least on paper, the new government would have different ideas from the previous administration and try to change things only for them to be removed from office and the newer government decide they can do better, so they switch things around again. All that resulted in was short-termism because they knew at some point they'd be kicked out of office which only leaves to more bribery and corruption in the meantime. The very reason I'd been disillusioned with the idea of democracy before dying and being reborn into Westeros. I'd been a monarchist then and I was an even stronger proponent now that I'd a princely title and a claim to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Didn't mean I was completely against it though. It could still work well for smaller regions, but seldom could democracy function well when it came to sprawling countries. Too many people with different views would only lead to conflict. Especially if said groups never came about democracy organically and hated other groups with quite the passion.
"Is that so?" I asked, grinning. "Who'd ever have guessed?"
Rhaenys gave me a pointed look but continued leading the way. "You should get cleaned up. You're dripping wet and ruining the carpet!"
"And make our uncle wait?"
"I'm sure he can tolerate waiting just a little longer for you to grace him with your presence, sweet brother. I doubt he'll even notice with our cousins accosting him."
She was probably right about that. Elia, Obella and Dorea had run off as soon as Rhaenys informed us Oberyn had returned, and no doubt the other Sand Snakes would be there as well. They'd be trying desperately to get their father's attention and such antics would involve much shouting and pushing. At least that'd be the case if Ellaria wasn't there.
I grinned at the thought.
"You might be right. I'll change but don't wait on me. I think I'll make a proper entrance that will surely impress."
Once more I received a pointed look. "So long as you don't humiliate yourself and me by extension. Go ahead. Mother will no doubt prefer you in proper clothes and not solely breeches."
Grinning, I blew her a kiss and ran to my chambers which were overlooking a particularly beautiful section of the Water Gardens. I quickly stripped myself of my simple linen garbs that were more fitting of a commoner than an exiled prince living in luxury, dried myself with a towel that was as fluffy as they came, and put on fresh clothes worthy of my station. In Dorne, clothes were loose and airy and layered with multiple materials. Rather than wearing Targaryen colours as might be expected of me, I decided to dress in a handsome tunic of ivory linen and an open robe of orange satin emblazoned with the Martell sigil of a golden spear piercing a red sun, a belt holding everything in place and lined with copper studs, as well as the jewelled knife Oberyn gifted me when I was seven and set to begin weapon's training.
I grinned at myself in the silver mirror and, once I stepped into the hallway, I ground to a halt upon realising I hadn't asked Rhaenys where our uncle was. I slapped myself on the forehead for my foolishness and, after some searching, I managed to find a servant who pointed me in the right direction.
Inside the solar I found everyone crowding around Prince Oberyn and wrestling for his attention. I smiled at the scene and felt relieved no one cared to notice me. I glanced to the corner at three women who were watching the scene with smiles on their faces and picking olives from a single bowl.
"Egg!" called Uncle Oberyn upon noticing me. "Where have you been to finally grace us with your presence?"
"I needed to change, uncle. It'd be improper to present myself to my prince looking like a wet rat."
My uncle smiled broadly; his trademark mischievous grin etched across his face.
He was a tall man, was the Red Viper of Dorne. His hair was long and thick with a few silver strands, a prominent widow's peak rife among House Martell, and the dark-olive skin of a salty Dornishman. He was slender and graceful, broad at the shoulders and narrow at the waist. His lean face was lined, with thin eyebrows, a sharp nose, and eyes that seldom missed anything. They certainly didn't miss me.
Oberyn laughed shallowly and rustled Els' matted wet hair affectionately. She positively beamed at the attention. "Looks like the family's all here—"
Well, other than Doran, Arianne and Quentyn that is.
"—I have some gifts I'd like to present you all. Not much. Just a little something I brought from my travels around the Free Cities."
There were audible gasps from his daughters. I couldn't help but smile but that was directed at my cousins and their bright faces. I personally couldn't care less if Uncle Oberyn gifted me anything from his travels. I turned towards Mother who was whispering something to Ashara and making the younger woman giggle, whilst Ellaria Sand was watching her daughters with the eyes of a watchful mother hen.
