Chapter Text
Ashar had celebrated his eleventh name day. He liked swimming, swords, and roast lamb. In no particular order. He only knew that those three things were what he enjoyed most in life, and he did not spend much time thinking about anything else.
Lord Dayne had decided the time had come to speak frankly with his youngest son.
Ashar sat across from him, as straight-backed as he could manage, watching him with the same violet eyes he had inherited from his father. He waited in silence, convinced he was there to receive some command.
“You are old enough now for us to speak of your future,” said Lord Dayne. “My father had this same conversation with my brother Allyr when he was even younger than you. The sooner a man learns what paths lie before him, the sooner he may decide what to do with his fate.”
Ashar thought of his uncle Allyr, whom he had never known. He had died in a tourney years before Ashar was born. His father always described him as a gallant and valiant man. His mother used different words. She called him ambitious. Rash. Foolhardy.
“You are my third son, Ashar. The gods have blessed me with four strong and healthy children, and you are the third.”
Ashar nodded. He wondered why his father was stating the obvious. Yes, he was the third son. Lord Dayne had three sons, and Allyria, his sister, was his only daughter.
“Ulrick is my heir. He will be a just man, like my father before me, and his father before him,” Lord Dayne continued. “Arthur is my second son. It is too soon to say for certain, but the master-at-arms believes he will one day be the one who wields Dawn, and if I am honest, I believe so as well...”
“But I have not even finished my…” Ashar tried to protest, but his father ignored the interruption and continued.
“Arthur has a gift, son. Men like him are not born every century, and only men of such skill can wield Dawn.”
The youngest of the Daynes was left speechless by his father's words. The boy knew Arthur was exceptional, but he had never imagined that everyone had already decided it would be his brother who would wield Dawn, the ancestral sword of their House, the greatest honor a Dayne could hope for in life.
He had thought he would have more time to train, to complete his lessons, and then compete with his brother so that it might be decided which of them would become the finer knight.
Now his father was telling him to his face that everyone already knew Arthur would achieve it, and he would not.
Part of the boy wanted to weep at the unfairness of it, at not even being given the chance to prove himself. Yet he held back his tears. To cry before his father would be a grave mistake. His mother had told him that a third son could not afford weakness.
“For his training, Arthur must remain at Starfall. He needs to learn from the finest maesters, and I must oversee his progress myself. Ulrick must remain as well. As heir, his place is here.”
Ashar waited a few moments before speaking.
“And me, Father?”
Lord Dayne smiled then, as though that had been precisely the question he had hoped to hear.
“To be a third son is no simple thing,” he said. “The first paths have already been laid before your brothers. The heir inherits. The great knight wins glory. Third sons must carve their own way through the world.”
Ashar listened in silence.
“It all depends on what you desire from life. A clever man may achieve great things. A complacent one gains little beyond what is handed to him.”
“I will be clever,” Ashar promised.
His father's smile widened slightly.
“I should hope so. No Dayne ought to aspire to less. You shall have for brothers the lord of one of the greatest Houses in Dorne and, if the gods are good, the finest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. You could choose a comfortable life: wed some lesser heiress and live beneath the shelter of your name. Many men would count themselves fortunate to have such a fate.”
Lord Dayne paused.
“But you may aspire to more.”
Those words made Ashar straighten in his seat.
The thought of wedding an heiress and living a quiet life held no appeal for him. He wanted his father to be proud of him. He wanted to prove himself worthy of the name Dayne.
“Which is why I suggest you make the most of our next stay in Sunspear. The Martells rule Dorne, and our Houses have been allies for generations. For whatever reason, Princess Loreza and I have never been particularly close. You should remedy that. Grow close to her heir. A bridge between our Houses could prove most valuable to you in the years to come.”
“I shall do so, Father,” the boy promised.
Lord Dayne watched him for a long moment before finally nodding, satisfied.
Before leaving his father's solar, Ashar realized how much his life had changed in so short a time.
I cannot fail, he thought.
I cannot fail, for it is my duty. My only duty to my House.
Those were the words the son of Lord Dayne repeated to himself again and again.
II.
The boy's first impression of the Martell palace was that it was a paradise, for the Water Gardens were the most wonderful place Ashar had ever seen in his life. To begin with, they were filled with orange trees hanging heavy with fruit like a feast waiting to be plucked, while the fountains teemed with children of all ages at play. The colors were bright and marvelous.
To Ashar, it felt like a dream.
As he stood staring open-mouthed at such a wondrous place, it was his mother who brought him back to the present, gripping his shoulder firmly so that he might pay attention to those standing before him.
The Martells.
Ashar recognized Princess Loreza. She was the Princess of Dorne and Lady of Sunspear.
The boy tried to straighten his shoulders as he looked upon the rightful ruler of Dorne.
