(Just made that picture tonight - hope you like it!)

Oberyn

Word had come to him that his daughters were seen preparing for a fight, and Oberyn knew that the time had come. Doran could no longer hold out on his plans. They could either bring their machinations to light, or risk everything falling apart.

He watched them slowly enter the room with Areo. They were on their guard, as if the battle they anticipated had merely shifted locations. Were they truly willing to fight family for the right to kill a Lannister?

How far they had all fallen.

Doran still sat at the head of the room, his eyes clear and pain-free, ready to do his duty, whether it was to issue commands or punishment, he would surely show them soon enough. Arianne sat to his right, calm, but undoubtedly confused as well. Her hands rested neatly in her lap, but Oberyn could see her picking at the threads of her dress.

As for himself, Oberyn sat on his brother's left side, leaning forward on his knees, the weapons of his daughters lying at his feet: spear, blades, and whip. For once, the idea of them covered in Lannister blood brought him no joy. The thought alone made him frown deeply.

He had begged Ellaria remain with their other daughters.

"Am I not your prince?" Doran asked, as the doors closed and they were left alone with none but Areo to guard them. "Do my commands mean nothing to you? Does this house mean nothing to you?"

Obara's frown only deepened. Nymeria straightened her back. Only Tyene glanced at her feet, the barest amount of shame showing through.

"Do you bear no love for your country?"

"It is for our country that we would do this!" Obara snapped, stepping forward. Areo was at her side in an instant, ready to protect his prince, but Doran waved him off. The Sand Snakes would not dare.

"How long have our countrymen cried for justice, Uncle?" Nymeria asked, ever the diplomat, her tongue as sharp as blades. "How often must we hear the tragic tale of our princess and know that there is no justice?"

"You house the son of the man who had her killed," Tyene added.

"The son," Doran emphasized, looking at them all. "Not the father. Should all children pay for the crimes of their parents?"

Obara snorted. "Little Aegon and Rhaenys did, and they were far more innocent than the likes of Jaime Lannister."

"Perhaps, but his crimes are not ours to punish."

Tyene shook her head. "He should have been with them. They were his to protect, and he failed them."

"He was with his king."

"He was killing his king," Nymeria pointed out flatly.

"And what a king he was..."

Oberyn looked to his brother as his voice trailed off. He wondered if perhaps Doran did not mean to say those last words aloud. There was a distant look to his face, pensive. He knew he had spoken to the Kingslayer some days ago, and wondered if something had been revealed to him then.

He also knew that unlike the others in the room, Doran had met Aerys Targaryen well before the madness had claimed him. Oberyn supposed he might have too, but had been too young to recall such an event. There were few alive who could recollect the man before the Mad King, but those who did described it as a great tragedy. As dishonorable as the action had been, perhaps his brother could not help but side with the Kingslayer in that regard.

As it was, Doran was correct. It was not their crime to punish. That would be for another, whose time would come soon enough.

His daughters watched on with confused gazes, eyes occasionally turning to him, waiting for an answer, but Oberyn would give them none. This was his brother's task, and he would only step in when requested.

Doran took a breath, regaining his concentration. "If I asked you to fight for your country, to die for it, would you?"

"Without question," Obara replied. Doran waited until the others nodded their assent.

"And if I asked you to lay down your arms and not take up the fight against the Lannisters, because I am your prince, would you do it?"

It should have been a simple answer. In most places, men would not hesitate to stop waging war, but Dorne had never been so simple a place. Dorne was a wound left untreated, festering, to ask them to do anything that did not sate the beast that lusted for vengeance would harm them more than war ever could. But Doran needed a test of their loyalty. Oberyn had agreed to that much.

The silence that passed between them was unbearably long.

It ended when Tyene took a knee, her mother's calm temperament persevering over everything else.

"I live to serve my prince," she said calmly.

Nymeria and Obara looked down, no doubt disappointed by their younger sister's abandonment of the cause. Then they glanced at one another, speaking in silence.

Soon after, Nymeria joined her sister on the floor, her movements stiff, but words flowing.

"For my prince, I will do what is asked of me."

Obara stood the longest. She never had been fond of kneeling, her knees as solid as the strongest stone, but even mountains gave way over time, and so did she.

"My life belongs to Dorne, and her prince."

Doran looked to him then, one last confirmation between brothers that what they were doing was the right course of action. Oberyn nodded once. He knew his daughters well, and once they had heard the plan, there would be none more loyal.

Still, Doran was silent for some time, before he turned to Arianne. She had remained quiet all the while, clearly sensing there was more to the gathering than initially let on. He always believed her to be the most intelligent of them all, if she'd only control her temperament like her father.

