Doran watched the children play in the Water Gardens. He could hear their joyful laughter, and he closed his eyes as he listened to the sound. So light, so happy, so innocent. Doran found himself longing for the days when he was there.

But alas, he could not spend his days in dreams and wants. He forced himself to open his eyes and ignore the sounds as he focused on the parchment in front of him while he waited for Oberyn to obey his summons for an audience.

It was Eddard Stark agreeing to his terms. Doran did not know what he had been hoping for, what he wanted, but the letter from Lord Stark simply filled him with dread. All it did was confirm what Doran knew, that he would have to bow to some boy-king in a few months' time, a boy that should have been Aegon.

"So am I going North?" Oberyn asked, entering Doran's study without bothering to knock and breaking him from his thoughts. Doran sighed and nodded, waving his hand towards the seat in front of his desk without bothering to look up. He heard the familiar sound of clinking, and assumed that his brother was pouring himself a glass of wine before he sat down.

"Yes," Doran said, his voice stronger than he felt. "You are going North to add the Targaryen cause."

Doran looked up to see Oberyn shrug and take a drink from his glass as he lounged on the chair. "I assumed so," he said casually. "Ned Stark is a good man, from the little I know, and he would not simply let the King walk over him to reach his nephew, our king." He raised his glass and gave a mocking smile. "Rhaegar's son is the king. Pity it had to be Lyanna Stark's brat, and not Aegon."

"Be that as it may," Doran said, warning creeping into his voice. "I would rather Ned Stark rule through a four year old, than Tywin Lannister through a murderous drunk."

"Oh, brother, you misunderstand me," Oberyn said, wide-eyed and wounded, though Doran knew that it was all fake. "I do not agree than King Jon Targaryen, First of His Name, is not the better king, but I must ask why we care?"

"I do not want to be stuck with a line of Baratheon's," Doran said evenly.

"No," Oberyn said, leaning close to his brother and dropping his voice down to conspiratorial whisper despite the fact that no one was around to hear, "I mean, why do we even bother with the Seven Kingdoms at large? Why don't we declare our own independence? It's not like Arianne would be Queen as you wished, nor is this a little Queen that you could marry Quentyn to. And Baratheon and Stark will be too involved in their own war, in their own costs, that they might simply let us go on our merry way. Why not?"

Doran looked at his brother. Oberyn was nearly thirty, had five daughters and another child on the way, but half the time, he reminded Doran of that wild youth who didn't believe the world was big enough to contain him. Sometimes, Doran wondered if that boy was right.

Oberyn had made good points, points that Doran himself had considered. But he did not want to break away with the Seven Kingdoms. Eventually, Dorne would have need for them, and while the Seven Kingdoms might be content to simply let them walk away now, one day, a Baratheon or a Targaryen might want them back, and Doran didn't know if Dorne could stand as strong. It was better, Doran thought, to align themselves with the Starks, make themselves indispensable, and set up the pieces so Arianne could make the moves.

"For many reasons, dear brother," was all that Doran said to his brother though. "Ones that I feel you might find ways to counter argue, and use to try to lead us down a dangerous path."

Oberyn smiled darkly. "The gods are very kind to Dorne. They made you the first, and I the last."

Doran looked at his brother, his eyes heavy and sad. "They were not so kind. If they were, they would have made Elia the first."

Oberyn looked at him in surprise for a moment, before his eyes softened. "Fair point, dear brother. Fair point."

Doran felt the pressing weight of his grief over Elia, over the lost chances, over the Queen that should have been and the children who should have ruled. He knew that Oberyn felt the same, but Doran also knew that there was no use in dwelling in it. Not when he had a chance to make things right.

"Dorne is not weak, brother," Doran said, breaking the silence. "And we live almost alone with the Iron Throne. But without it, we are alone. Without it, if any help is needed, it will not be given. I know you, as well as many other Dornish people, do not see it. But I do, and so I am not willing to go down into history as the Prince who left."

Oberyn looked at him carefully with heavy lids for a few minutes before nodding curtly. "I understand, dear brother. So to the North I go?"

"To the North you go."

