Author's Note: Sooo, I've done it again. Truth be told I've always wanted to write a GoT story ever since the first season, but I haven't had a solid idea until recently.

This story will feature a Rhaenys Targaryen/Robb Stark pairing. I have listed is as OC as well, because everything about Rhaenys is from my imagination since she we know next to nothing about her. I understand that this pairing isn't popular, but I hope you guys will like the idea of my story and give it a chance! If I get enough interest in the story, I'll definitely continue with it

I want to give a big thank you to Dannylionthe1st and Maddie Rose, my new beta and friend for helping me with this! She also designed the badass image for this story – the girl in the picture is Rhaenys! If you haven't read any of her work, I definitely urge you to do so! She's an amazing writer with great ideas.

Anyways, enjoy the chapter and don't forget to review!

Chapter 1: Proposal

Dressed in a heavy, dark brown roughspun cloak, Varys quietly stole up the steps of Maegor's Holdfast. He could hear the echoes of steel swords clashing, men shouting and screaming as they fought and died. King Aerys, the foolish man, ignored his council and opened the gates for Tywin Lannister and his army. That army was now ransacking the city while Aerys' army scrambled to defend it.

It was time.

He had been preparing for this moment ever since Princess Elia had sent him that secret message all those months ago. He remembered her terrified, tear-stricken face as though it was only yesterday.

"Varys!" Elia had gasped when she spotted him entering the deepest part of the castle, her requested meeting place. "You came! Thank the gods."

"Of course, Your Grace," Varys responded with a small smile, holding his torch higher in order to see her better. He kept the smile on his face although concern flooded through him at her appearance. She looked thinner than usual and her skin had an unhealthy pallor to it. Her dress was hanging off her thin frame and there were deep purple bags under her eyes. Varys knew that she had difficulty after Aegon was born, but something told him this was more than that. "Why did you request to meet? Down here of all places?" he added, looking around the dark, damp room apprehensively. "Your message was very cryptic."

Elia wrung her hands together, looking anxious. "I didn't want to explain in the message just in case it was intercepted."

"Very clever, Your Grace," Varys complimented, inclining his head, keeping his tone even as hers grew more panicked.

"I need your help, Varys," Elia whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't know who else to turn to. Ever since my – " she paused, pain and anger flashing through her eyes. "Ever since Rhaegar kidnapped or ran away with that Stark girl, I've had this awful feeling that something terrible is going to happen. Now the Baratheons and the Starks have declared war and they are a formidable force. If they should win, if they should take King's Landing, I need to know that my ch – children will be safe." A tear trickled down her cheek though she didn't brush it away. "I don't know who to trust anymore. My family would help, of course, but they are too far away. Aerys, though he is family, is too unpredictable. The things he did to Brandon Stark and the others…." She trailed off, shuddering. "I can't let anything happen to my children."

Varys was nodding before she had finished speaking, his face thoughtful. "Truthfully, I have been worried about this as well. If His Grace should lose the war, the Targaryen line must survive. I'm sure he has an escape plan for his wife and son, but as you have pointed out, he can be unpredictable." He paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to phrase his idea delicately. "If we were to smuggle you and your children out of King's Landing, the Baratheon's and the Stark's would not rest until you are all dead." Varys continued, feeling sympathetic as he heard Elia's sharp intake of death. "Our best option, I believe, would be to let them think your children were dead." He watched the emotion play across her face as the full implication of what he was saying sunk in. Confusion, realization and then disgust. He continued in a soft voice. "We need them to believe that the bodies are Rhaenys and Aegon and erase any suspicions they might have."

Elia frowned at the floor, nodding slowly, her swallow harsh and audible. When she looked back up at him, her jaw was set and determination shone from her eyes. "I will stay with the children. When or if they come looking for us, my presence will help them believe that they are in fact, mine."

Although this helped with his plan, Varys felt the need to make sure she knew what she was agreeing to. "Your Grace… if the soldiers come after you and your children, there is the possibility – "

"I know," Elia interrupted, her voice strong for the first time. "I will do whatever is necessary to protect them."

"You are a good mother, Princess Elia," Varys told her sincerely. "Of course I'll help you and your children."

"Oh, thank you, Varys," Elia whispered, eyes shining with tears as she stepped forward to grasp both of Varys' hands in her gratitude. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

His smile turned sad. "I think the price you're willing to pay is more than enough."

Thankfully, the soldiers hadn't reached the Holdfast yet. Varys hadn't anticipated Aerys deciding against his council so soon, and had to move quickly to put his plan in place. He used his little spiders to send word to his accomplice to set things in motion, made one stop and a nearby home to pick up the package and headed towards Rhaenys' room, the heavy sack slung over his shoulder. The plan was to have Rhaenys wait in her room while Elia stayed in the nursery with the baby.

His heart nearly stopped in his chest when he encountered her empty bedchambers. He could smell the sweat dripping off him as he hurried along the corridor, his eyes frantically flickering from room to room. An audible sigh of relief escaped him when he finally found her trembling in the corner of her father's room, her arms around her knees and her brown eyes wide with fear.

We need to move quickly. The concoction will be wearing off any minute now.

