Summary: What if Ned questioned Jaime, after he killed King Aerys? What if something mirroring friendship was born? What if Lyanna gave birth to a girl, a Visenya? The whole future of Westeros would change.

Chapter 5

Barely any noise was made, aboard the vessel and on land, as the galley was steered towards the diminutive but functional dock, under the shadows of Sunspear.

Ned stumbled down the stairs through the hatch, still unused to the rocking motions under his feet, and squeezed by Sandor, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, and William Dustin assisting three Dornish sailors in moving Sandor's brother to the upper deck, though none too gently if the banging sound of a head meeting wooden stairs was anything to go by. Theo Wull, Mark Ryswell, and a few more sailors followed after with the dead body of Amory Lorch. Moving deeper into the bowels of the ship he ducked under a beam and halted as his eyes landed upon two former Kingsguards mournfully standing in front of the broken bodies carefully wrapped in cloth.

Ned paused briefly before moving forward and clasping them each on the shoulder, "They're almost home."

With the help of Jaime and Arthur, Ned moved the remains of the royal family carefully up the stairs towards the bow of the ship, where the rest of the North and Dornishmen were waiting. The location of his men and their charges were picked strategically so that if a fight were to break out onboard, most likely involving the Mountain somehow, the combatants would stay well away from his wolf pup, who was at the moment being guarded by Wylla, Ser Oswell, and Lord Howland.

By all accounts, the Martell princes weren't angry with Lyanna, but he wasn't taking any chances. Those of whom guarded her had very strict orders to keep Lyarra hidden away until the Mountain was firmly in House Martell's hands and secured.

His contingent were positioned on the ship in such a way that the Martell's would be unable to see the dead and unconscious bodies from their expected vantage point.

After he set the slender framed bundle in his arms upon the damp main deck, one of the crew having recently swabbed the wood, the young Lord Paramount took a cursory scan of his men and their burdens, then of the Dornish waiting on the shore and stopped abruptly.

"Arthur? Jaime?"

"Yes?" Answered the Dayne, his violet eyes snapping towards him from where they had been methodically scanning the crowd over the bulwark for any threats. Jaime tilted his head in acquiescence.

"I didn't see any Dornish faces in the capital," Ned frowned. "Where was Princess Elia's retinue and guards?"

Ned felt the Westerland heir stiffen beside him, as Arthur snorted, shaking his head. "The King was always leery about the men and women in Elia's service. They were loyal to her, not him. But they were in his castle. From what I heard, once word reached King's Landing of the defeat at the Trident, Aerys made the decision to send Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys to Dragonstone. But not the Princess or her babes. Instead he ordered any who were in Elia's service to leave the city."

Jaime continued where his mentor left off, knowing more than Arthur did about the events which occurred, "His paranoia was at an all time high. After learning of Rhaegar's and Prince Lewyn's death, he raged in the throne room ranting and raving that Lewyn must have betrayed his son during the battle. Aerys came to the conclusion mid rant, that it wasn't just Lewyn. It must have been a Dornish conspiracy, that they wanted to kill Rhaegar and him, so that they could supplant them with Aegon." Jaime shook his head in disgust. "Nevermind the fact that Egg couldn't even hold his head up properly… Anyways, Aerys was convinced that the Dornish were going to march on the capital."

Realization struck Ned with a powerful blow. "He kept Princess Elia and her children as hostages," blanched Ned.

The men watched as the vessel made berth, while two crewmen jumped onto the dock securing the dock and spring lines to a piling.

Jaime nodded his head regretfully, a stray golden curl falling into his eyes. "Unfortunately. He kept them as hostages and forced her people out of the city, a few of them had to be dragged out kicking and screaming with a trail of blood following them. He didn't want to take the chance of someone sneaking them out."

The clanking noise of armoured soldiers interrupted any continuation of the conversation as the ship finished being moored and a contingent of Martell guards shifted to protect their now moving charges along the short dock.

They watched as, what Ned assumed were, House Martell members separated themselves from the mournful crowd, striding towards the small pier.

Tensions aboard the vessel rose as the family of their late Princess came into view. Out of the corner of Ned's eye, he noticed Jaime shifting nervously every so often, showing his age, with Arthur trying to subtly calm him down.

The sailors on the dock helped secure a wide plank, bridging the ship and pier together, before shifting out of the path of the already moving fleet of soldiers.

