"We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy."
-G.R.R.M.
(ROBB STARK X OC)
(SEASON 1-8)
(COVER BY @JustSav)
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ONE YEAR LATER
Doran Martell steadied in his chair, exhaling deeply as his eyes adjusted to the bright skies of the water garden. The giggles of young adults running through the large trees and beautiful landscaping filled the air.
"Do you remember when you were that young? Did you ever expect for us to fall so far?" Victoria commented softly, bowing in front of her uncle and walking to her chair, she took her seat besides her uncle, adjusting to the plush cushion and melting into its back support.
She was a changed women from the girl who had stepped off the docks in Dorne, her hair was no longer long and spewing down her back but now cut short and swayed above her shoulders. Her skin was now a smooth tan, a shade darker then her children's. She no longer looked as thin as she'd once been but was now comely like a women ripe of her age. At only 3 and 20 she indeed appeared as powerful as her name and stories foretold. She was the panther that rose from a lions den and the wolf cave, surviving the odds of a Dornish women in Westeros.
Doran looked over at his niece, she was so strange to him sometimes, so familiar from voices past he reminded himself often how she was her own women. The softness in her eyes and the gentle smile she gave was much like his sister Elia had been even near the end but the fierce and sharp gaze given was like Oberyn's after long journeys. Sometimes her stubbornness rivaled her fathers but the gentle way she coaxed herself into always gaining favor was all Amara Martell. She had seen many faults and falls, her words echoed those of leaders past but she was still just a girl, naive to much of the art in war.
"Have you been speaking with Elaria?" He questioned her.
She looked over, tendrils of hair whipping in the air, "she's spoken of your decisions quite often and loudly, even if it is not directly to me it is to someone with ears. Uncle, you must be careful, there is nothing more dangerous then a wrathful women."
"She does not understand, I loved my brother deeply and I wished he had made different decisions but it was his choice and it was a valid fight. He knew what the outcomes may be," Doran defended, he was tired of this same argument, he's enough from the sand snakes and the questionable stares he received from his people.
"I know," Victoria muttered back and twirled the cup of wine in her hand. She grew fearful each day for her uncles life, "for what it's worth, I agree with you there but Uncle, you have to know it does not send a great message. Oberyn was loved in Dorne, more then most and to see him die at the hands of a Lannister's doing... it's not right. None of this is a great look for our people, we once won a war against the Targaryens, their blood is as much Martell as ours is. And now where do we stand?"
"You've been speaking to Elaria," Doran grew slightly angry, his eyes darkening as he stared at his niece ready to defend his choice.
She drew back and a loud breath exhaled, "I won't lie to you uncle, we've spoken, well, she's spoken at me. She's angry but so are most, everyone is, we lost again to the Lannisters and harbor a daughter here. She's a child, and of no fault but it is not safe for her."