"Do you remember the suitors I presented to you?"

Arianne frowned. "I always wondered if you hated me, bringing such old, lecherous men to my attention. I am worth more than all of them."

"On that, we agree," Doran said with a sad smile. It only served to confuse his eldest. "You always questioned why I chose such poor prospects, when perhaps you should have asked why I allowed you to reject every one of them. Most fathers would not care to hear their daughters' cries. The marriages would have gone forward nonetheless."

"You would not do that to me."

"No, I would not," Doran started, sighing. "Because I had other plans for you."

Oberyn found himself holding his breath.

"You were right, in part, Arianne. Sunspear was not meant to be yours. I raised your brother, Quentyn, to be Lord of Sunspear, but it was not because I did not wish you to rule. I had a bigger role for you to play.

"Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Arianne's eyes had gone wide as saucers, and his daughters suddenly looked less tense, their kneeling turned to proper sitting on the floor.

"I sent Oberyn to Essos, to strike a deal. I betrothed you, in secret, to Viserys Targaryen. When the time came, Dorne would rise to the aid of House Targaryen once more, and together we would strike down those who had destroyed what we held dear. Robert Baratheon would fall, and Tywin Lannister would see the ruin of his house before he left this world."

"But Viserys is dead," Arianne replied, her voice a whisper.

Doran nodded. "Viserys is dead, but his sister, Daenerys, is not. She thrives in Essos with an army, and dragons if what I am told is correct. And that is where Quentyn travels now, to renew the pact between our houses."

His brother turned to the girls then, their bodies still, eyes reverent. "I know that you are eager for vengeance. The number of times I have longed to begin our war is beyond count, but we are not yet ready. I ask you wait but a moment longer."

"For fire and blood," Obara stated, her voice strong and ready.

"For Elia," Nymeria continued.

"For Rhaenys and Aegon," Tyene finished.

Finer were these vows than the ones that had brought them to their knees.

At Doran's gesture, the girls stood, and Oberyn returned their weapons to them. He felt a swell of pride in his chest. His daughters would play their part. They all would.

"Nymeria. Tyene. Go with your father to King's Landing. Watch and listen, just as your sister, and bring me word of anything."

They bowed in unison.

"Obara, I would ask that you remain here. We are not the only family who schemes in these late hours, and it is your spear that I trust."

The eldest bowed her head. "I live to serve you, Uncle."

They cleared the room then, and Oberyn felt himself able to breathe easier than he had in quite some time. He loved his daughters fiercely, but they had always been a matter of contention; he could not blame them for the way they acted – they were of his blood after all – but that did not make it any easier on him. It was good that he no longer needed to lie.

Turning to Arianne, Oberyn was surprised to see a look of panic on his niece's face. Before he could think to ask, the young woman flung herself before her father's feet.

"Father, please forgive me for all the suffering that I have caused."

Doran brought his hand to her, turning her face to him. "I have already forgiven you."

"No," she replied. "No, there is something else that you do not know. Something Syrena did."

Sansa

She had often wondered when she would leave Dorne. In the beginning, it would be the first thing that crossed her mind in the morning: will I leave soon? She hadn't been foolish enough to outright ask the question, but nonetheless, the little voice in the back of her mind persisted.

Then it became a matter of not needing to leave. Oberyn was treating her well, and taught her how to be better than she was, how to seek her vengeance. She was safe, well liked, and out of the clutches of the Lannisters. Traveling with Littlefinger brought too many unknowns that she was not prepared to handle.

And now? Now a part of her did not want to leave. She had grown used to the climate, the people, the peace. A lie it might have all been, but it was better than anything she had known since her world fell apart in King's Landing.

In truth, she was afraid, though she refused to show it. Myra may have been her older sister, but it was clear that she needed her to be strong. If she began to second guess anything, everything would fall apart. But she did not mind needing to be the strong one. She didn't quite know how to be the scared little girl again anyway.

She only wished she could still be ignorant on certain matters.

Sansa found herself in the library on the day they were bound to leave. Soon enough, she would have to go to Myra and prepare her for the evening, but she was drawing that out as long as she could, reading over books that were not suited for her journey. Her sister loved Jaime Lannister, and she could not fault her for that no matter how hard she tried – after everything with Joffrey, Sansa doubted she had the right to anyway – but that did not mean she had to like what was about to happen.

Fortunately, the Kingslayer was so enamored with her sister that he seemed bound to do anything she asked.

Sometimes, she wondered if Myra was aware.

"I thought I might find you here."

Sansa glanced at the doorway, finding Oberyn standing there. He was picking at one of the rings on his fingers. Something had happened, but she would not press it.

