Ali

Chap 1 -

Paring:Robb Stark x fem!Martell/ Targaryen!reader

Sumarry: When the news of a King in the north comes to Dorne, Oberyn and his niece know what to do

Words counting: 2K

Warnings: Death mentions, no body description just the brown hair with white stripes and heterocromia (purple and brown eyes), reader is a dragon dreamer

this is a complete version of this. this is my very first time writing a story for everyone to read 😭😭i hope you guys like it🙃

Somewhere in the Narrow Sea, there was a ship carrying a small baby girl with brown hair and a large white streak at the front, the little baby, the only survivor of the sack of King’s Landing, was the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. She survived because of a visit from her uncle Oberyn. A few days before the sack, he had gone to King’s Landing to visit his sister and his nephews. Elia, knowing that the situation in the capital was becoming increasingly dangerous, asked him to take her youngest daughter to Dorne, so that she could be raised according to the customs of her family, Oberyn gladly agreed.

And that was how you, the youngest daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, were saved. You grew up hidden away in Dorne, officially presented to everyone as Oberyn’s daughter. One of the Sand Snakes. For many years, you believed that was who you were, until you turned ten, that was when you began questioning why your white streak was constantly dyed brown, why your left eye was violet while your right was brown, why some people would stare at you for too long whe never they thought you weren’t looking…That was when Oberyn finally told you the truth, he told you about your origins, your histort, what had happened that night in King’s Landing, and why he had kept the secret for so many years.

You were furious with him, but eventually, you understood, Oberyn had not lied to you to hurt you, he had lied to keep you alive, and after you discovered the truth, your training became even more intense.

You had always loved fighting, you enjoyed training with your sisters and, especially, with your uncle.

In the eyes of everyone else, Oberyn was your father, to the two of you, however, the truth was different.

Ever since you had discovered your true origins, Oberyn never stopped talking about revenge. About the Lannisters. About Gregor Clegane, the man who had killed your mother and your brothers. He demanded a great deal from you.

Your training was exhausting, your lessons were demanding, you studied politics, history, strategy, and the art of war, Oberyn also taught you what he had learned during his time at the Citadel: herbs, poisons, anatomy, and anything else that might one day prove useful.

Despite everything, you never stopped living your childhood and adolescence, as a child, you spent your days playing with your sisters and the other Dornish children, running through the gardens and laughing like any other child, your adolescence was no different, no matter how exhausting your day had been, you never failed to appear in the great hall to share a cup of wine with your friends and family or to spend the night with a boy or girl.

You were a Martell, at least, that was how you saw yourself, Rhaegar may had given you Targaryen blood, Dorne had given you a family, and, to you, that was what mattered.

The years passed, your uncle closely followed the movements in the king’s lading until the sudden death of Robert Baratheon, the murder of Ned Stark, the coronation of young Joffrey and the beginning of the War of the Five Kings.

Dorne, as always, remained silent, except for you.

Oberyn watched the movements of The Young Wolf, Robb Stark, he saw his victories, he saw his armies advance, he saw Jaime Lannister captured and Riverrun liberated, and then came the news that Robb Stark had been proclaimed King in the North, that was when Oberyn made his decision. As soon as he received the news, you left Sunspear and boarded a ship bound for Gulltown, in the Vale.

The journey lasted approximately nine days, fortunately, the seas were calm, and the winds were favorable. You had nothing with you except the clothes you were wearing, a few gold coins, a dagger, and a map of Westeros.

Your nights had not been the best, sleeping on a ship, with the constant rocking of the waves, was far more uncomfortable than you were used to, but that was not your biggest problem, it was the dreams.

Your dreams were never clear, they were only reflections, filled with visual metaphors about things that might happen, they were never guarantees. Once, you had dreamed of a snake, days later, you found that same snake depicted on an accessory worn by one of the girls you had been involved with.

Your dreams were uncertain, but during that journey, they intensified. The first dream was about snow, it was cold, much colder than it should have been, jn front of you stood the silhouette of a tall man, dressed in heavy typical northern clothes, as he moved, however, his appearance seemed to change.

You approached him, closer, until the man finally turned around, and you saw a man with a wolf’s head sewn onto his neck, you fell backward, frightened, and ran. Then you saw the tree you always dreamed with, that white trunk, those red leaves, that tree which, for some reason, had always brought you peace.