Men wearing boiled leather, with the Martell sigil seared into the hide, and carrying both spear and shield climbed aboard the ship sweeping for threats, before allowing two men whom had separated themselves from the females and children of their family to board. Leading the contingent of soldiers was a tall, broad-shouldered, white haired man carrying the largest long-axe any of the Northerners or Westerlanders had ever seen.

Unease pierced the air, silencing all but the creaking of the ship and the noise of the waves breaking at the shoreline, as all aboard took in the figures of obvious Rhoynish nobility, with thick black hair and smooth olive skin, and their tall, lithe bodies draped in finery of orange and red with yellow accent stitching.

The first to reach the deck was the shorter of the two, though not by much. What he lacked in height, he more than made up for in lean but defined muscle. His dark eyes scanned the group before him as the second figure came to a stop beside him. Neither had a sword on their person, but the daggers hanging from their belts and the way they held themselves displayed a dangerousness to them that was palpable to everyone aboard the vessel.

Neither group moved towards each other for a moment, allowing the already heavy atmosphere to further tense.

Stilling the anxiety, guilt, and nervousness that bubbled within his gut, the Quiet Wolf swallowed audibly and stepped forward half a pace before bowing deeply to the richly dressed Dornish; the Northmen, Westermen, and Dayne following his lead.

The taller of the two princes nodded in return, studying the mismatched group before him with an expressionless stare. "Lord Stark, I'm afraid we have yet to meet in person. I am Prince Doran of House Martell." He gestured to his left, "My brother, Prince Oberyn."

The man in question's face was deadpanned, like his brothers, but where Doran's eyes concealed his emotions, Oberyn's did not. Anger was quite prevalent in the Red Viper's narrowed, coal black eyes.

"Ser Arthur, so glad to see the rumors weren't true. You see, we've heard some rather conflicting stories recently, concerning you and Whent."

"That was the idea, my Prince."

"And Ser Jaime Lannister." The name was practically snarled through clenched teeth. "Oh - I am so sorry, you must forgive me! Is it Lord Jaime, now? Or Protector of the Realm? I personally think it should have been Oathbreaker." Mocked Oberyn, dark eyes flashing as his usually jovial tone was replaced with one whose vexation and displeasures were clearly heard.

Ned felt himself wince, thinking, "Fuck me."

The Lannister, which the name in and of itself was working against him at the moment, lowered his head, cowering away from the beloved brothers and uncles of the family he couldn't save. The family who haunted his nightmares, his mind forcing him to rewatch their deaths every time he closed his eyes. It didn't matter that he hadn't seen the killing blows of Elia and Aegon, only the aftermath - his mind readily filled in what he had missed. It was safe to say he was getting very good at surviving with minimal hours of sleep.

"Oberyn! We've talked about this," barked Doran, obviously agitated where this conversation was headed.

"He could have done more!" Oberyn raged in an unforgiving tone, "He could have saved them!"

Ned heard movement of armour behind him, prompting him to turn and see as Sandor gripped the sword attached to his belt tight, preparing for the possibility of needing to protect his Lord.

The solemn Northern lord spoke up suddenly, startling many who had forgotten he was there. "Actually, he couldn't have."

The interruption caused Oberyn's viper-like eyes to turn to Neds, spearing him in his place, whilst his sneering mouth practically hissed out, "What?"

Ned glanced around him, noting the wide eyed stare from Jaime and the pissed off expression of one Sword of the Morning, though thankfully not towards him - instead towards the Dornish Princes'. "I was there. That night, I was there with him. Aerys' body had barely hit the floor before he took off running for Maegor's Holdfast. At the time, I thought he was making a break for it, until he told us otherwise. But he was still too late. We were too late. So, if you're going to blame him… then you'll have to blame me too."

"You weren't the one who swore to protect his Prince's family," snarled Oberyn, his Dornish accent accentuated by his anger.

"No, but I was. Just as much as Jaime. Are you going to blame me too?"

"You were following your Prince and Princesses orders," interjected Doran before Oberyn could further spit out anymore condemnations.

"And he saved thousands if not millions of lives," Arthur snapped back, clearly fed up with the double standards and blaming game the Martell's (*cough* Oberyn *cough*) were playing. "If you wish to blame anyone, blame the perpetrators who carried out the horrendous act. Not the man who wasn't fast enough to save the victims."

