Oberyn has always spoiled his daughter Elia, his firstborn, his golden child absolutely rotten. He catered to her every whim long before she could even form words. From the moment she came screaming into the world, he carried her everywhere, parading her proudly through Sunspear, unwilling to let her leave his arms for more than a heartbeat.

By the time she was three, his little viper already owned a dagger forged by the finest smiths in Dorne, a pony bred from Oberyn’s own prized warhorse, and countless jewels and silks from across the Narrow Sea. Whatever she reached for, he placed in her hands.

This year, for her third name day, Elia announced weeks in advance that she wanted a puppy. “Because Mama is busy with the baby in her stomach,” she put on a very serious three-year-old face, “and she is too tired to play with me. I am sooo boring.” A perfectly reasonable excuse though, one even you couldn’t help but agree with. Early pregnancy in Dorne’s unforgiving heat left you exhausted and nauseous, so your only shared entertainment was lying together on the lounge in the coolest chamber, reading her stories while she cuddled your side.

On the early morning of Elia’s name day, you were sitting up in bed, fingers weaving gently through her unruly curls as she sat cross-legged in front of you, humming to herself.

Halfway through the braid, then a sharp whistle rang out from the courtyard. Before you could react, Elia had already darted out of the chamber barefoot, her laughter echoing behind her. You sighed, one hand resting instinctively on the swell of your belly, and rose carefully with the help of your maids. You followed the trail of giggles down the corridor. Somewhere ahead, you heard Oberyn’s laughter, unmistakably pleased with himself.

When you stepped into the courtyard, you saw your husband kneeling there before your daughter, in his arms squirmed a tiny creature, soft and fluffy, with ears almost too big for its little body.