The princess was short, at least a head shorter than his own mother, yet there was firmness in her bearing. She looked like someone capable of carrying any burden set upon her shoulders. Her hair was long and woven into an intricate braid, and her gown appeared to be made of silk. Ashar was not very good at recognizing fabrics, but it looked expensive, like the cloth his mother had ordered from Myr for his younger sister Allyria's last name day gown.
The princess did not quite smile. Only the corners of her mouth lifted slightly as she clasped his father's hand.
Ashar was easily distracted and soon began studying the rest of the Martells.
He started with the man standing at the princess's right. He was tall, with wavy hair, large brown eyes, and a sharp nose. He had to be Lord Garin Wyl, though he did not look much like a Wyl.
Ulrick had told him that the Wyls possessed amber eyes that, beneath the sun, took on a feline cast, like some desert beast lying in wait to devour you from the shadows. The princess's husband did not possess such a gaze. Yet his eyes were just as fascinating: bright, expressive, and full of life.
The man turned his head and caught him staring.
Ashar felt a stab of embarrassment, as though he had been caught doing something improper. Yet the man only offered him a crooked smile.
Ashar immediately looked away.
His gaze quickly moved to the princess's heirs. He noticed the absence of the eldest, Prince Doran, who was fostering at Salt Shore.
Of the princes present, Mors, the second son, looked the most like a Wyl, with his amber eyes and fairer complexion. What he possessed of the Martells was his wavy hair and slender build.
The third son was Olyvar. Of the princes, he was the tallest and broadest, with the same brown eyes as Lord Garin.
Ashar did not think he could become very close to either of them. Both were older than he was. Even Ulrick usually sent him off to Arthur whenever he came looking for him.
So he turned his attention to the last boy.
That had to be Oberyn.
He was nearly Ashar's age. His hair was dark and straight, just like the princess's, and his eyes were identical to his mother's, though he had inherited his father's nose.
As Ashar studied him, the youngest prince returned his gaze with unusual boldness. Unlike what had happened with his father, Ashar did not look away this time.
The youngest prince answered with a mischievous wink.
Ashar smiled.
At last, a possible friend.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps distracted him from the prince. He looked up in search of the source of the commotion, and in that moment the youngest son of Lord Dayne saw her for the first time in his life.
Elia Martell.
Above them stood a girl with incredibly long hair, so long that it reached her waist and curled into soft waves at the ends. Her skin seemed to glow. She wore a delicate silk gown embroidered with intricate flowers.
Yet the most remarkable part of her attire was not the costly gown.
It was the flowers woven through her hair.
An entire crown of flowers rested upon her head, giving her the appearance of a fairy from the old tales, like one of Garth Greenhand's daughters. She looked as though she had stepped straight from the songs sung by the bards.
Ashar had never seen anyone like her.
The princess hurried down the steps and took her place beside Oberyn, ignoring her brother's teasing for arriving late.
The son of Lord Dayne could not take his eyes off her, especially now that she stood directly across from him.
The princess is special, Ashar thought.
She looked like the Maiden herself, too beautiful to be real.
His admiration was so great that he entirely missed the moment when he was supposed to introduce himself.
“Ashar!” his father called.
The boy blinked, finally breaking the spell the princess had cast over him. He turned toward his father and immediately understood his mistake.
From the look Lord Dayne gave him, and from the distance that now separated them from Arthur, he knew he had missed his turn to make his introduction.
His face reddened at once.
He could feel his mother's disapproving stare without even daring to look at her.
Hurriedly, he stepped forward until he stood before the princess and performed the bow he had practiced over and over throughout the journey.
“Princess, it is... it is an honor to meet you,” he stammered. “I am Ashar Dayne, youngest son of Lord Dayne.”
The princess answered warmly.
“You are most welcome, young Dayne. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you, Princess,” he replied at once.
Not knowing what else to say, he quickly returned to his place.
His cheeks were still burning.
Then he thought he heard an amused snort to his right.
Indignant, he looked up.
Oberyn was watching him.
The prince was not openly laughing, but his eyes shone with obvious amusement.
Ashar immediately looked away.
He had ruined everything.
He had practiced that introduction so many times.
Yet, almost against his will, his eyes drifted back to Princess Elia.
To his surprise, she was watching him as well.
She had impossibly long lashes and beautiful brown eyes, yet the most dazzling thing was not that she was looking at him.
It was her smile.
The princess of flowers was smiling at him, and she had the loveliest smile he had ever seen.
Ashar froze for a moment.
She was too beautiful.
He blinked sharply, trying not to become paralyzed again, and smiled back at her, exactly as his mother had told him to do whenever he did not know how to behave before a lady.
Elia's smile grew wider.
The boy noticed that the princess had adorable dimples in her cheeks and that she was even lovelier up close.
Ashar did not know it then, but one day he would realize that from that moment onward, he would never wish to be apart from her again.