"But I can't now, can I?" Oberyn shook his head, the anger having seemingly simmered out into bone aching grief. Grief that Ned now knew all too well. Shaking his own head, the wolf among sand and lions forced the images of his beloved sister dying, slurring her pleads to protect her child, from his mind. It was not the time, and it was definitely not the place to grieve his losses. Focusing back on the matter at hand, Ned listened as the Red Viper continued, "Nobody knows with absolute certainty who did it. I mean, sure there are many, many rumors, most involving two large lesser known knights sworn as bannermen to the Lannister's. But none with absolute proof. There were no Dornish in the Red Keep at the Sacking - all there are, are second or even third hand rumors. Some saying that you brought down their bodies in pieces, others stating that they were raised in status, praised far and wide," Oberyn spat out, understandably infuriated at that last rumor.

Ned turned towards his men and gave a nod, which caused them and the burnt Clegane to part, allowing the Dornish onboard to see the two piles of bodies on the deck. One pile consisted of two small beings wrapped in cloth placed beside a taller, but still small being also wrapped in cloth, having obviously been positioned with great care and respect. The other pile was not at all situated with any care whatsoever. Instead one visibly dead man, who had not been respectfully seen to as the others had, lay beneath Gregor Clegane. The 7 foot tall behemoth of a man was lying in a crumpled heap upon the deck, having been tossed down with little regard. His injuries from the Sack and his attempted escapes were also unmistakably noticeable.

Dawning expressions came upon their dark skinned faces, as the Martell's and their guards began to comprehend the situation before them. Sorrow was seen in many of their eyes before dark smirks rested along their mouths, their need for revenge and retribution shining across their faces.

Jaime finally spoke for the first time since the Martell contingent boarded the vessel, his voice smaller than Ned had ever heard in their journey. "Prince Doran, Prince Oberyn, while we - I couldn't save your family, we were able to kill and capture the two who committed the crimes. May I present to you Ser Gregor Clegane, and the body of Ser Amory Lorch."

A wicked smile came to rest on Prince Oberyn's face, his anger rigniting with a vengeance, his hand resting on the pommel of his dagger. Prince Doran's face, which had been almost expressionless beforehand, showed similar amounts of ruthlessness and mourning.

"So this is the infamous Mountain That Rides?" drawled Oberyn, as he moved forward stalking his prey. "I must say, he was mentioned in quite a few of the rumors, but we weren't sure. What did you do to him? The newer injuries, I mean."

"The combined efforts of Clegane and Wylla."

"Our cousin is quite spunky, isn't she?" Smiled Oberyn, but with far too many teeth at the moment to be kind. He turned abruptly towards Sandor, with the intent to interrogate the brother of the criminal before them. " And you must be the other Clegane. What is it they call you? The Hound?"

He nodded stiffly, uncomfortable with being under the gaze of so many at once. "Aye, Your Grace."

"Why help the people imprisoning and transporting your brother to certain death?" Doran questioned.

Shifting his tall frame nervously, Sandor answered gruffly, "He's always been a big fucker. And after a while nobody could control him. When I was seven, he found me playing with an old discarded toy of his - a knight. He… he shoved my face onto burning coals because of it. He held me there until my father and two of our men pulled him off. My father told everyone that my bedding had caught on fire." He grimaced and glanced around before bowing his head and continuing, "I had a younger sister once. Sera. One day she was alive and taking her first steps… and the next we were entombing her in the crypts. They wouldn't tell me what happened. No matter how many times I asked. But after that everyone was afraid of him. The servants, my father, my mother. Everyone. Mother died a few years later from complications while pregnant officially, though I heard some of the servants whisper of Gregor having pushed her down the stairs. They were soon gone too. An accident they said - it wasn't. So no, Your Grace. I did not, and I will not help that cunt. Ever. Pigs will fucking fly before I do that."

Oberyn perused the young Clegane's face as he talked, his learning at the Citadel causing his mind to identify the severity of the burns, taking note of the minimal amounts of healing that had taken place along with the inflammation and possible infection present.

There was a brief pause of silence aboard the ship after Sandor finished, everyone needing time to digest what this disgraced knight in front of them had done to his own family.

Doran broke the silence, his eyes holding a deep amount of understanding in them. "You seek vengeance just as much as we do."

