Chapter Text
DORAN I
The paper crackled softly when Doran Martell unfurled it, laid it flat upon his desk and read the black ink scrawled onto it, " Both Ned Stark and Jon Arryn have married a Tully daughter each," He announced wearily, the corner of his mouth turning downwards. He spent another moment scanning the text before leaving the parchment to curl back up and protect its treasure. He rubbed his chin, eyes looking up at his younger brother in front of him, " I know what you are going to say,"
" It needs to be heard regardless," Oberyn countered, " We must march in full force past our mountains; a few words of support and a men will not save Elia from Robert Baratheon and his wolves, falcons and trouts,"
Doran's frown deepened, " Our sister has our uncle, Arthur Dayne, and ten thousand Dornishmen to defend her and her children's lives. I have ordered them to bring them away to safety at the first and most surest sign of danger,"
" Kingsguard ," His brother hissed, " Who do you think they are most bound to obey? They will eat their own cocks if Aerys commanded them to, - and if Aerys orders Elia to stay in Kings Landing and our soldiers to march away to the Stormlands to meet the rebels at the time the Stags and the Wolves come charging in, Elia will be-,"
" She will be treated as royalty- of the Martells, if not of the Targaryens," Doran said firmly, " She and her children will be held for ransom, and likely be held prisoner to ensure our full cooperation. She, Rhaenys and Aegon will not be harmed lest they risk the fury of Dorne. I trust Jon Arryn to have that much sense if not Robert Baratheon,"
" You say that like it's a good thing," Oberyn pushed his chair back, almost tossing it to the floor, and went to the window, " And you seem to place a lot of faith in the... goodness, if not logic, of the Rebels. Where did you discover this faith, brother, if i may ask?"
" I will not risk anymore lives of common Dornishmen and sentence them to their deaths in a place far away from their own homes," He almost raised his voice, but he knew better. Winning an argument didn't mean having the loudest voice, but the best reason ; that was what his mother taught him. It was something he tried to hold true to- but he also knew that those with the loudest voices were often the most popular. Oberyn was one with the louder voice than his own, and Dorne will rally to his cause if he yelled it, " And I will not openly support a mad king, who burns people at his own whims and cooks them in their own armour as their sons watch. That in addition to Prince Rhaegar leaving our sister for another, gives me less and less reason to throw everything i have in support of the dragons,”
Oberyn scoffed and pulled his hair back, away from his face, and as he did so, his nails scraped the skin of his head in frustration, " It's not about who's fucking arse sits on that ugly throne, or who sleeps with who- it's about the safety of Elia, our sister, and her two little children. Aegon is not a few months old!"
" No harm will come to them," Doran snapped, " I will make sure of that,"
" Really?" his wild brother stalked back to his desk and planted both fists against the wood and leant forward, his eyes locking with Doran's own, " Then let me ride to King's Landing and protect Elia with mine own spear. I don't trust anyone else with her and her children's lives- not even our own uncle and the Sword of Morning. Not even an entire army,"
Doran stared back into his brother's eyes. Oberyn had always been inseparable from Elia, they were only a year apart and they grew upon each other, like two seedlings planted close together. They grew to support, complement and balance each other and he loved her more than Doran could ever understand. So he nodded, his lips thin, " Go, but in secret. I will not risk half of Dorne raising their banners to join you,"
Oberyn gave a curt nod and straightened, his eyes dark in the shadow, untouched by the sun flooding through the windows, " I'll leave by nightfall- and for you, brother, i will tell no one,"
Doran nodded, and his brother turned on his heel and went to the door.
" Be safe,"
" You should worry less for my own safety, and more for our sister’s,”
Doran sighed, and leant back into his chair. His little brother was always the wilful of them, the most stubborn and the most robust- even from the start. He remembered seeing Oberyn in his cradle, not a few hours old, and he was kicking and squalling and his hands grabbed and pulled at anything he could reach. Five fingers wrapped around one of Doran’s own, and he recalled fearing that his finger might break under the babe’s grip. Little Elia was the exact contrast of Oberyn, and Doran could not find in his memories a time where he would find Elia awake in her cradle. She was always quiet, sickly and above all, gentle in her hands, smiles and eyes. Doran swallowed his anxieties and fears over his sibling’s lives and once the door was closed, he unsealed another letter.
From Jon Arryn; who has agreed to ensure the safety of Elia and her children- to protect them from any harm and to treat them with every care and honour that they received as the Prince's own family. In exchange, Arryn had asked for the effective withdrawal of the Martells from the war, in all forms. He breathed and reached for a length of parchment, a quill and a pot of ink.
' The only exchange you will receive, is the non escalation of the Dornish effort in this war- and after, should the tides turn to favour you and your own,' He wrote, ' Dorne wants her Princess and her children safe and perfectly unharmed. Ensure this, and I swear upon my mother's grave and upon the lives of my people that you will have our neutrality throughout the course of this war, brief shelter should this war go badly for your side, and full cooperation and trade should it go well. Fail this condition, and you will receive the exact opposite. We resisted Dragons for a hundred years- stags, wolves, falcons and trouts will not compare. We do not bow, we do not bend, and we do not break. Truly, Prince Doran Nymeros Martell,'
He leant back, sanded the ink, and shook it clean and dry. Perhaps it was too harsh, perhaps his words were too threatening, but he was not weak and will not be seen as such. Elia and her children were all that mattered in this war- and he would not lose them.