Uncle Oberyn clapped his hands together then tore off the blanket covering the chest he'd been standing in front of. Even the chest would've been a fine gift. It was a large cedar chest bound in polished bronze, freshly oiled, and smelled fresh. He threw open the lid with a loud bang as if it weighed nothing.
To his favourite sister, Prince Oberyn presented several small vessels of purple glass containing perfumes of jasmine, lavender, and vanilla. To his dearest paramour he gifted a Myrish nightdress of ivory and samite I'm certain left little to the imagination. The bastard daughter of Harmen Uller thanked him and, when he whispered into her ear, her cheeks darkened and Ellaria gave him a playful slap, laughing all the while. It didn't seem a dress was the only thing he was offering her.
Seven-year-old Prince Trystane was presented with a cyvesse board with pieces of onyx and ivory. The boy looked confused at the gift – no doubt conflicting it with chess – but politely bowed his head and thanked his uncle with all the formality a boy his age could muster. Unlike Uncle Doran, Oberyn wasn't a formal prince and instead tousled his nephew's hair and promised to show Trystane how to play the most popular board game in Volantis.
Then he moved to his daughters where he presented Obara with a Dothraki riding whip with a shining bronze handle and copper spurs shaped like the sun of House Martell. Lady Nym received a scandalous translucent black dress which was the latest fashion among the autocracy of Volantis. Tyene too got a dress, though hers was blue and from Lys, and I noticed it hiding a small vial he didn't mention but gave his golden-haired daughter a wink. A secret between him and her no doubt. Sarella was gifted a small stack of books that looked to be half crumbling and a quiver made of fine leather. Els was presented with a saddle and a promise to get the girl her first pony. Obella and Dorea were granted smaller gifts on account of their age such as sugary treats and slippers, while little one-year-old Loreza Sand seated in her mother's lap received a kiss on the forehead and this world's equivalent of a plushie. She giggled but didn't care for the stuffed snake for she threw it to the ground and instead demanded more kisses.
Then Uncle Oberyn turned to me and Rhae.
His smile was infectious, and he grinned wide with teeth that surprisingly hadn't been punched out at some point – which was impressive considering his long and extensive history of picking fights with random strangers. If anything, that just showed his skill. "And lastly my niece and nephew. The princess and king of not only Dorne but the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Saved from the Mad King and Tywin's dogs frothing at the mouth by a wizard who looks like a thug." He fished something out of the crate and handed a small package to Rhaenys. "For you, sweet niece. Just a little something I found when scouting the maze of bazaars of Myr."
"Jewellery," she informed everyone after unwrapping the thin parchment packaging. It was a silver necklace with a slender chain that looked like it would break with the slightest touch and hanging from it was a small amethyst glowing brightly in the golden candlelight. Rhaenys smiled shyly and curtsied as a well-bred princess should. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart, nuncle. You didn't need to get me anything. I'm just happy you have returned safe and sound. I promise to wear this during your welcoming feast."
"And not now? You pain me, sweet niece. I bought it for you to wear. The least you can do is try it on and make sure it fits."
After Mother gave an encouraging nod, Rhaenys did so with delicate motions, and it was a perfect fit around her slender neck. The gem did in fact match the colour of her eyes and to say it was beautiful was an understatement. Yet that failed to shine against her smile that lit up the room.
"You look beautiful, sweet sister," I told her, feeling a stupid smile tug at my face despite myself. Then more softly added, "And I sincerely mean it this time."
Rhaenys gave me a pointed look that told me she would have wracked my shoulder if Mother wasn't watching. Seldom did we get physical whenever Mother could see us. Because . . .
One: because we both loved her and refused to upset her.
Two: despite Elia Martell being regarded as the flower of Dorne and delicate for more reasons than one, it would be unwise to get on her bad side. Both me and Rhae had the misfortune to learn that the hard way when we were young. Princess Elia was still Oberyn's sister after all, and the sun was dangerous when roused.
Three: did I mention she could be surprisingly scary?
"Your brother's right," Princess Elia declared, approaching Rhaenys for a closer look. She smiled and cupped her daughter's full cheeks. Rhae leaned into her mother's palms. "I know it's only a necklace, but it makes you look older already. Jewels are not for little girls and . . . I'm afraid to say you'll no longer be my little girl anymore. You're growing up and too fast."