He carefully set the sack on the ground and slowly walked over to where the poor girl was sitting. As he crouched down next to her, he put a pleasant, reassuring smile on his face and reminded himself that this girl had only just turned three years old. "Hello, Rhaenys," he greeted in a soft voice. "Your mother sent me to come get you."

"Where is she?" The girl asked in a surprisingly unwavering voice. "I can't find her or my brother. I was looking for Balerion when I – when I heard loud noises." She glanced out the window where the clash of steel echoed through.

"I'm not sure where they are," Varys told her, glancing over at the thankfully still empty doorway. They needed to move quickly, they were running out of time. "There are bad people coming to the city, Princess, and your mother wanted me to make sure you get out of here safely."

He pulled a small vial out of one of his many pockets. "What's that?" Rhaenys asked, frowning slightly.

"One of my friends made this for me. It's a drink that will help you fall asleep," he explained. "When you wake up, you'll be safe and far away from here."

Rhaenys looked uncertain. "I'm not thirsty," she told him shaking her head. "Or tired. I just want my mother."

"I know, child," Varys said gently. "I will protect you, there is no reason to be afraid – "

Rhaenys' eyes flashed at the words, and even at her young age, Varys could tell that she had inherited her father's formidable glare. "I am not afraid."

"Brave girl," he complimented her, feeling slightly taken aback. He hadn't ever spent much time with Rhaenys, but he could tell that she was no ordinary child. "Now do as your mother says and drink this." He held the vial out to her, one ear turned to the window. Was it just his paranoia or was the sound of fighting growing closer?

With a slightly shaking hand, Rhaenys finally took the vial and drank it, grimacing and coughing in disgust as Varys slipped the vial back in his pocket. The effect was immediate. She blinked multiple times as she fought to stay awake. She was fighting a losing battle, however, and collapsed sideways. "My cat," she slurred as her eyes drifted shut. "I want… Balerion."

"I wish there was time to find your cat," Varys murmured, staring down at the girl sadly before moving into action. He gently lifted the Rhaenys body double out of the sack, trying his hardest not to look at her and imagine what her fate would most likely be. For there was little doubt in his mind; if the Targaryens lost the battle, the enemy wouldn't stop until they were all dead. He laid her on the floor, his heart racing with anxiety as he saw her beginning to stir. Her hair was brown as were eyes and her skin was olive toned. It had taken him months to find a girl that looked like Rhaenys Targaryen – he had to call in multiple favors until he found a suitable likeness.

This whole plan was costing him an exorbitant amount of money, but if it worked, it would all be worth it.

With even more care, Varys picked up Rhaenys and put her in the sack, lifting her over his shoulder and heading out the door just as the other girl's eyes began to flutter open. He turned left, to leave the way he had come, but when he reached the staircase he could hear the sounds of heavy footsteps racing upwards. Looking around quickly, he squeezed himself into a nearby alcove and waited, barely breathing as a small group of soldiers thundered by, heading towards Rhaegar's bedchambers. As Varys slipped out of his hiding spot and headed down the stairs, the sounds of a child screaming filled his ears, a sound that would haunt Varys for the rest of his life.

His shoulders involuntarily hunched against it as he moved as stealthily but as quickly as possible. It was a miracle that he didn't run into any other soldiers as he reached the first floor and headed to the back of the Holdfast. Waiting behind a nearby building was a large cart containing identical sacks filled with straw to make them look full. Varys placed Rhaenys with the rest of them, pulled the hood of his cloak further over his head and began to wheel the cart through the part of the city not overrun with soldiers. He moved at a casual pace as he headed towards the ocean, taking care not to hurry even when the warning bells began to toll.

When he finally got to his destination, he left the cart on the outskirts of the city and grunted as he picked up Rhaenys in the sack again. He slowly headed down a small, rocky hill, taking care where to place his feet lest he slip and fall. The beauty of this place was that it was on the opposite end of the harbor and nobody ever ventured down here.

There were two nondescript men waiting on the bottom near the water, one of them was holding a small bundle in a white blanket and the other was waiting in one of the two rowboats gently bobbing in the water.

"Everything went according to plan?" Varys asked the man holding the bundle as he reached them.

"Perfectly," the man answered in a smooth voice, as Varys peered down. A small baby was sleeping in his arms, a tuft of fair hair just barely visible. If the boy opened his eyes, Varys knew he would see a brilliant, violet color reflecting back up at him. "He fell asleep a couple of minutes ago. I think he likes me."

"Let's hope it stays that way until you reach Essos," Varys murmured to him so the other man wouldn't hear. "I cannot stress enough the importance of secrecy, Myles. No one can know – "

"I heard you the first thousand times, Varys," Myles complained, rolling his eyes. "We created this plan together, I know what must be done. I'll make sure the boy makes it safely to Connington."

"Be sure that you do," Varys warned. "Or it will be all of our heads."

Myles rolled his eyes again and muttered his farewell, placing Aegon carefully into his makeshift carrier and climbing into the boat. He gave a solemn salute as he began to row away and only when he was out of sight around the bend did Varys turn to the other man still sitting silently in the boat. He helped Varys gently lay Rhaenys on the bottom of the boat, opening the sack so her face was visible and it was easier for her to breathe. "You have about an hour before she begins to wake up," Varys told him. He sent him a piercing look. "I am trusting you with this girl's life. Do not disappoint me."