She almost smiled. "Back in Winterfell, I rarely went to the library. My sister would drag me there sometimes, but I preferred when someone sang the stories. Reading seemed like such a waste."

Oberyn entered the library, taking in the ornate bookshelves and the neatly leather-bound texts that lined them. "Had we the time, your sister and my brother would perhaps enjoy a conversation or two. They seem quite alike: quiet, studious, exasperated by their younger siblings."

"Myra always enjoyed conversations," Sansa replied as Oberyn took a seat across from her. They both rested on simple, wooden chairs, separated by a simple table with a plate of grapes lying on its surface. "She liked to learn about you, every detail, no matter how small. My mother used to say she knew how to make a person feel welcome, like they actually mattered."

"That is a rare gift."

"I wouldn't call it that."

Their conversation lapsed into silence. Sansa placed her book on the table, studying Oberyn. She would not go so far as to say he was nervous – she doubted he felt that way often – but he seemed slightly on edge. But maybe they all felt that way now. Leaving Dorne was the end and the beginning of many things, and not all of them welcome in their lives.

"We are on opposite sides now, you and I," Oberyn spoke after a while. He sounded remorseful. "The Lannisters and the Starks. It should be quite the event."

It almost hurt to hear him say that. She would never be on the Lannisters' side, regardless of whom her sister married.

"I'm not on anyone's side," Sansa admitted, folding her hands together. "And I don't believe you are either. We love our families, we are loyal to them, but if there is an opportunity sitting right before us, do you really think either one of us would stop ourselves for them?"

Oberyn's mouth twitched. "Perhaps you know me too well."

They left the library together, walking side by side, not arm in arm. She didn't much like the sensation anymore.

"You realize that you do not have to go," he said as they walked down the hall. The sun was beginning to set, the shadows growing longer.

"Of course I do. I'm not leaving her alone in that city."

But she wasn't really going to be with Myra either. Given the fact she had fled the capital, Sansa thought it best not to test Joffrey's non-existent patience. She would remain hidden in the city, where she would be safe. Starving street beggars were nothing compared to the Red Keep and its thralls.

Still, she would be close, and that meant something to both of them.

"He will find you."

Oberyn did not need to say whom.

"I'm planning on it."

"Are you now?" he asked, turning to her with a look of approval. "May King's Landing come to fear what Sansa Stark has planned for her. For the sake of our friendship, I hope you'll tell me when to duck."

Myra

I always dreamed of what your wedding would look like.

Myra could hear her mother's voice echo through the chamber as if she were actually there rather than a distant piece of her memory. She imagined Dorne was not the dream her mother spoke of, nor Jaime Lannister her intended, and found herself contemplating if this would have been good enough for her.

Perhaps she would only sigh. Robb already had a secret marriage in the dead of night, so of course his twin would too.

It was different, she told herself, in a way.

And in a way, it was the same.

Her dress was simple. It was not meticulously sewn by her mother and sister, but rather pulled from a wardrobe. Perhaps it had been worn before, perhaps not, but the material was light and gray and that would have to be the best they could do. She would not be cloaked in the sigil of her house, after all, and Jaime would bear no lions either. There would be no cloak to drape across her shoulders, no overdrawn ceremony in a choked room of incense and finery or beneath a tree of blood red leaves. Only the words, the act itself.

It seemed appropriate for them.

Sansa kindly braided her hair, pulling it to one side and allowing it to lie across her shoulder. It reminded her of that day in the Riverlands, right before they'd been attacked, when she'd caught Jaime in an awkward place, picking a twig from her hair. How they'd laughed then.

What would have happened had they not been interrupted? Would they have known it would lead to this moment, or would they still deny it?

Myra and Sansa did not speak through the whole affair. Her sister was thinking, and Myra could not think at all. The only thing she could do was focus on the tight ball of nerves that had nestled in her stomach.

After, however, they spoke. Sansa had to tell her the vows. She never knew them. Her wedding was to have been in a godswood and the Seven had no place there.

Saying the wrong words would be how she began her marriage.

Marriage.

There were no crowds to see them through to the ceremony. No servants bustled to and fro to begin the feast – there would be none for they were leaving that night – and no handmaidens attended their every step. They were escorted by one guard, whose air of disinterest rivaled that of Dorne's climate.

The sept of the Water Gardens was smaller than she expected, but no less ornate with intricate tiling and jewel work on the walls. Water poured inside along little channels that lined the perimeter of the building, crossing inward under golden grates that led to a small fountain in the center. Statues as high as the ceiling surrounded them, each depicting a facet of the Seven.