"Aye, Your Grace. He's a monster. He shouldn't be allowed to live and cause more pain and suffering."

The Prince of Dorne turned to Ned, "Do you have any objections to us taking him into custody."

"He'll suffer?"

"Undoubtedly," answered Doran bluntly.

"Then be my guest," Ned replied unforgivingly, the dishonored knight's actions leaving him feeling little guilt with his decision. He only wished he could have done the same to the Mad King for the horrendous actions against his own family.

Doran turned towards his contingent of guards, specifically the one carrying the large long-axe, his eyes showing the vindictive pleasure he took in saying his next words. "Captain Hotah you're in charge of seeing the Mountain to his new rooms in the dungeons. Take as many as you need to safely transport him. The rest of the guards will take Amory Lorch's body. We'll see to our family," nodding towards Oberyn.

With a swift nod of agreement, the Captain of the Guard ordered his men into motion. As he watched the unconscious lump be moved from its unceremonious dumping spot, Oberyn's face was set with undisguised rage and fury, his dark eyes blazing and undeniably murderous - there was no question about it. If looks could kill Gregor Clegane would be thoroughly eviscerated many times over. There was still time for that of course, after being tortured and poisoned repeatedly.

As many of the guards moved slowly towards the ships exit, one of the younger guards heaved out, "Mother Rhoyne… he's a heavy fucker."

"Well," Oberyn drawled out in answer, while watching them in bemusement like he was seriously questioning the guards intelligence. "They call him the Mountain for a reason."

The orders and subsequent movement of household guards caused the deck to quickly clear of many of the soldiers sworn to House Martell, leaving but a few on board, and those guarding the rest of the family waiting on the pier as well as helping the city guards keep peace in the crowds on the beach. Said crowds roared in outrage at the sight of the guards moving the men who defiled and killed their beloved Princess and her babes. The aforementioned city and household guards had a hell of a time holding back the sheer number of citizens and their uncontrollable fury. The screams of obscenities and hostility could be heard deep into the ship by Wylla, Oswell, and Howland who shared a three-way glance as the noise caused their pup to rouse from her nap.

Ned was coming to see that while Elia and Lyanna were two starkly different women, each carrying attributes that their respective homelands contain, they were both adored by said homelands.

Doran and Oberyn gave little reaction to their peoples passionate response, only sharing a small smug smile that was laced with grief. Their sister had been so loved. Why was it always the good ones?

The mass feeling of unease on board lifted as the bodies were removed from the ship.

As the sound simmered down, telling those aboard the vessel that the criminals had been moved farther away and into the city, Doran turned back towards Ned. "You have given House Martell a kindness that can never be repaid. Anything you need from us, call and we will answer. Resources. Men. Anything. We will answer."

After receiving a confused but grateful nod from the Lord Paramount of the North, he turned to Jaime. "We thank you for your part in this. And while we may never understand all that went down, we do forgive your part in it." Oberyn made a noise of protest before shutting his mouth at the death stare his brother and Prince gave him. "You'll have to re earn our trust though."

"But I… I failed them… all of them," Jaime's voice, softer than any present had ever heard him speak, broke. His tan face crumbled, allowing for the visage of a broken boy, for that is what he is, to truly shine through. "I don't deserve your forgiveness… Their blood is on my hands."

With a huff towards the sky and a shake of his head Oberyn moved forward, causing a stir within the group containing a Westerman and Northmen, and grasped Jaime by his broad shoulders, shaking him slightly.

"It's not your fault," he spoke sternly, moving to hold his hand up in front of Jaime's mouth. "I know what I said earlier. I was angry - still am actually. And I didn't know all the facts, but I probably never will. But I do know that you weren't the person who ordered their deaths nor carried it out. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault."

Oberyn grasped Jaime into a hug, causing the flood of tears that Jaime had been holding back for weeks now to flow. Sobs racked his body, the sound echoing in the silence of the ship. "Seems like you're hard enough on yourself as it is, you don't need us adding anymore guilt. We'll never have the same relationship we once did, but I'm willing to try to work on it." He waited a pause before continuing, "Or else Elia would come and strike me down personally, for upsetting her other younger brother. Do you want to see that, 'cause I sure as hell don't. Can you imagine the screeching that would occur? Oh, the horror."