"I won't," the man agreed in a deep voice thick with a Dornish accent. "We have worked together many times before, Varys, and I always get the job done. I will make sure no harm comes to the little princess."

"No," Varys said sharply. "From this moment forward Rhaenys Targaryen is dead. Remember you are her father traveling back home. Help her choose a new name. Stress that this is what her mother wanted – she may awaken scared and confused."

"I have a little girl of my own, back home," the man told him, gazing fondly down at Rhaenys. "I will be honored to bring her home to her family. Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn will be thrilled that she is alive."

"Safe travels," Varys wished them, stepping back as the man picked up the oars. "When you get to Dorne, request an audience with Prince Doran and Oberyn only. The less people who know she is alive, the safer she will be."

The man nodded and Varys watched once more as the boat slipped out of sight. The path before them was already planned, but it was up to these men to complete the task. Varys would have gone himself, but his absence at a time like this would have looked highly suspicious and he didn't want any questions to be raised.

Good luck, Rhaenys Targaryen, he thought with both a hint of sadness and hope for the future.

It had taken over a week to reach the Water Gardens in Dorne. After rowing a safe distance away, the man called Corren reached the ship that was waiting for them to take them out of Blackwater Bay and across the Narrow Sea. When the girl had woken up she was understandably frightened and confused, though she tried to put on a brave face by narrowing her eyes and keeping her voice strong.

"Who are you?" She asked, scooting away from him and looking around with wide eyes. "Where are we?"

"It's alright," Corren murmured soothingly, holding his hands up in a way that showed he wasn't going to hurt her. "My name is Corren and your mother sent me to help you. Right now we are on a ship that is sailing for Dorne. I'm taking you to your Uncle Doran; you'll be safe there."

"Where is my mother?" Rhaenys demanded, her wide brown eyes filling with tears. "I want my mother."

"I know, sweet child," Corren answered, his heart breaking for this little girl. "I don't know where your mother is. But I do know that she loves you very much. When the bad people came, she made sure that you were alright… "

Looking exhausted and terrified, Rhaenys moved farther away from him until her back was against the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. Tears were steadily coursing down her face, though no sound escaped her. Corren fell silent, choosing not to push her any further. He sat there with her as she cried, eventually tiring herself out and falling asleep once more.

The rest of their journey was mostly silent. Corren explained that in order to keep her safe, she needed to choose a new name, a new identity. Out of the options that he gave her, Maliya was the name that she grudgingly liked best. She nodded when he told her that for now, he was going to pretend to be her father. For most of the trip, she stayed below deck, out of sight of the other crew members. Corren worried about how withdrawn she was and had to remind himself that after everything she'd been through it was to be expected. Every once in a while she asked him about her mother and brother, but he always had to give the same answer. He wasn't sure what happened to them because he was with her. Once they got to Dorne, however, her uncles would surely know.

When they finally docked in Dorne, Corren picked up Rhaenys "Wrap your arms around my neck and keep your face hidden," Corren whispered to her, feeling gratified when she did so. "Remember, no one can know who you really are." Rhaenys nodded against his neck, her little arms tightening slightly.

They were able to enter the city fairly easily, but were stopped at the gates of the Old Palace. "State your business," The guard said gruffly, moving to stand in their way with his hand on the pommel of his sword.

"We request an audience with Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn," Corren announced, tightening his grip on Rhaenys and sending up a quick prayer that she didn't show her face. The guard glanced at her and Corren shrugged with a small smile. "I lost her mother two years ago and no one was available to watch her."

"The Lords of Dorne are not accepting guests at this time." The guard's tone was final as he ignored what Corren just said. "They ask everyone to understand that they are grieving and wish that you respect their privacy."

Since Corren had been on a ship for the past week, he was unaware of what the guard was referring to. Apparently the news had spread fast, however and it wasn't difficult to assume he was talking about the events in King's Landing. "I have important news regarding the Prince's family. News that they will want to hear immediately." When the guard still hesitated, not looking impressed, Corren continued. "My daughter and I have come from King's Landing. If you can't let us in, then send someone to ask if they will grant us an audience."

The first guard nodded to another who took off at a run towards The Old Palace. Corren waited patiently until the guard returned, nodding. He breathed a sigh of relief; he had already started creating a plan of how to break into the palace. The guards patted Corren down, taking his dagger and sword before allowing him to enter.

Corren ignored the ornate finery as the guard led him through the palace, focusing instead on what he was going to say to the two princes so they believed he was telling the truth. When the guard finally stopped, it was in front of a tall, intimidating man with dark skin and a long, sharp longaxe. The man sent Corren a sharp, distrustful look before stepping aside and following him in.

He entered a small sitting room with plush couches and long, flowing drapes. He recognized Prince Doran sitting on the couch, his fingers laced and his face pleasant. Prince Oberyn was pacing behind him, looking like a caged animal. Both of them looked exhausted, wearing obvious signs of grief.