"But I'm still your daughter. Nothing in the world will change that fact."
And I'll always be your son, was my thought, and noticed Uncle Oberyn was watching the scene with a little smile of his own.
The Red Viper gave me a wink and brought something else from the chest which was wrapped snuggly in a thin leather blanket. "And last of all. A gift for my nephew and future king. A gift I hope will gain me your favour for the foreseeable future. I hope this will serve you well in the future, Egg. Be delicate. It is sharp."
"Nearly as sharp as my wit?"
"Not so much."
"Oh," I said a little disappointed but what he showed did spark my interest and I gently took it from him. It wasn't long and, being tightly wrapped, the shape lent it to be a knife.
Everyone's eyes were fixed upon me as I slowly unwrapped the present. Very much did it remind me of a birthday morning when you opened gifts before the family, and I hated it just as much. I would have preferred them to focus their attention on their own, but Oberyn made a show of it and now their interests were raised.
Removing the leather wrapping, I looked down at the knife in my hand and what I held was impressive. It was no blade for regular men. The handle appeared to be bone, but not any bone I was familiar with. It was black. And what kind of bone was black due to its high iron content? Yep, it's dragonbone. Knowing the value of such a weapon, the smith clearly put much effort into every part of it. It hadn't been smoothed out and was still raw, but I noticed patterns finely etched into the rough material of the pommel with a masterfully delicate hand. Wrapped snuggly around the grip was supple leather soft to the touch. It even smelled fresh.
"You can stop gazing at it and look at the blade y'know," Els told me with all the patience expected of her.
That was when I remembered I wasn't the only one here and unsheathed the leather and wooden scabbard inset with bronze scrollwork.
I could only stare.
It was a slender thing with a sharp point designed to find gaps in armour. The most noticeable feature was the material. No. It can't be. Unless it was just a pattern designed to emulate the actual thing, it had to be Valyrian steel. "True steel," Obara whispered with a hushed voice. I stared deep at the rippling deep within the blade where the metal had been folded back on itself a hundred times in the forging. Some whorls didn't look forged but had to be something created by nature. I'd seen Damascus patterned blades before but never this close and they didn't look anywhere near as elegant or subtle as what I held in my hand. This must be hundreds of years old at the least. It had been more than four hundred years ago when the Doom destroyed Old Valyria and the secrets of forging Valyrian steel were lost to all but a select few who could reforge but not create it.
Looking up at my uncle's smug face, I discovered my mouth was ajar. I didn't care though. Everyone was looking at the gift. Some with pure jealousy but all in awe. "I-I . . . Is this mine, nuncle?"
"No, nephew. I brought this for myself but decided to play a cruel jest." His grin only grew. "What do you think? It's yours. Custom made. With Blackfyre lost to the hands of pretenders, a future king needs a proper weapon. Might be smaller than a sword but it's said length doesn't matter if you know how to use it."
I licked my lips which had suddenly gone dry. My entire mouth was parched, and it felt like my tongue had suddenly sprouted hairs. Not to mention my throat which contracted, scratching, and gnawing like I suddenly swallowed a ton of sand. I coughed for I couldn't think of any words to handle my shock. A Valyrian steel blade? It wasn't a sword, but it was something. I brushed the blade – not the edge – and felt my lips tug upwards into a wide grin.
"Do you like it? I can't tell if your silence is awe or whether you're afraid to say you don't," Prince Oberyn smiled, clearly knowing what the answer was. "If you don't, I'd rather you not say. You'll truly hurt your poor nuncle's feelings."
"I . . . I'm sorry, uncle. I cannot accept this. This gift. It is too . . ."
"Too what? Do you think yourself unworthy of it, Aegon? That it's not your place to hold Valyrian steel in your hands?" He paced forward and took my hands in his. His palms were rough and calloused but gentle. The hands of the man who trained me with my first weapon. The hands of a man who carried me when I was too tired to walk when I was a toddler. The hands of a man who raised me as a father. "You are the rightful king, Aegon. My own flesh and blood. You deserve this."
"But it's too much. How much did this even cost?"