Wet laughter bubbled out of the only blonde on board, as Oberyn ran a hand through his curls in a comforting brotherly way. Jaime's tanned skin was pale compared to the Dornish man holding him, giving a nice contrast to the eyes of those watching.

"Besides, I still owe you that spar. Though I have no idea why you'd wish to get your ass soundly handed to you, yet again. I mean, Obara is better than you at this point. Oh! Do you have a thing for dominance? What with you so ready to get your ass kicked by me, yet again."

Jaime squawked indignantly in response to Prince Oberyn's question on fetishes and statement declaring himself the obvious victor of a future spar, tan cheeks flushing slightly upon the answering chuckles from the others on deck.

Smiles came across Ned's, Arthur's, and Doran's faces as they watched the scene in front of them. The Northern contingent, plus a Hound, relaxed their grips on their weapons and swords, content in the knowledge that no fight would be breaking out.

With one last squeeze, Oberyn finally released the youngest of the former Kingsguards, allowing Doran the chance to grip him tightly before letting him go as well.

It felt like Ned was seeing the young Lannister standing beside him for the first time. The burden he had to carry having physically weighed him down, especially with him being too young to have even attempted to shoulder that burden.

Turning towards Ned and swallowing thickly, Oberyn asked the question that had been bothering him since they received the raven from Starfall. "Lyanna… she… her babe?"

Ned felt a dagger to the heart at the mere mention of his cherished sister, the pain of her death too recent for him to say more than, "Her babe, Lyarra, is healthy; she's down in the cabin with Wylla. Lyanna…" He cut himself off with a shake of his head and tears in his eyes, leaving Arthur and Jaime to finish the rest.

"She lost a lot of blood, the Maester could only do so much. We were lucky she lasted as long as she did." Arthur's voice shook in his attempt to control his own, whilst thinking about the dark haired, pale skinned beauty who had wormed her way into his Prince and Princess's hearts - as well as his own, though in a different way. He, along with Oswell were her protector and her friend.

Oberyn made a wounded sound as his legs almost gave way, forcing him to clutch at the railing of the vessel in an attempt to remain standing. Tears flowed down his cheeks, Oberyn making no attempt to hold them back. Doran didn't fare much better, though he expressed it in a different way. His eyes screwed tightly shut, bowing his head in a conscious effort to keep from throwing up as the knowledge settled within him that another member of his family was dead. It didn't matter that they weren't bound by blood, he and Oberyn had loved and lost enough family members to know that they loved her with the same strength as they would have if she had been born Dornish and carried the Martell name.

Doran shook his head in the direction of his waiting family members. The women and oldest children of the group appeared to understand his gesture and unspoken words, causing quite a few to begin clutching at each other and crying, the shaking of their shoulders from the force of their weeping was visible from the deck.

"After Oberyn and I move our sister, niece, and nephew, can we… can our family meet its newest member… Can we meet our niece?"

All eyes turned to Ned for an answer; only he could make that decision. He hesitated briefly in his response, wishing desperately that he could protect Lyarra from everyone and thing, even those who claim her as family. He had already lost most of his pack, he will not lose anymore. As he opened his mouth to answer negatively, he glimpsed the look of desperation and the glimmer of hope within a sea of grief.

With a heavy sigh, he slumped his shoulders in defeat and responded, "Yes."

The answering grin from Oberyn nearly split his face in two, while Doran's was much more reserved with a slight smile gracing his face.

Those smiles quickly left their faces as they returned to the task at hand. With visible anguish swirling through their bodies, the two brothers made quick work of caring for their deceased families bodies. Doran moved their sisters body with ease over the deck and off the ship, Oberyn following behind him, carrying the small bodies of his niece and nephew with a gentleness that sharply contrasted to what he had previously shown.

Loyal household servants quickly came forth with wagons bearing the Rhoynish sun, it having been burnt into the wood. They met their Princes' half way down the pier, the men having passed their grieving family, laying Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon reverently down onto the wagon's hard surface. They paused briefly in front of the wagon before spinning around back towards the ship, hugging their loved ones as they went, herding them up the plank and onto the deck.

Their people watched in confusion. Why were they boarding the ship again? There was no need in their eyes. Few in the Dornish crowd seemed to truly understand the implications of the events taking place. That their sweet Princess Elia's last surviving child, though not of her womb but of her heart, rested on the ship in front of them. And how these next few moments would help shape Westero's in the years to come.