"Good evening, friend," Prince Doran greeted with a smile. "Please, won't you join us?" He gestured to the couch next to him.

Corren didn't move. "I don't wish to be rude, Your Grace, but my instructions were very clear. I am to speak only with you and Prince Oberyn. No one else."

"Instructions from whom?" Prince Oberyn questioned, as he braced his hands against the couch, narrowing his eyes at Corren, who remained silent.

Prince Doran was gazing at Corren with an inquisitive, searching gaze. After a moment he called out, "Leave us, Areo."

Areo looked surprised and uncertain. "Your Grace – "

"I said leave us." Areo bowed at his words and left the room, shutting the door behind him after one last warning look at Corren.

Prince Doran gestured to the couch again. "Please, won't you and your daughter sit?"

This was it. "She isn't my daughter," Corren told them, watching the looks of confusion cross their faces as he sat down on the offered couch. He tried to shift Rhaenys so she was sitting on his lap, but she whimpered, tightening his grip around his neck. "It's alright, sweet child," he murmured to her, rubbing her back soothingly. "We're finally here. Our journey's over and there's some people who want to see you." Slowly, Rhaenys pried her arms from around his neck and turned in his lap, looking around with wary eyes. "Prince Doran, Prince Oberyn – this is your niece, Rhaenys Targaryen."

If the moment wasn't filled with such an incredible amount of tension, Corren would have found the twin looks of astonishment and disbelief on their faces highly amusing. "You're lying," Prince Oberyn hissed, fury taking over his face. Rhaenys shrank back as his eyes flashed dangerously and he couldn't blame her. The Red Viper could be a very intimidating man. "Have you come here just to torture us? We received word from King's Landing just two days ago. Elia and her children are dead, murdered by Gregor Clegane, Amory Lorch and Tywin Lannister."

Rhaenys was trembling. She had perked up at the sound of her mother's name, and there was a slight frown on her face as she worked through what her uncle had said. "No!" She cried, covering her ears and shaking her head frantically back and forth. "Where's my mother? She's not dead! She's not!" A sob racked through her body. "I want my mother. And Aegon. And Balerion. I want to go home!"

Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn shared a look of bewilderment as Corren tried to soothe the poor girl. "She hasn't been sleeping," Corren told the princes. "She's both physically and mentally exhausted."

A look of joy was beginning to spread across Prince Doran's face as he slowly got off the couch and moved to kneel in front of Rhaenys. She quieted a little as he approached her, tears still dripping down her face as she sniffled. "I only met little Rhaenys once, you know," he mused in a low voice full of wonder. "A couple months after she was born. But I distinctly remember Elia mentioning a heart shaped birthmark just above her own heart. She said that it meant Rhaenys was going to doubly love and be loved in return." Moving cautiously, Prince Doran gently pulled her dress aside and sure enough, there was the heart shaped birthmark. "Oh," he breathed, his eyes shining with tears. "Oh, you sweet, brave girl." He pulled the girl from Corren's lap and into his arms, moving back to sit on the couch again. "You're home now. You're safe."

Prince Oberyn's anger seemed to have drained out of him as he rounded the couch and came to sit next to his brother, leaning over to gently stroke Rhaenys' hair as she rested her head on Doran's shoulder, still trembling slightly, exhausted. Prince Oberyn swallowed harshly to control the sudden onslaught of emotions. After a long moment, he looked back over at Corren who felt like he was intruding on a very special moment. "Tell us everything. Start from the beginning and leave nothing out."

So Corren did. He explained about how Elia had contacted Varys, who in turn contacted him, a friend from Dorne. He explained all the details of their plan, how the search had begun for a Rhaenys look alike (the looks on their faces weren't pleased with this part of the plan) and how he had helped smuggle her out of the city.

"And Elia?" Prince Oberyn questioned, the hope evident in the tone of his voice. "Aegon?

Corren could practically hear Varys hissing in his ear not to reveal any important information regarding the boy. "I'm sorry. They didn't make it," he lied, hating the way Prince Doran closed his eyes as the grief overwhelmed him. "The only people who know that Rhaenys lives are Varys and the people in this room. We talked about it briefly on the journey here, and I explained that in order to stay safe, she had to change her name. She's chosen Maliya."

"A beautiful name," Prince Doran commented, pressing a kiss to her head. He was silent for a moment. "I'll adopt her as one of my own," he said suddenly, brow furrowed. "She's around the same age as Quentyn, we can say that she's his twin."

"And why haven't you told the public about her for nearly three years?" Corren questioned, wanting them to think the plan through fully so no one would ask their own questions.

"We can say that she's been sick," Prince Oberyn jumped in. "She had a fever when she was born and we weren't sure if she was going to live."

"It might work," Corren admitted though he still felt uncertain.

"It will work," Prince Doran corrected, clasping his brother on the shoulder. "A miracle happened today. My dead niece has come back to us, this one last, beautiful, piece of my sister. I will do everything to make sure nothing happens to her."

16 years later…

Maliya waited, crouched to the ground as she kept her breathing even and all her senses opened. She sensed movement from her left and acted almost on instinct, raising her sword with two hands and blocking the attack. Standing, in one smooth motion she knocked the weapon aside and kicked the attacker in the chest, sending her sprawling backwards.