Oberyn responded by rolling his eyes. He seldom cared for money. Like many Westerosi noblemen, he saw money merely as something to spend, not invested into something else. "Don't you know it's improper to ask such a thing? What it costs is not something you need to know. But seeing as you do enjoy counting coppers, I will say many in the Free Cities are very generous and eager to make friends with a prince of Dorne. A dagger made from Valyrian steel is much cheaper and easier to find than a proper sword. Tis a shame you can't reforge them into swords otherwise we might have replacements for Blackfyre and Dark Sister."
Licking my lips to wet them, I replied, "Th-thank you, u-uncle." My shock slowly left me, and my flabbergasted expression soon turned to a bright smile that confirmed his decision. "It's a marvellous gift." Quickly dipping my head, I added, "I'm in your debt." For this and so much more.
If I said that to anyone else I knew I'd have to repay said debt but, instead, Oberyn laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. The kind of squeeze a father reserved for his son. I guess in a way I was his son.
"I knew you'd like it. It does need a name though. Valyrian steel swords all have names. Dark Sister. Blackfyre. Ice. It might not be a sword, but I believe it should have a name to stand out against the countless knives out there without identities of their own."
Now, this opens infinite possibilities, I mused, trying to hold back a grin. It wasn't something you could just come up with in the moment. Naming your weapon was something you had to think long and hard about. Oh, what about something edgy and as sharp as this blade? There were a few that popped into my mind. Something like Slayer, Reaper, or Hopelessness. Oh, Despair. All of which was what I would have chosen if I was seven, and I'd been a very edgy seven-year-old back in the day. Instead, I went for something a bit more sensible and wouldn't have everyone rolling their eyes. The name came at once and left my mouth without thinking. "Needle!" I shouted with childish delight.
"Needle?" Obara laughed.
"Needles are quite deadly," Tyene smiled with that sly smile of hers.
"You can prick people full of holes!" added Elia Sand, who had pushed forward for a closer look.
"It certainly looks like one," agreed Lady Nym.
"But boys don't sew!" declared Obella with a pout that made me want to pinch her cheeks.
"Wise ones do," Mother refuted, grinning. "Egg is right. It's a marvellous gift."
"I'm glad you like it," was my uncle's beaming response. "Nothing's too much for my family."
"We're just glad you're back," Lady Nym smiled. At nineteen, Nymeria Sand stood nearly as tall as her father and was as slim and slender as a willow. She carried a grace that made her look like she flowed rather than walked. Her eyes were dark – almost purple – made to look even larger with expertly applied makeup. Her cheekbones were high and aristocratic, and her hair had been pulled back from a widow's peak into a long braid. She was dressed splendidly in a shimmering lilac dress with a silken cape of cream and held in place a pin depicting the Martell sun and spear. "Did you meet my mother by any chance?"
"Where else did you think I got your dress? It was fortunate and thanks to the Seven she allowed me once more into the Black Walls to visit her. Granted, I'll confess she's still cool towards me since the last time we met."
"She didn't approve of you stealing her daughter?" Princess Elia asked wryly with a raised eyebrow.
"I didn't steal her," Oberyn rolled his eyes which made him look younger than he was. "Allyria Vaelaros and I came to an agreement on what we thought was best for Nym. I'll confess she got the short end of the stick. Her ladyship wasn't happy to see me, and her husband's family even less so, but she does care for you, Nym. She even asked for you to come visit her at some point. I wish I brought you along with me."
"I was at Skyreach visiting my two dearest friends. But should you ever return to Volantis I just might," the bastard Sand said with a look of deliberation. "I wouldn't mind visiting the first daughter of Valyria, but would I be permitted inside the Black Walls?"
"I managed to. I can only imagine a daughter of one of its most prominent houses will have an easier time. Your mother does want to see you but it's your choice."
Nym had a few times spoken of her youth inside the Black Walls. All Sand Snakes had spent their childhoods with their mothers, and some were treated better than others. Nymeria had the easiest time. While she was a bastard, she was a noblewoman's bastard and was given all the education and poise to become a skilled negotiator and thrived in that element. Obara Sand, by contrast, was raised in a brothel. While she hadn't been whored out like the other girls, she still cleaned up the messes created by the patrons, and I doubted she got off scot-free from being around rowdy and lust-filled men. Obara wasn't a maiden by the time she left Oldtown from what I picked up and she refused to mention her previous life.