The sight that greeted House Martell once boarding the ship was their cousin, Wylla, holding a bundle of cream blankets in her arms cooing down at the babe swaddled among them. They briefly noticed the arrival of Ser Oswell and another Northern lord, but their eyes remained fixed on the pale fingers clutching a strand of Wylla's dark hair.

With a glance towards Ned, Oberyn and Doran removed themselves from the grappling arms of their families, approaching their new niece separately from the rest. Their movements were hesitant as they approached the woman and child, the Sand giving them a beaming smile and shifting forward to show the beauty in her arms.

At the sight of little Lyarra, Doran gave a true, unadulterated smile for the first time all day. Oberyn wasn't faring any better. Oberyn's smile, which had just recently been much too sharp, hate filled, and fake, smoothed into a small awe filled one, his eyes softening along with it.

"She's gorgeous… just like her momma. But her eyes… their…"

"Rhaenys'," Doran finished softly for his brother.

They were positively stunned by the paleness of her skin, paler than of the others aboard the ship, including the Northmen. Her silver hair, already curling into a riotous mess, and jewel toned eyes, which stared up curiously, sharply contrasted against her skin. Lyarra's clumsy fingers reached towards the new faces gazing upon her, encouraging Oberyn to lift his hand towards her, letting the tiny being grasp his finger. Oberyn and Doran were officially wrapped around her finger.

"Arianne, Obara, Nym come meet your baby cousin." Little feet answered their Papa's and Uncle's call as they shuffled towards their new cousin. Seeing the children, Wylla gave a warm smile, lowering herself to the ground so the children could inspect the infant. "You'll have to be gentle, she's very young and small."

Nymeria's sweet little voice whispered in awe, "She's so pretty…"

Obara frowned, taking in the child, deciding she was much too breakable and needed protecting, "And tiny."

A hand pulled on Doran's trouser leg, prompting him to look down into the eyes of his very excited eldest child, her brown eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Papa! Is she coming to live with us?"

He shook his head, rubbing his hands through her thick wavy hair. "No sweetling," causing Arianne to pout. "But we will visit her, and send her gifts and ravens. And maybe in time she'll visit us. But you are to treat her as you would one another. Protect her. Love her. She is your cousin - family. Do you understand?" He asked, aiming the question at all three of the girls, the only ones of his and Oberyn's children who could comprehend the severity of the circumstances.

Three nods answered his question, trying their hardest to show how serious they were. The only one who really succeeded was Obara.

Shuffling of feet broke them out of their adoring stare, causing them to turn towards the Quiet Wolf who held two very familiar pieces of embroidered fabric in his hands, having been passed to him by Wylla upon emerging on deck.

Seeing where the conversation was going Wylla took charge of the situation, shuffling the children towards their siblings and parents. "Come on girls! We still need to introduce your mother, Lady Ellaria, your sister, and brother to your new cousin!" She greeted Lady Mellario and Lady Ellaria, well aware that she had more than a few Northern guards shadowing her movements.

Ned held Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon's blankets towards the brothers. "Jaime and I thought you'd wish to have these. We weren't sure if you'd get anything back from the capital." Doran having taken both off his hands, Ned rubbed the back of his neck where the fierce Dornish sun hit him, "I'm sorry we couldn't grab more."

"You've done more than enough," Doran choked out, fingers rubbing reverently against the embroidered dragons and suns. "There should be another one similar to this in a trunk somewhere. Elia started and Lyanna was supposed to finish it. Obviously it was for Lyarra." Doran glanced back towards the dragon-wolf. "She'll always have a home here if ever the need arises. Always."

Oberyn inserted only half jokingly, "Expect many gifts to be sent yearly. And many visits. I don't think the girls will let her leave."

They stood there watching the women and children coo over the hidden princess.

"Gods." Ned shook his head, "Did you ever think we'd end up here?"

Oberyn laughed in response. "Not at all. I'm guessing it was quite the shock for you. It was for us as well. Even though Elia was raised alongside us in Dorne, where it's more accepting of paramours, bastards, and other different levels of so called promescuties, we never even considered the idea of her being in a polyamorous relationship with a woman. Especially not after she married a Targaryen prince."

"I still can't wrap my head around it."

Oberyn clapped his right shoulder, "That may take a few years."