She could hear her uncle's voice in her ear. Always be aware of your surroundings.

Almost immediately another person attacked. Maliya rolled to the side, coming up in another crouch. She kicked her leg in a low circle attempting to sweep her attacker's legs out from under her but they jumped out of the way. Maliya sprang back to her feet, engaging her opponent with a series of parries and thrusts.

Stay light on your feet. Keep your movements smooth and fluid as you look for an opening.

She pushed the offensive until the first attacker joined in. After that she didn't have time to think; it was all action and reaction. One would engage her until she could knock them to the ground or shove them away, and then the other would attack before she had a chance to catch her breath.

A wicked grin lit her face as the sweat dripped from her brow. She loved this. She loved the burn in her muscles and the way her heart raced from the adrenaline, but she especially loved to win. To use the complex moves and techniques that she had been taught and watching the moment of realization in her opponents eyes when they accepted their defeat.

By unspoken consent the tension grew between the fighters, causing her sword to move faster as her body ducked and whirled, her skirts spinning out against her legs. The battle moved across the grounds, the sound of steel clashing loudly. Maliya used a nearby tree, jumping and pushing off it for momentum, bringing the sword up above her head and swinging it down. The force of her attack sent her opponent staggering backwards, her sword loose in her grip. Maliya slammed her sword across her opponent's, sending it flying out of her hands and flicked the point up to her throat.

"Dead!" A voice called out.

She faded into the background as Maliya focused on the last opponent. She waited patiently, her gaze focused and her body deceptively relaxed as she waited for them to make the first move. She didn't have to wait long. With an angry snarl, her opponent attacked. Maliya backpedaled slowly, feigning exhaustion as her opponent gained confidence. She blocked a high swing then knocked her opponent's sword down on a low swing, grabbing her right wrist with her left hand and spinning her around so her back was to Maliya's front. In the same motion, Maliya grabbed her opponent's opposite wrist with right hand so her opponent was rendered helpless, her arms behind her head in a chokehold and Maliya's sword pressing against her throat.

"Dead!" The voice called out again.

Maliya grinned as she let go of Tyene, who rubbed her shoulders with a disgruntled look on her face. The sound of clapping reached her ears and Maliya looked over to see Obara coming towards them, nodding in appreciation. "Expertly done, Maliya. It is rare to see a girl of eight and ten defeat two fighters both older and more experienced than her."

"Well, I've had an excellent teacher," Maliya answered, grabbing a towel from a nearby bench and wiping the sweat from her face.

Obara's eyebrows rose. "Are you paying me a compliment, dear cousin?"

Maliya pretended to look surprised. "You? I was talking about Uncle Oberyn," she teased, a smile on her face as Obara let out an amused snort, throwing an arm around Maliya's shoulders as they headed back up to the Palace.

"That was… a good fight," Nymeria grudgingly complimented her, falling next to them.

"Yes," Tyene joined in from the other side, a frown on her face. "It wasn't bad."

Obara laughed again. "Oh, don't be jealous, sisters!" She cried jovially. "We should be celebrating the fact that our cousin has surpassed us as fighters."

"It's all that pent up sexual frustration," Tyene complained. Maliya rolled her eyes as Tyene delicately wrinkled her nose. Here we go again… "She trains all day because she has nothing better to do with her time – "

"Just because you choose to throw yourself at every man who pays you a compliment doesn't mean I have to do the same," Maliya pointed out, keeping her teasing tone. Tyene sent her a mischievous look, not at all offended. She enjoyed the pleasures sex brought her and didn't care about what other people thought of her. "Besides, with how often you talk about it, I feel like I've had sex many times over."

"Yes," Nymeria agreed, nodding serenely. "You are a bit of a whore, Tyene."

Tyene scoffed. "And you're not?" Maliya watched with a fond smile as the girls descended into lighthearted bickering. It was true that she was still a maid. It wasn't that she found men unattractive – it was a conscious decision on her part. All part of a plan that she had been piecing together and preparing for for a long, long time. A plan that she planned to put into action today.

"Are you coming, Maliya?" Obara asked, forcing her to come back to the present. "We're going to raid the kitchens before supper tonight."

"Not this time," Maliya answered, shaking her head. "I'm going to have a bath to wash off the smell of my sweet, sweet victory."

She laughed as Nymeria scoffed and Tyene made a face at her, waving as she began to head in the opposite direction. She loved those girls as if they were her own sisters and couldn't have imagined growing up without them. Even though she was many years younger than them, they were patient with her and did not seem to mind her company. Each one of them had taught her something different and molded her into the person she had become today.

From Obara she learned to be fearless, to trust in her instincts in any given situation. From Nymeria she learned the importance of cautiousness, especially on the battlefield. If you're patient enough, the enemy will make a mistake and that's when you capitalize on it. And from Tyene, besides all the unwanted advice about sex, Maliya had learned the importance of appearances. Men automatically assume a woman to be compliant and weak, even in a place like Dorne. Maliya learned the benefits of being underestimated and how to use that to her advantage.

