Every eye is locked on her.
She is easy to spot. Even in the endless sea of lords, knights, and ladies which fills this cavernous hall inside Harrenhal, Lady Ashara is a commanding presence. Tall for her five and ten years, Ashara moves gracefully through each move, curling black hair bouncing in time to her steps. The silk of her dress fairly shimmers in the flickering candlelight, its violet hue perfectly matching the purple of her eyes.
Princess Elia is among those watching her, though her attention is on the ladyâs partner rather than the lady herself. Though older than Lady Ashara, Prince Oberyn matches her energy, managing the quick movements with ease. In the orange and red of House Martell, he seems like living fire next to her, leaping about ready to consume her. Eliaâs smile is wide and warm at the sight of them together.
The music ends. Oberyn bows to excuse himself, and in an instant Ashara is beset by half a dozen admirers, all begging the favor of the next dance.
âReally, Elia, itâs unfair,â Oberyn teases, as he settles himself beside his sister. âYou and Lady Ashara living up here. All the beautiful women of Dorne are gone.â
âMore reason for you to visit,â she replies, matching his playful tone.
Oberyn kisses her hand. âSweet sister, you are all the reason I need to come north.â He casts a glance at the high throne, where King Aerys is busily picking at one of his scabs and Rhaegar is staring impassively into the crowd of dancers. âEven if some people would rather not have me.â
âYou are always welcome with me, she insists. "It has been too long.â
âIndeed it has,â he agreed. âDid I tell you I am a father again?â
âYouâve not taken another septa, I hope,â she asks, only half in jest.
He laughs mischievously. âI promise you, sweetling, she was as eager to escape her motherhouse as I was to assist her. But no, her mother is a Summer Islander.â
Elia does not miss a key detail in his description. âAnother girl?â
He grins. âSarella. My fourth.â
âAre you disappointed?â The question comes from her automatically.
Oberyn gives her a mocking scowl. âWhy should I be? We are Nymeros Martells, after all.â
Elia tries to smile, but her mouth soon falls. âRhaenys âŚâ She trails off and looks up, hoping to meet Rhaegarâs gaze, but his violet eyes are focused elsewhere. âShe is not what was wanted.â
Oberyn sniffs. âShe is half-Martell, and thatâs all that matters. When do I get to see her, Elia? If sheâs half as pretty as her mother sheâll be breaking hearts soon enough.â
Elia chuckles despite herself. âShe will take after her uncle that way.â
The prince throws back his head and laughs. âA rake and a reprobate, isnât that what Lord Edgar called me?â
âYou were in bed with his paramour, Oberyn,â she reminds him.
âAnd I would have bedded her again, if Mother hadnât sent her away,â he replies. âHow the old fool managed to keep such a lively wench in his bed, Iâll never know.â
âOberyn,â Elia admonishes him, gently.
The prince kisses her hand. âYes, my dear princess?â
His levity is infections, and she catches it in her tone. Â "How are Doran and the children?â
"Arianne will be as formidable as Mother one day,â he prophesies fondly. âShe was very disappointed to hear I was going, and demanded to know when she could see you again and hold âcouthin Rhaenythâ.â He imitates her youthful lisp.
Elia giggles. âAnd our brother?â
âAs disappointed in me as ever,â he remarks lightly. âI told him I was going to go abroad as a sellsword for a while, and he gave me one of his long sighs.â
Her face grows drawn. âYou would not, truly?â
âWhy not?â He shrugs. âGallivanting through Essos with no more than a spear in my hand and some coins in my purse? It would be quite an adventure.â
âSo far, though,â she comments. âAnd so dangerous.â
âDangerous?â He scoffs. âThere is not a man born who can touch me, sister.â
âOf course.â She pauses, studying the dark eyes he shares with her and biting her lip.
âElia?â For once, his tone is soft, with no teasing in it. âWhat is it?â
She looks briefly back up at the high throne, trying to find Rhaegar, but her husband has already disappeared and she cannot find him in the crowd. Elia lets out a soft sigh and focuses on Oberyn once more. âWill you dance again?â
His brow furrows a moment at the unexpected question, but when he answers his voice is cheerful. âPerhaps.â His eyes fall on Ashara Dayne. âIf I can win her away from Stark.â
Elia sees Ashara conversing with the handsome heir to Winterfell; she cannot hear them, but something Ashara has said must have been amusing, because Brandon bears his teeth in a wolfish smile. Beside him stands another Stark - his brother, Eddard, she recalls - with long features made even more solemn by his quietness. âYou say it as if it were a challenge,â she remarks.
âWho said it isnât?â His eyes shine. âWomen are the best thing to fight for.â
âYouâll have your hands full.â Elia nods to Ashara and Brandon as the latter introduces another Stark - not so tall, not so handsome, and far more solemn-looking.
Oberyn shrugs again. âTwo only makes it more interesting.â
âYou will have her, then?â She watches him carefully for his reply.
âBe sure of it, my sweet.â He offers her his most sincere smile.
Eliaâs reply is radiant with joy, and she gives him a kiss on the cheek in return. âThen I wish you all success.â