Doran cut through the laughter and japping that ensued, "If you do this, you will be committing treason against your childhood friend, one who just recently you were calling brother. Are you truly willing to take that risk?"

Ned's eyes softened minutely from where they rested on his niece turned daughter. "She's worth it."

Doran nodded his head, asking the next hard question. "At some point Robert will come calling for answers, what will you tell him?"

Ned sighed deeply, recalling clearly the look of revulsion upon his wild, spirited sister's face whenever Robert was near. The look that he had ignored in his desperate quest to make Robert his official brother, in all but blood. The guilt that followed that memory nearly overcame him, racking through his body, attempting to take him figuratively overboard. But he, once again, squashed the emotion, burying it deep within, desperately attempting to stall all the grieving that was sure to come until he was in the North. In Winterfell. Home. He knew it wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but it'd have to do for now.

"When I set out for war, I had no intention in ending a centuries long dynasty. Only the life of one Mad King and possibly a harp playing prince - to avenge my family and save my sister. But now…" He curled his lips in disgust, "Neither me nor my men fought this war to put Robert on the throne. When did it become Robert's Rebellion? He used my families deaths, whether knowingly or not, as a fucking stepping stone."

Robert had taken advantage of the situation - of the Stark's deaths, Ned's grief, the Mad King's insanity, and the kingdom's outrage in his desperate attempt to finally get revenge for his own parents' deaths, and gain Lyanna's love and hand in marriage.

There had been victory against the Mad King and his reign, but with the knowledge Ned now possessed, he was of the belief that no one had truly won in this war. There was no clear victor, everyone lost something. Some more than others.

After a nod between brothers passed unseen, Oberyn spoke up, interrupting Ned's brooding thoughts. "You know," he drawled. "In the eyes of Dorne, your niece is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. She is our Queen."

Any who had been watching the wolf could see him rear back in disbelief, "What about Viserys? He's the only male Targaryen left, right? He is the heir, the King."

"Not by Dornish customs and traditions," Doran retorted calmly.

Oberyn snorted with a roll of his eyes, "I wouldn't count your eggs on that one just yet."

"What my brother means to say," Doran interrupted shooting a look at his brother who gave a sarcastic smile in return. "Is that he's showing a bit of a predilection to being -"

"A pain in the ass?"

"I was going to say unstable, but yes yours works too. We've already come to the conclusion that he is not someone we want with a lick of power, much less controlling the Seven Kingdoms."

Ned's steel colored eyes took on a bit of a crazed look as his grief stricken mind finally caught up to speed, "This is a lot to take in." He may or may not have had a tinge of histeria mixed in with his voice, but if there was, I think it's safe to say it's completely understandable with the year he's had. Hell the last few weeks would be enough to throw any well minded person off balance. Then a thought entered his brain. "What about the Queen? She was pregnant last I heard?'

Jaime, Arthur, and Oswell all perked up, hoping to hear good tidings for the delicate Queen.

At that Doran's face took on a lamenting expression. "We just got the raven bringing the news. Queen Rhaella died at Dragonstone giving birth to a daughter in the midst of what people are now calling "the worst storm in living memory." She named her Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Word is - as the Queen lay dying, she didn't name Viserys king, like her servants had been expecting, instead she named Rhaegar's child as the rightful ruler. Last we've heard the Targaryen fleet has been badly damaged by the storm, so they're readying for a seige. Stannis has been rebuilding the Baratheon fleet, he's close to setting sail for Dragonstone but the storm has stalled along the coast of the Stormlands. He won't be making it out of Storm's End anytime soon unless the waters calm significantly. You'll need to be careful, your current sailing path will lead you into parts of the storm."

Arthur wrapped an arm around both Jaime and Oswell, as if trying to physically hold their emotions together. The normally energetic Riverlander had an uncharacteristically sad countenance, while Arthur tried to keep a strong facade but tears were leaking out. Jaime just looked done with this year, too many people he loved had died in a matter of weeks. His emerald eyes glanced up and decided that it seemed to be the theme going around.

The sound of multiple pairs of footsteps halted any further conversation, as two servants walked across the modest pier, carrying a basket.

"Ah, yes! Almost forgot," Doran gestured towards the servants, prodding Oberyn to retrieve the basket. "Lyarra's eyes will be trouble enough to explain, but her hair can be easily remedied. Have you considered dying it?"