After Maliya called to have a bath drawn for her, she paused for a moment before climbing in, gazing down at her reflection in the water. She pulled out the cloth that was holding her hair back and watched as it tumbled down her back in loose waves. Her deep brown eyes were cold and emotionless, and her skin was olive toned, though it was a shade lighter than her sister and her brothers. She shrugged out of the beautiful but now possibly ruined dress, hearing her father's slightly annoyed sigh. It was a conversation that they'd had many times before.

"Must you wear a dress when you're training?" He would ask in exasperation. "Now it's covered in leaves and mud."

"If I'm ever attacked, father, they're not going to wait while I go inside and change into a pair of breeches," Maliya would answer, giving him a passing kiss on the cheek.

"And just who are you expecting to attack you?" He asked curiously, but she would always brush it off with a laugh, never letting him know the real reason. She wasn't prepared for that just yet.

On the outside, she was Maliya Martell, daughter of Prince Oberyn and sister to Arianne, Quentyn and Trystane. She'd had to embrace her new identity thoroughly if she wanted to survive. It was that or die. Maliya was a princess of the sun – Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken – and she was proud of it.

On the inside, however she was and would forever be Rhaenys Targaryen, daughter of Rhaegar and Elia and sister to Aegon. She would always be a dragon no matter how many years she spent pretending to be otherwise; because although she didn't have many memories of her real family, she would never forget them. A vague memory of the boat ride from King's landing – the smell of the sea, the rocking of the ship and the utter terror that she felt – was all that she remembered. At that young age she didn't understand what was happening, but as she grew older, both her uncles were fully open and honest about what happened to her family.

The hate that burned inside her had started out as small as a grain of sand on the shore, but it had grown until it was a large fiery ball that threatened to consume her.

Maliya stepped into the water, taking her time as she washed herself, planning what she was going to say. Her mood was pensive as she finished washing and got out to dress herself. What would she do if her uncles didn't agree with her plan? The thought of all those years of training and scheming, wasted, made her physically sick to her stomach.

She dressed in a thin, blue dress, pulling her hair back and twisting it into a simple braid. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Maliya left her bedchambers and headed for the very same sitting room where she had first been reunited with her uncles. She knew they liked to conduct casual business here rather than in the throne room.

"Hello, Areo," Maliya murmured with a genuine smile on her face. Although the man was large and intimidating, he was very sweet to her and loyal to Prince Doran and the Martell family.

"Hello, Princess," he greeted, bowing to her slightly. "Your father is just finishing up with his last meeting. Would you like me to let him know you are here?"

"That's alright, I don't want to interrupt. I can wait – " As she was speaking, the door to the sitting room swung open and three men walked out of it, shaking hands with her father before heading down the hall.

Her father's face looked tired as he watched them go, though his face brightened considerably when he saw her standing there. "Maliya!" He exclaimed, going over and placing his hands on her shoulders to press a kiss to her forehead. "I haven't seen you at all today. How are you? Is there something I can help you with?"

"Hello Father," she smiled, looking up at him. "I was hoping to speak with you and Uncle Oberyn privately. It's important."

"Of course," Prince Doran agreed, though a curious frown was playing around the corner of his lips. "Areo, would you please send someone to fetch Oberyn?"

"Certainly, Your Grace," Areo bowed.

"Come in, Maliya, have a seat," her father said, guiding her inside with a hand on the small of her back. Maliya did as he suggested, resisting the urge to wring her hands or bite her fingernails. She was filled with such a nervous, restless energy that she sprang to her feet the moment her uncle entered the room, a wide grin on his face.

"Maliya!" He greeted jubilantly, kissing his niece on the cheek. "I just saw Obara and the other girls. They say you took on Nymeria and Tyene and won. That is incredibly impressive. Did you know your daughter is so talented, brother?"

Even when they were alone, they still kept up appearances – it had been so ingrained into them that they didn't even think it was strange anymore. Prince Doran smiled proudly. "She is talented in many ways."

"I'll consider myself truly talented when I can defeat you, Uncle," Maliya disagreed, inclining her head.

Uncle Oberyn's grin widened. "Yes, maybe one day, Maliya. Keep training like you are and you'll surpass my skill for sure."

"Now, what is it you wanted to speak with us about?" Prince Doran asked Maliya as Oberyn sprawled on the couch next to him.

I am not afraid, she thought to herself, as the nerves made her stomach twist. They were words that her father, Rhaegar, used to say to her when she would wake up from a silly, childhood nightmare.

Taking a deep breath, she began. "I wanted to start out by saying that you can't even begin to understand how much I appreciate everything that you two have done for me."

"Why do I have the feeling that I am not going to like this conversation?" Prince Doran muttered, looking wary.

Maliya ignored him. "You took me into your family when I had nowhere else to go. You fed me, clothed me and loved me. You taught me about the world and the importance of family. You allowed me to train and learn how to fight, to protect myself even when most would laugh at the thought of a woman holding a blade."

Prince Oberyn slowly sat forward, his eyes narrowed as he leaned his elbows on his knees. It appeared that he didn't like this conversation either. The look on his face made her heart beat faster with anxiety. "But?" He asked slowly, his voice low. She always forgot how quickly the Red Viper's mood changed.