I turned my attention to the woman who was watching furthest away. Obara was very unlike her sisters who all looked, well, feminine. She was the oldest of the Sand Snakes and conceived when Oberyn was only twelve. A big-boned woman with long legs, close-set eyes, and hair that was the lustreless rat-brown of her mother and currently tied into a practical knot. Then there were her broad shoulders and calloused fingers she gained from a stubborn dedication to martial pursuits with spear and whip. Her clothes were those of a man – a warrior – and not ladylike in the least. Instead of a gown, Obara was wearing men's breeches, a calf-length linen tunic under a boiled leather breastplate scratched up and dented, and a belt of copper suns. She was also the Sand Snake I got along with the least and who treated me as little more than a gnat that existed solely to pester her.
"It does look beautiful," my sister told me. She was staring at the knife held delicately in my hands. "Needle's a silly name though. Don't you think?"
I laughed.
"That was the first name that came to me. I do think it works though. Needles prick clothes full of holes. I think this might do the same." If you replace clothes with men. It was a thrusting blade so at least that fit. It would've been silly to give it such a name if it was curved. "It . . . it does feel a little much when compared to your gift though, sis." What was the opposite of envy? I knew since I was the Martell claimant for the Iron Throne that it'd mean they'd devote me more resources than anyone else. It was unfair though. Rhae only got a necklace. A pretty necklace, sure, but just a necklace. She deserved her own galley at least. "Do you want to hold it?" Rhaenys nodded eagerly. "Be careful though. The edge is sharp. Don't want you cutting yourself."
Carefully, Rhae took Needle from me, grasping the finely shaped handle and her lips curled into a sweet smile. "I can understand why people like dragonbone. It feels light and good in the hand." There were so many jokes I could make with that, but I doubted Rhaenys would respond to my sally for she was too absorbed in inspecting every inch of the blade from the handle to the ripples in the steel. "I'm now beginning to understand why every lord and knight in the Seven Kingdoms wants a Valyrian blade to call their own. They're beautiful. I hope you're happy with it. It's worthy of you."
"I believe it's worthy of me as well," I grinned as my sister rolled her eyes. "Yours is beautiful too. It looks good on you. It matches your eyes."
Rhaenys blushed. "I'm glad you think so. It's only a simple thing though."
That may be, but I was just glad Uncle Oberyn was back. I truly believed that was what concerned everyone in the room the most.
In all honesty, I kind of expected to be presented with two or possibly three dragon eggs. That was usually how fanfictions went in emulating the scene from Daenerys' wedding. The white egg with whorls of gold that'll be Viserion, Rhaegal's green egg with its burnished bronze flakes, and then there was the big man that was red and black Drogon. Rhae and I would try to hatch them with or without Daenerys. Depending on what happened, it might cause a second Dance of the Dragons. I had no desire for that though. I had no desire to fight Daenerys Targaryen. She was family, and an adorable girl besides if she was anything like the books I remembered.
But if she does try to fight me for the Iron Throne, I won't surrender it. She should know I have the better claim and no intention of laying down.
There was nothing else I could do.
I'd need to fight in the future. My parentage didn't allow any other option. As soon as I became known to the world, the other claimants' main objective would not only be to remove me and Rhaenys from the board but also destroy the rest of House Martell for daring to shelter us. But would Dany be such a person? She always wanted a family more than anything else, and a red door with a lemon tree growing outside her window.
"Aegon," came Oberyn's voice, sharper than before.
"Huh?" I asked, snapping out of my thoughts. "Did you say my name?" Everyone was staring at me with amused smiles. I felt my cheeks blush, and I ran a hand through my hair to brush a stubborn strand behind my ear. "W-what did you say? Do you have need of me?"
"I just wanted to tell you and Rhaenys something. I hope this time I have your undivided attention."
"You have it now," I declared to a few chuckles. "Pray forgive me, uncle."
"There is no need to ask for forgiveness, nephew." There was a slight smile on Oberyn's chipped lips. "I have promised myself that I'd give you and Rhae another gift. One I'm sure you'll love even more than the one you've just received."
"Oh, and what may that be?" Elia asked with a raised, perfectly trimmed eyebrow.
"I mean to give you both horses. True Dornish Sandsteeds worthy of royalty."