In that moment, if she were called upon to recite their names, she would fail.

Jaime was already there, standing beside Tyrion and whispering something quietly. They'd managed to find him something in red at least. She supposed it really did not matter, but some small part of her appreciated it.

When his eyes met hers, Myra could not quite describe what she saw in them, but it made her stomach settle, if only briefly.

"You don't have to do this," she told him. "There are other ways to get around this, I'm sure."

"Name one," he replied, quick to call her bluff.

"Well, I...I can't but..." she stumbled over her words, overwhelmed by the earnestness in his eyes, the eagerness. It was as if now that he had proposed the idea, there was nothing he wanted more. It should have elated Myra. Instead, it frightened her. "Jaime, you'll be in danger."

He chuckled lightly, running his good hand through her hair. "And where do you think I am now, Myra Stark?"

Sansa leveled one last look at Jaime before stepping away, moving to stand with Brienne who watched the entire ceremony with a distinctly serious look. She couldn't tell if the woman approved or not.

A septon stood before them, dark-skinned and frowning, but his eyes were kind and warm. He gestured for them to step forward, standing upon the grates that separated them from the water. She could hear the stream slosh beneath her feet, and felt the occasional mist from the fountain.

At first, he attempted to have them switch sides. Myra was standing on Jaime's left, after all, and not his right. But Jaime casually waved his stump. Clearly embarrassed, the septon moved on, speaking sentences that she would never remember.

"It's only a few words," he insisted, fingers tracing a line along her hip. "We've already done the other part that is expected of us."

"That isn't funny, Jaime."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not laughing," he countered, meeting her eyes. "Fuck Dorne. Fuck King's Landing. Fuck the Lannisters and the Starks both. Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Do you plan on leaving me?"

"Never."

"Then be my wife."

Myra was squeezing his hand too tightly, she knew it, but she couldn't put forth any effort to stop it. Jaime did not seem to mind, though she felt him flex his fingers once. How could he be so calm, she wondered, when neither of them had done something like this before. Could he not feel the weight of it all landing squarely on his shoulders? She felt like she could not breathe.

The septon gently lifted their intertwined hands, enclosing them with a thin strip of cloth. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls..."

She looked at Jaime.

And he looked at her.

"...binding them as one..."

His hand tightened around hers.

"...for all eternity."

They turned to face one another, and Myra found that her eyes would not leave his. He was the only thing keeping her standing, the only calm she could find amidst everything that was happening.

And then they spoke the words.

"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger."

"I am his and he is mine."

"I am hers and she is mine."

"From this day to the end of my days."

Then he bent down, kissing her gently and slow.

Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the Oathbreaker, once sworn to take no wife, hold no land, and father no children was now husband to Myra Stark, the woman whose brother he had pushed from a window, whose father he had threatened to kill, whose family his was at war with.

Myra Stark, the Queen in the North, once meant to marry a Northern man and leave no mark upon the world, was now wife to Jaime Lannister, the man she had once claimed to hate, whom she had betrayed her family for, whose father had destroyed her household with merely a few words.

Before gods and men, they were one.

The ship was a spacious one, large and gilded, prominently displaying Dornish colors and symbols throughout. After all, this was an official outing to King's Landing, not a desperate flight to sanctuary. But the fact that they were leaving so late made it feel that way nonetheless. They were all on thin ice, everyone on board, and the tension in the air was thick because of it.

Myra and Jaime were quietly led to their quarters. Though she imagined that Prince Oberyn had been given the largest cabin on the ship, she was nonetheless surprised at how spacious their room was. It had a large bed, a wardrobe, at least two trunks, and a desk, all lit by candles scattered throughout. She had come to Dorne with only the clothes on her back.

And now what was she leaving as? The Queen in the North? Lady of Casterly Rock? Myra Stark? Myra Lannister?

Lannister.

She felt Jaime's lips press against her hair. "You're thinking too much."

Myra turned and looked up at him – at her husband – and attempted a smile. "It's what I'm good at. I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to it now."

Jaime did not even bother trying to smile. He grabbed her hand, tugging her close, and then wrapped his arms around her. She did the same, grasping his shirt tightly as she rested her head on his chest. Feeling his chin rest on her hair, Myra sighed and allowed her eyes to close. Even now, she felt safe in his embrace.

"What are we doing?" she whispered after an eternity of silence.

"Something foolish," was his answer, a gross oversimplification, but apt nonetheless. Those two words could be attributed to many things they had done over their time together, and during their days apart. How had she ever thought herself the responsible sibling when she had done so many ill-advised things?

"But is it the right thing?"