To the North his brother would head to help put Jon Targaryen on the throne. In his heart, Doran knew this was the right thing. So many in Dorne blamed Lyanna Stark for the Rebellion. Doran would not claim to know what had been going on in that maiden's head, nor his good-brother's, but he knew that no matter what had happened years ago had to be placed behind what was happening now.

"What do you think will happen when we have King Jon?" Oberyn asked quietly. "Do you think Elia will be remembered?"

Doran nodded. "Ned Stark agreed to all my terms. Justice will be gotten for our sister and her children."

Oberyn shook his head. "That's not what I meant. Do you think in a hundred, two hundred, three hundred years from now, Elia's name will be remembered as something other than a small note for those studying the period?"

The weight in Doran's heart seemed to crush him. "I do not know. Do you think any of us will be?"

Oberyn shrugged. "Probably, if only for this war. But it is not in her name we fight, but only the child's. We will not be getting justice for Elia, but protecting Jon Targaryen."

"Does it truly matter why? Do you think people will honestly have known her name either way?" Doran asked with honest curiosity. He had never known that Oberyn was thinking of such things.

Oberyn looked down at his glass. "Wishful thinking perhaps, but I had wanted Elia's name to be known. She would have been such a great queen, one of the best Westeros would have ever seen. The fact that she will be nothing more than a few lines in a dusty old book. . . . She should have had them written about her."

"Then we will make sure she is known," Doran said fiercely, feeling old passions coming back that he thought had been long forgotten. "But she will not be known through war and vengeance, but through peace and kindness. We will set up orphanages and charities in her name; we will make her name synonymous with hope and love. She will be remembered as the inspiration of thousands and a reminder of what she could have accomplished if things had gone differently. I will not allow our sister to be forgotten."

Oberyn smiled warmly at his brother, but before he could say a word they were interrupted.

"Papa?" he heard from the door. He and Oberyn both turned their gaze into the direction of the voice. It was Arianne, her hair a wet mess from what had surely been Obara dunking her head into the baths. At nine years old, she was the age when she was old enough to start truly learning about what would be needed for her as heir, though in truth Doran had been teaching her what it would be important to know as queen, but she was still young enough to enjoy childhood games.

"Yes, darling?" he said. "What do you need?"

"I heard someone talking about a boy in the North. They say he's the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, but he's not the son of Aunt Elia."

Doran looked at Oberyn. Oberyn shrugged. "I'm going to have to explain to five little girls. You can handle one."

Doran sighed. "That's the truth, Arianne. Jon Targaryen is the son of Rhaegar as well as the son of Lyanna Stark, not your Aunt Elia."

Arianne looked at him, her brown eyes filled with an undefinable emotion. Doran felt a pang when he realized he could not say in the least how his daughter would react to this kind of news. He should know how his daughter would think. He had spent much of his daughter's childhood preparing for a marriage to King Viserys Targaryen, not Prince Viserys. For a moment, he wished that Jon Targaryen had never been found out about so that the time hadn't been wasted.

Doran knew that he had no one to blame but himself though in truth. He should have done more with his daughter, not just simply have mapped out her future.

Arianne walked up to him, and turned her big brown eyes on him. "What were you talking about?" she asked.

Doran and Oberyn looked at each other briefly, a silent conversation taking place. In a moment, they decided to tell her the truth.

"We were talking about your Aunt Elia, love, and foundations we wanted to set up in her name."

"Yes, little Ari," Oberyn said. His brother got up and refilled his cup of wine, and then filled another. A third glass got a splash but in it. Doran and Arianne watched him with matching curiosity, as he proceed to hand them each a cup. Oberyn sat back down before he began to speak. "I say, before we talk anymore of Jon Targaryen or Stark's or anything else, we toast to Princess Elia and share ideas about her. Would you like that, Ari?"

She nodded with a wide smile on her face, and again Doran felt a pang of guilt. She was much more comfortable with her uncle than her own father, and Doran only had himself to blame.

Oberyn raised his cup as did Doran and Arianne.

"To Elia, the kindest sister and the greatest queen, there ever shall be."


Forgive me for taking so long. If you want to follow me on tumblr, I'm at salazarastark . tumblr