She realized she was wringing her hands and forced them back to her sides, clenching her fists and taking a deep breath. "But for the past couple of years I've been feeling…. restless. As if the life I am living has no point or meaning to it." She regretted the choice of words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but they didn't seem offended.

"And what do you feel that you should be doing instead?" Prince Doran asked, lacing his fingers together.

Maliya's brown eyes were hard as steel. "The monsters who murdered my family still live. They're breathing, eating, sleeping and fucking their way through a life that they don't deserve. I want you to send me north so that I can help avenge the death of my family." At the silent, flabbergasted look on their faces, Maliya continued, speaking quickly before they could say no. "I'm not pretending to be some assassin in the night – I don't have the experience or the skill for that. I just want to help in any way that I can. No one knows that Rhaenys Targaryen is alive – they'll all believe me to be Maliya Martell. Send Maliya north. Let me recover information about Lannisters, let me spy for you. Anything other than sit here and wish that I could do something more!" Maliya was breathing heavily by the time she had finished.

There was a long moment of silence. Prince Doran, for once, looked at a loss for words. His mouth opened and closed, several times and he had to clear his throat before speaking. "Send you… north?" He repeated weakly, beginning to shake his head. "No, absolutely not. It's too dangerous! I cannot believe you would suggest sending you away to another part of the world where you would be all alone – "

Prince Oberyn interrupted him, his sharp gaze still locked on Maliya. "If we say no, that we will not send you north, what will you do?"

Maliya shrugged. "I will find a way to go on my own."

The two brothers shared a look. "You have only just turned eight and ten, Maliya," Prince Doran reminded gently.

"I am not a child," Maliya snapped, anger beginning to spread through her. She had been afraid of this defense. "How can you sit here for six and ten years and let those murderers get away with killing my family! Amory Lorch stabbed the poor girl who was supposed to be me half a hundred times! I've heard it said that her body was a mangled bloody mess, barely recognizable. Gregor Clegane smashed my infant brother's head against the wall, shattering his skull instantly! He raped my mother with Aegon's brains on his hands before killing her as well. And Tywin Lannister, the man who ordered their deaths, is still lord of Casterly Rock! Do you not care – "

Fury flashed through Prince Doran's normally passive eyes. "Do not insult me, Maliya!" He thundered, causing her to blink in surprise. "Elia was my sister and Aegon my nephew. You forget that they were my family as well. Of course, I care."

Shame spread through her, starting from her toes and working its way up. She struggled to push her own anger away, moving forward to sit on the couch next to Prince Doran, grasping his hand. "I apologize, father, that was out of line. I know you cared for my mother very much. I just – I feel like I have no purpose in my life. I have loved living here with you, but I feel as if I am slowly suffocating."

"Do you wish us to send you off to your possible death?" Prince Doran asked quietly, looking sickened by the thought.

"The training," Prince Oberyn interjected suddenly, causing both of them to look over at him in surprise. "Obara uses a spear, Nymeria uses a bullwhip and Tyene either a poison covered spear or daggers. But you have always chosen to use a regular sword. You trained with a shield, you trained to shoot arrows and you always wore a cumbersome dress." He paused. "Just how long have you been planning this, Maliya?"

"A while," she admitted. It had been nerve-wracking telling them about what she was thinking, but now that she had, she felt slightly better. "It still isn't a full plan as you can tell. But the feeling, the urge to do something has been within me since I was young. Probably since I started training with you and the Sand Snakes."

Prince Doran lifted a hand and placed it on her cheek, his expression sad. "I'll think about what you said and let you know my final decision."

Doran's POV

As soon as Maliya closed the door behind her, Doran rubbed his hands over his face wearily. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind his eyes. "What happened to the little girl who was afraid to venture out of the palace? How could I have missed the strength of her anger and the depth of her desire for revenge?" He asked softly, mystified.

"The little girl that we knew appears to be gone. She is a woman nearly grown, and a brave one at that," his brother answered, sounding impressed.

Doran stifled a sigh. "Brave?" He asked. "Or naïve? She has no idea what the world is like out there. Sure she has trained to fight, but that alone won't help her survive among the Lannisters. She'll get eaten alive in King's Landing. She'll be caught if she attempts to kill Tywin Lannister or anyone else and all our efforts to keep her alive will be for naught."

"I agree," Oberyn drawled, now sounding completely unconcerned.

"Do you not care that Maliya appears to have a death wish?" Doran demanded, moving to sit in the seat she had previously occupied.

"It's not a death wish, brother, don't be so dramatic," Oberyn answered, throwing an arm on the back of the couch. "She's expressing that same feeling of injustice that we have felt everyday for the past six and ten years. You are the one that advised caution when I wanted to go to war, but that hasn't eased the pain that we feel over our beloved sister."

"She's still just a child," Doran whispered, shaking his head. "I can't let her go off on her own. I'm going to deny her request."

Oberyn sent him a sharp look. "And then what? You're going to lock her in a tower and throw away the key? You can't keep her here as a prisoner. She'll grow to resent and hate us."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" He demanded.