Myra heard him sigh, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath her cheek. She supposed he thought he was the wrong person to ask about these sorts of matters. He wasn't the most experienced when it came to decent decision-making, but she knew there was an intellect beneath the bravado. Disinterest should not be dismissed as lack of intelligence.

"In my experience, there is no right or wrong," he said eventually, his good hand running through her hair. "There is always someone who thinks you did right, and someone who believes the exact opposite."

She could not help but think of her father then, and a younger version of the man in her arms.

"Let's not think of it now," he continued, pulling back. "It'll be days before we reach King's Landing. Right now, it's just you and me."

Just them. Those were her best memories now. Everything made sense when they were alone in the world.

Myra brought one of her hands to his face, feeling the stubble, making certain he was still there, but how many times had the world tried to take him from her, and how many times had he still come back?

They had survived so much together; they could survive this too.

What could hope to defeat a lion and a wolf united?

Tyrion

Their ship had departed some hours ago, bound for King's Landing. If the winds were fair, they would arrive at Blackwater Bay in a week's time. He wasn't a praying man, but he'd whispered a word or two to the night sky, hoping for calm waters and not a breeze to be found. Many considered putting off the inevitable to be for weaker men, but he had never been interested in being strong. Stronger men proved excellent at finding an early grave, and he preferred to live.

He preferred that they all live, but there was a feeling, seated in the pit of his stomach, that told him he was sailing with one or two dead men.

Perhaps more than that.

There was no moon that night, bathing the sea in darkness. A few lanterns lit the hull of the ship, but the light scarcely made it a foot before the night consumed it. But still, the sky was filled with stars, and Tyrion found himself watching them. Some blinked, occasionally one flew across the breadth of the sky, never to be seen again. Most remained where they were, unchanging. Sailors could apparently make something of them, but not him.

Soft footfalls approached from behind and suddenly Tyrion found himself not alone, but in the company of Sansa Stark. She wore a dark cloak and was nearly invisible in the dull light, save for her red hair, which began to glow like a fire itself; she said nothing to him and made no move to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes turned upward as his had and for a while, they stood in silent contemplation.

"This is a terrible idea," she said eventually, her breath puffing in the cold night air. Tyrion neither liked the extreme heat nor the terrible cold that followed the days in Dorne.

"It is," he admitted, fingers drumming on the railing. "But I imagine many excellent plans were described as such in the beginning."

"No, they weren't."

He sighed. It was becoming more difficult to find company that humored him; it made him miss Varys. The eunuch never humored him much either, but he was at least more artful in tearing apart his theories.

"I imagine the marriage was your idea," Sansa started, glancing down at him. Her scrutiny actually made him nervous, and he began to wonder if she was strong enough to toss him from the ship. "It certainly wasn't your brother's or my sister's. I don't think the notion appeals much to either of them anymore."

"If you'd thought of a better way to keep her alive in King's Landing, I'm certain we would have taken that route. As it is, we were stuck, and short of fleeing the country, completely out of options."

"Winterfell belongs to the Lannisters now."

"I believe it currently belongs to the Boltons, but do correct me if I'm wrong," Tyrion replied, noting her annoyed look. "Your sister is doing what she can to survive, and if the North can't see that, then perhaps they deserve Roose Bolton as their liege lord. Honor has gotten most of your house killed; honor is not going to be the way to save it."

Sansa did not say anything at that. She didn't appear remotely interested in countering it. Perhaps she just wanted to hear the words said by someone else, to prove that she wasn't getting lost in their plot alone.

Or perhaps he was making all that up to feel the same way.

"Where do you fall in all of this?" she asked quietly, gaze back on the stars. "Winterfell. King's Landing. Casterly Rock. What side is Tyrion Lannister on?"

He was starting to wonder if there were sides anymore. His life had always been terribly complicated, especially when it came to family, but there had always been the idea that he stood with the Lannisters no matter what, and the Lannisters were typically united, or at least perceived that way, and if not, his father would soon take care of that issue.

But now his father stood in one corner, his sister another, and Jaime was in a different section of the board entirely.

Things were easier when he only had to deal with the possible Baratheon invasion. Stannis was the enemy. He could focus on that enemy. But now they had run out of obvious outlets. Now in their supposed upcoming peace, things were starting to get wildly complicated.

"My side," he said finally, not that he really needed to answer her, but some part of him had felt obligated to. "The world has seen fit to tug me this way and that for long enough. It's taken everything I have, and expects me to be grateful that I have survived it. It's my survival I am interested in now."

He thought Sansa might have smiled, though the light may have been playing tricks on his mind.

"I think we finally understand one another now, Lord Tyrion."

"And may the world tremble in fear because of it."