Thinking back to the conversation he had held with Arthur on the subject Ned responded, "Yes, but it's incredibly expensive. You'd have to ship it all the way from Tyrosh. And Arthur mentioned something about a possible reaction to it."

"It's not pretty to see - death has occurred before because of it. Though those of Old Valyria have kept that bit of information pretty hush hush. The reaction mainly occurs while they are young, and in the first few years of their lives. I'd wait to use it until she's at least 4 or 5 years of age - after that there's still a chance something could happen but serious reactions reduce dramatically," explained Oberyn, his Maester tutelage coming forth for all to see, whilst he hefted the basket into his arms and onto the ship.

"We had a stockpile of the dye here, ready to go in case Elia needed to take the children and run. But… we obviously have no need for it anymore… Anyways, the cost was probably relatively cheaper than what you'll be able to find considering we trade with the Tyroshi on a regular basis."

Oberyn thrust the basket towards Ned, simply stating, "It's yours. You need it more than we do. It should last until she can use it but if it does go bad before then, let us know, we'll send more."

Without letting Ned protest, the younger Martell Prince focused on Sandor shocking everyone by saying, "In the near future I will be sending you a poultice that should help your scars to some degree, along with the directions on how to use it and make more. Consider it as a thank you. Where will you be a month from now?"

Sandor's eyes widened completely befuddled at the kindness being shown to him, pointing towards Jaime. "I go where he goes."

Oberyn cocked his eyebrow tilting his head in the blondes direction, who said, "Casterly Rock - or at least in route." At the grimace Jaime received from Oberyn he flinched, "I know! You don't have to say anything that my mind hasn't already thought of. I would love to believe that my father didn't order this but… truth be told I think any good, loving part of him died with my mother. Or is at least hidden away deep inside him."

Oberyn nodded his head begrudgingly, letting it go, knowing there was nothing they could do right now. "We go through you. Okay? Any trade talks, anything we need or have to talk about, we go through you."

Jaime nodded his head rapidly, quickly agreeing to that concession.

Doran peered at the sun with a sigh. "We need to let you be on your way to cover some distance before sunset."

Oberyn snorted, "You going to tell the girls that this ship is leaving with their newest fascination without them on it?"

Doran grimaced before straightening up, "I'm the Prince of Dorne. I could just order you to do it."

"Damn it," Oberyn hissed, hesitating slightly before striding forward towards the abundance of females, the only male in the group being his infant nephew.

Doran smirked watching him get bombarded with arguments and pouting before turning towards the men and offering his hand to Ned. "I hope to see you again soon. Dorne is open to any trade talks you may have in the future. Congratulations on your heir, and please take good care of my beautiful niece." He then shook the hands of Jaime, Sandor, Arthur, Oswell, and the entire Northern contingent before walking towards his squabbling daughter, lifting her quickly into his arms. With a quick heartfelt goodbye to his cousin and niece, he began corralling the women and children towards the exit of the boat.

Oberyn took the reprieve to say goodbye to Wylla and Lyarra as well, getting a kiss on the cheek from the woman and a giggle from the babe. He stalked towards the knights, lords, and heirs, giving Arthur, Oswell, and Jaime a long hug promising to see them soon. He shook hands with the others, just as his brother did, before turning to the Stark lord. "Oh! A word of caution, Lord Dayne has already sent word to our spies telling them to start spreading the rumor of your infidelity with Ashara Dayne. Don't be surprised if your lady wife and her family give you a less than warm welcome." With a devilish smile and an unexpected hug, the passionate Dornish Prince scooped Obara, who was trying to argue that she should stay and protect the violet eyed babe, up and over his shoulder, herding the rest of the children off the ship and onto the dock.

Ned shook his head as he watched them go, emotionally feeling like he had just been both run over by a stampeding herd of horses, and adopted by the Martell's. Jaime, Arthur, Oswell, and even Sandor felt similar.

Wylla waved a hand at her cousins, getting two nods in response, feeling somewhat sad but content with the knowledge that she'd see them sooner than Lord Stark thought. She fixed the blanket wrapped around the babe in her arms, and glanced up at the men on deck, shaking her head at their dumbfounded appearances. She strode towards the stairs which would lead her back to the cabin, calling over her shoulder, "Look alive boys, we need to get sailing!"