"I know you've been sending and receiving multiple letters regarding a betrothal for Maliya. Stop inventing excuses and turning them down. As much as it would pain us to see her go, she is more than old enough to marry now. We can use that to our advantage. Ideally she would probably want a marriage with a Lannister so she could use him for information, but I agree, that's too dangerous. Send her north like she wants, but make sure it's somewhere that will be safe for her. Somewhere safe that no one will learn her real identity, but also so that she thinks she's helping get revenge for her family."

"And where am I going to find a place like that?" He asked, mystified. "I want to marry her to a man that will grow to love and respect her for the amazing woman that she is."

A slow, knowing grin was beginning to spread across Oberyn's face. "I know just the man for the job."

It was almost three weeks before her father and uncle summoned her back to the sitting room. The length of time didn't surprise her. She often said that if her father didn't have someone choose his outfit in the morning, he would end up spending the entire day naked.

Maliya spent that time trying to be patient. Training with her cousins and spending her remaining time with Arianne and Trystane. Her "twin," Quentyn, was sent away at a young age be fostered by the Yronwood's, and not for the first time, sadness spread through her – she had never really gotten to know him, and now she never will.

She honestly didn't know what she would do if her father denied her request, but she did know that she couldn't stay here any longer. Her life as a Martell felt like a sham, a lie that she just couldn't keep living.

"You know I can ask my handmaiden to do this," Maliya remarked, twisting her head over her shoulder to glance at her sister.

Arianne promptly turned her face back around. "Stay still," she ordered lightly, running her fingers through Maliya's hair to get rid of the knots. "There are lots of different things we can ask the servants to do that we can do ourselves. Having one's hair braided is a simple pleasure – I know you love when I play with your hair."

Maliya hummed her approval. "I can't disagree with you there, sister."

Arianne was silent for a moment while her fingers flew through Maliya's long hair, creating an intricate design. "So are you going to share what has been on your mind these past few weeks?" She asked.

Her tone was light, but the question made Maliya's heart sink. She had been lying to her older sister for six and ten years and it didn't get any easier with time. "What do you mean?" She asked, stalling.

"You've been distracted. Lost in thought even more so than usual."

"I'm fine, Arianne," Maliya reassured her, risking throwing her a quick smile over her shoulder. "There's no reason to worry about me."

Arianne finished her braid, tying the end with a strip of cloth, bringing the braid over her shoulder and moving to kneel in front of Maliya's chair, a concerned but caring smile on her face. "You know you can tell me anything, right 'Liya?"

Maliya opened her mouth to answer when they were interrupted by a handmaiden entering the room. She curtsied, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Pardon me," she apologized, turning slightly red. "Princess Maliya, Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn are requesting your presence."

Maliya thanked her and stood. "I'll see you later?" She asked Arianne, ignoring the burning curiosity in her eyes. Arianne nodded slowly, her gaze searching and Maliya had to turn her back before she could see the guilt reflecting back at her.

When Maliya entered the sitting room, she found her Uncle Oberyn sitting on the couch this time, while her father paced by the windows. Her uncle's expression was calm and pleasant but her father looked slightly agitated. Maliya slowly entered the room, her gaze flickering between them as she sat down on the couch, her back ridged. She frowned as Uncle Oberyn winked at her – what was that supposed to mean?

"I have come to a decision," Prince Doran announced, turning to face her. "I've decided to accept your request to help us get vengeance for the death of Elia and Aegon."

Maliya's shoulders slumped with relief, a brilliant smile beginning to take over her face. "Oh thank you father – "

He held up a hand, silencing her. "I have a few conditions," he began, causing the smile to slowly slip off her face. She really should have expected this. "The only way we will allow you to go north is if you follow the plan we have laid out for you."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Maliya?" Prince Oberyn asked, leaning forward. "I can admire and relate to your need for vengeance. The same feelings plague me constantly. The people in the north are… different than here in Dorne. Here, women have respect and power. In the north, women are inferior to men. They are expected to listen to their husbands and birth sons and daughters. You have a sharp tongue and can defeat half the men in Westeros in battle. I'm not certain that you will fit in in the north."

"Thank you for your concern, uncle," Maliya smiled. "But I will do whatever is necessary to help you."

When she looked back on this moment, she wished that she had taken the time to hear their plan before she blindly agreed to what they came up with.

"Even though I am not your true father, you have been like a daughter to me," Prince Doran continued, folding his hands behind his back. "Therefore I refuse to send you to King's Landing or anywhere near those murderous bastards."

Maliya's mouth opened and closed. "But – But father, the Lannisters are at the heart of all of this! How do you expect me to spy on them if I don't have access to the information?"

"Too dangerous," he disagreed, shaking his head. "The truth is I've been looking into finding you a husband for a while now. I've kept putting it off, but ever since you mentioned going north, I knew it was time." Horror was slowly beginning to trickle through her as she sat there, frozen. "The families' husband that I have chosen for you is known for their honor and justice – I would rather you be treated well, Maliya, I'll not have you harmed. This family is also close to the ruling family so you may discover some important secrets."

You're sending me away to appease me, but this isn't what I wanted, Maliya wanted to argue. "Who?" Was all she could ask, her voice dry and hoarse.

"They have already accepted the proposal. You are the betrothed of Robb Stark, heir to the House of Winterfell."