All those years ago, his sister Elia had been slain by the Mountain alongside her children—that had been the tale that ran through the Realm which held Oberyn’s disdain for those who hailed from Casterly Rock.

Yet, the truth had never made it past the vast waters of Dorne’s sea.

The youngest one—you—survived, an infant swapped with another and smuggled across the Narrow Sea. Entrusted with another until those in Sunspear received word of your survival and requested you be brought home.

Oberyn made haste in securing a fit tale for how you came to be. A legitimized bastard, fathered by his eldest brother.

Of course, Doran nearly ridiculed him for it but the reasoning behind it swayed him.

You’re a piece of their sister and given that you bore no features pertaining to the blood of the dragon, Oberyn advocated for you having right to the Martel name.

He believed that such would do good by the memory of his elder sister.

Years passed and he played quite the role in your upbringing, he adored you just as he did with his daughters. To see you grow into a formidable young woman—he knew Elia would be proud.

The day was like any other, the sun shined bright and the warmth it gave was tolerable. Oberyn had been out and about after spending a few quality moments with his paramour.

When he found you at the Water Gardens, he saw you engaged in a game with his four youngest daughters, the sight was endearing.

After a few minutes, he approached. “The sun is treating you well, yes?” Oberyn gave you a smile.