CHAPTER FIVE.
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We took you right from your mother's womb,
Our temple, your tomb.

THE WOLF, FEVER RAY
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FOR THREE HUNDRED YEARS, the Targaryens had ruled Westeros.

     They came astride dragons and burned down all that lay in their path. The dragon kings and queens ruled from their Iron Throne, from generation to generation. They were absolute—a dynasty whose power and influence seemed would go on forever.

     The Targaryens ruled the seven kingdoms for three hundred years—until they didn't.

     Jaime Lannister stands on Rhaenys's Hill, looking down upon Flea Bottom, at the inhabitants, who openly glare up towards the lions' camp as they try to put their homes back together. It amazes him that these people, considered the cretins of the city, have cause to look upon his father, Warden of the West, with disgust. It amazes him even further that he might share their sentiment. Tywin Lannister is not an easy man to love, but he is a man who easily commands. And the Sack had been his command.

     His father is silent. Jaime looks up and feels his stomach twist at the expression on Tywin's face. He squares his shoulders and does his best to look a man instead of a chastised boy. His white cloak snaps and flutters in the breeze, and the sight of it turns his father's face to stone.

"Mariah Martell is coming to King's Landing," Jaime begins, eyes cast onto to city beneath them. "I thought you'd wish to know."

His father looks up at that, his frown deepening. "It seems the vipers have stirred from the grass. I cannot imagine it is to come and bask in the sunshine."

Chuckling wryly, Jaime replies, "No, I expect not. It is said that Oberyn was sent into exile by his brother."

"Then Prince Doran leaves us with one less fire to put out. But what of his last sister? A maid of eight-and-ten can do no harm, however vengeful," Tywin replies, sneering.

Jaime imagines what his sister would do should someone murder him and thinks his father a fool to underestimate the Martell girl. If she burns even half as bright as Cersei, she'll rip the Seven Kingdoms apart for justice. And she may not share Oberyn's recklessness, nonetheless—

Jaime clears his throat, resolves to say nothing more on the issue but cannot stop himself from muttering, "All snakes share the same scales."

     He shifts from one foot to another, unsure, as always, in his father's presence. The last time he had seen his father, Tywin had been storming out of Harrenhal with Cersei in tow, leaving behind nothing but the golden pin of his former office. The Lord of Casterly Rock had little to say to his son then, as disgusted with Jaime as he was with Aerys over the loss of his heir.

     It was Cersei's plan, and they were both fools to think it would keep them together. Jaime remembers how sure his twin had been, so pleased with herself for thinking of a way to end their separation. But in their frenzy to be ever close, they had forgotten their father, forgotten his pride, forgotten his anger.

     Harrenhal had started it all, started the end of so many things. The white cloak, the golden pin, the crown of winter roses, the ruin of a realm—all at Harrenhal. Mayhaps the place is cursed after all.

ON ANOTHER COAST, MARIAH MARTELL doesn't remember dressing up for her departure, or even leaving her chambers, but she remembers collapsing into her brother's arms, crashing into him like angry waves during autumn storms—or, rather, like a ship touching port, coming home. She remembers breaking, clinging to Oberyn's neck and hair and clothing.

     It is a mild summer day. Birds are chirping. Beyond the city is Torentine Bay, the harbour dotted with colourful sails, and beyond that is the Summer Sea; grey-green, sparkling in the morning sun, flecked here and there with the white dots of sails.

"We are Dorne, lest they forget," Oberyn whispers into her neck.

"I shall remind them," She says, and her voice is tremulous and high, despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

     She wants to cry against his chest for the wheel of fortune again turning against her, she wants to beat at his chest and curse his name for leaving her side. But inside, her heart is turned to blackest ice, the seeds that took root so long ago festering and choking the life from her, and she can only turn a face of cool, glacial beauty to him. There is still that, there is always that—she is beautiful. Her beauty will be a tool once she arrives in King's Landing, Mariah knows.

     "We are too late," She tells him, her voice even. "We could have saved her, I think."

     And Oberyn, the famed Red Viper, is broken, no matter how he tries to hide his grief. Yet somehow she longs for him anyway, to be his broken half, that their jagged edges may come together and heal them as one once more. "Oh, sister," He whispers, and his tears splash upon the crown of her dark locks when he pulls her close. She presses her face against the crook of his neck and breathes deep of the scent of Dorne; there, the world is perfect, there, she is whole. "I know. I know."

     Deep, deep, deep within her, there's a part of her that's not been destroyed by Elia's murder, and that part of Mariah wants to stay. Not for the first time this day, her thoughts drift away to the day when words had come of the Sack. It had been a lovely day then, too, with a smiling sun and gentle breeze caressing them.

She has heard of cold anger before, usually when referring to the Tyrells, but never felt it. Her anger always burns hot and fast and deadly and is gone swiftly. This, Mariah does not sense going away.

     Sorrow whistles in the wind and suddenly there are tears in her eyes.

     Mariah wonders whether she will ever see her brothers again. She wonders whether she will see Arianne and Trystane grow. She wonders wether she will ever stand beneath the blazing sun of Dorne again. She wonders if this is what Elia felt like on the morrow of her wedding day.

     "You must shine brighter than a thousand Lannisters, be braver than a million lions," Oberyn says. A ruined smile blossoms on his face, eyes dark and hair dark and skin a creamy brown, stained by the love of the sun. "What are the words of our House?"

     She swallows. "Unbent, unbowed, unbroken."

     Oberyn cups her face in large, calloused palms and breathes—

     "Our family stood, when all the other kingdoms fell," He whispers. "Our House stood firm and persevered when the Targaryens rode dragons and burned entire villages to the ground. We are not conquered, not like the Starks, or the Lannisters, or the Tullys. The Targaryens are gone, but we are unbent, and we are unbowed, and we are unbroken."

     Her teeth close around the inside of her cheek, salty and bitter but she nods.

     "Don't look back," Doran advises her, as she kisses him lightly on the cheek. "You need only remember this: You a Martell, you are the sun. All beasts bow to the sun."

Mother, Maiden, Crone, Mariah prays silently as she moves away, bidding them goodbye, Father, Smith, Warrior, Stranger. Give me strength.

     Her eyes are damp with tears as she steps upon the ship that will take her far, far away from here, the silks of her light dress flowing around her legs. Duty is calling me, she tells herself with determination. I will do what I must.

     For the first time in days, Mariah allows her thoughts to drift to Elia. Elia, who is gone. Elia, who loved her. Elia, whom she loved.

I am the only Martell girl in the world, she thinks, and it is a pain that cuts as deep through her gut as the poison on Oberyn's spears.

Vengeance still awaits, but it knows now, it knows that it is soon to be quenched. She raises her head to look at the sea, where she knows King's Landing lies in the distance. Mariah hardens her heart and does not look back.