"A horse?" I asked. I'd never ridden anything before. Boys younger than me were instructed to ride as part of their teachings on becoming squires. But I'd never been able to. The Water Gardens had stables but nowhere to ride them. Nor did I have any experience in riding anything other than other boys or Oberyn when I was younger. During those sessions, I'd spread my arms and pretend I was a dragon – or more accurately acting my physical age instead of a queerly precocious child who might raise more than a little suspicion. Then I made a sour face at him. "What use is a horse if there's nowhere to ride them?"
"Is there so little space?" Oberyn's dark eyes shone with humour. "You could always ride circles in the courtyard, or you can ride as fast as the wind and feel true freedom where there are no walls. I'll show them to you tomorrow when I take you for your first ride."
"Are you taking us outside?" Rhae asked, the polite courtesies leaving her voice for the eager sound of a fourteen-year-old. Not even Mother's forewarning could hide her excitement. "Is this a jest?"
"Is it truly?" Elia Martell asked, approaching to stand behind me and Rhae, and placing protective hands upon our shoulders. "We agreed Egg will be your squire and Rhaenys will go to Sunspear. But isn't this too soon? Don't you know how unsafe it is for two Targaryens?"
"I wouldn't be so cruel as to jest about this matter, sweet niece," Oberyn said before turning to Elia. "I understand your concern. It's a risk as is everything in this world of ours. You won't be around to protect them forever, nor can they be forced to remain here all their lives. Better to get out all the excitement that's no doubt been bottling up inside."
"I can't protect them forever," Mother agreed. "But need I remind you that while Robert's eyes might be looking across the Narrow Sea, should enough rumours reach him they'll turn south to us. He and the Spider have spies everywhere. We need to be cautious and going out galivanting on new horses won't do anything to help."
"I mean to teach them to ride not galivant. Tis a risk, I'll grant you, but so is them playing in the Water Gardens. They might slip and fall or run headfirst into a tree. Aegon already has. A couple of times. They might eat a berry they thought looked delicious but is poisonous."
"As you have done for all of those things? Don't you compare your childhood to my children's. You were never hunted for who your father was."
"I don't intend to. They need to learn to ride if they're travelling anywhere. That's unless you mean to have Aegon riding in the back of a palanquin whilst serving as my squire. Rhaenys might be excused but I can't imagine she won't be roped in with her cousins, and it'll be better if she knows how not to fall. Especially considering how much Arianne loves riding. I know you love them, but you cannot be a mother hen forever."
Elia Martell stared at her younger brother, arms folded and lips forming a thin pale line. Going through her beautifully dark eyes was her going through all possible scenarios and there were clearly a few. "I suppose it'll be acceptable so long as you keep a close eye on them."
"Me and my daughters. Can you watch your cousins?" he asked, and the Sand Snakes' eyes lit up.
"I wouldn't mind teaching my Rhaenys the joys of the Dornish dunes. I'd love to show you the snapping vipers living in the ruins and shelter in the shade. I'll teach you how best to milk their venom just as Father showed me," Tyene said with silky softness and innocence like she was talking about pretty dresses with her girlfriends.
Where the rest of the Sand Snakes looked like their father, Tyene could be mistaken to have little relation to him. She was fair with even fairer skin than me. Her hair was spun gold and had a slight curl, while her eyes were like a pair of deep blue pools. Adorable dimples bloomed in her cheeks, and she had a sweet gentle voice that was just as good at defusing arguments as it was singing songs of the Seven. Despite looking outright angelic, she was maybe the most dangerous Sand Snake thanks to her extensive knowledge of poisons. Thankfully, I didn't have cause to worry. She saw me as little more than her loveable little cousin. All I had to worry about when I was little was her suffocating me with cuddles.
"Nor would I mind showing you both the ruins themselves," Sarella added, still delicately cradling her books. "There are many ruins in the sands. Sometimes when the winds blow they unbury trinkets half buried. You don't know what you might find."
"But you won't be doing only that," the Red Viper turned to us. "Before you head off on your separate ways I mean to not only teach you to ride but use lance and bow and javelin from horseback. Like proper Dornishmen."
I turned to Rhaenys, and when our eyes met, we both smiled.