And beneath it stood a head of fiery red hair, the girl. Her dress was far too light for the cold, there was blood on her clothes, she seemed to be suffering. But as soon as you approached her, the blood disappeared, her crying stopped, and peace settled over everything, when your bodies met in an embrace, you woke.

The dreams about the red-haired girl were always constant, and, strangely, they always came after a bad dream, as though that girl meant that everything would be all right, as though meeting her was, somehow, part of your destiny.

But the new dream was different, it was terrifying, the dream repeated itself throughout all nine nights of the journey, until, finally, the ship docked at Gulltown.

It was strange being in a place not so hot after a lifetime in Dorne, but you had to do this. For your uncle. For your siblings. For your mother.

As soon as you disembarked, you found an stable with horses, among them was a mare that immediately caught your attention, with a good amount of charm and an even better negotiation, you managed to buy her for three gold dragons, she was the finest mare in the place, its coat was brown, as was its mane, with a few white markings.

You smiled. “Elia.” The name came naturally.

You remembered your uncle talking about your mother’s brown hair and her kissed by the sun skin, for some reason, you felt that you should name her that.

You mounted Elia and set off, you had no time to waste, after some time on the road, you reached a small village in search of shelter.

One of the first things you noticed was the air, it was more humid, colder, completely different from Dorne.

The second thing was even worse, the houses were destroyed, the streets were filthy, the people were poor and worn down. The war had passed through there, and left its scars behind.

You stopped in front of a small fruit stand, pulled your hood over your head, and adjusted your hair to conceal your violet eye. “Do you know of anywhere I could spend the night?” The man pointed toward a nearby road. “There’s an inn just ahead.”

He indicated the way on your map, you thanked him and continued on, you spent the night at the inn and set off again early the next morning

Six days later, you finally reached the Riverlands, and as you approached Riverrun, you noticed that the region was even more crowded, men led horses, wagons carried supplies, wounded soldiers passed along the road, tents were scattered throughout the area, and everywhere, there were banners belonging to the houses of the North and the Riverlands. Until you finally spotted the Stark direwolf, You followed in that direction

As you reached the camp, an armed man immediately approached you, your eyes fell upon his armor, then you saw the banner, a flayed man. House Bolton. You knew the reputation of that house, brutality, cruelty, the symbol emblazoned across his chest told you everything you needed to know.

The man watched you for a few seconds. “What do you want?” You dismounted Elia. “I have a message for the King in the North. I would like to deliver it personally.” The man looked you up and down. “The king is not receiving visitors.” “It is of the utmost urgency.” He remained silent for a few seconds, then sighed and tilted his head. “Come.” You followed him.

He entered one of the tents and told you to wait outside, you heard voices, an argument, a woman, then a younger male voice. Fragments of words reached your ears.

Girl.

Busy.

Important.

Then silence.

The man stepped out of the tent, he opened the entrance. “Come in.”

You took a deep breath and entered.

There was a large table covered with maps, letters, and documents, small wooden pieces represented armies and military positions across the maps, but your eyes soon found two people.

A beautiful woman with reddish-brown hair, despite the years, she was still beautiful, her face, however, carried an austere expression, Lady Caetlyn Stark, you supposed.

And standing before her was him, The young wolf, Robb Stark, King in the North.

He was tall, with a posture that commanded respect and authority, his hair was brown, slightly wavy, and his eyes were blue. Against your will, you thought that he was a very handsome man.

You immediately straightened your posture. “I am S/n Martell.”

Robb and Caetlyn exchanged a glance.

“My uncle, Oberyn Martell, sent me here to help you in this war.” You pulled the letter from inside your clothes and held it out. “And so that, when it is over, we may have our revenge against the Lannisters and the man who killed my mother and my siblings.”

Robb took the letter, he read it, his eyes moved across every line, then he handed it to Catelyn, she began reading and you remained silent.

The letter told them everything, your true origins, Oberyn. Elia. Rhaegar, the sack of King’s Landing, the child who should have died, the girl Dorne had hidden and the reason Oberyn was sending you to North.

Catelyn finished reading and eyes returned to you. “And how do I know that all this information is true, Princess Martell?” She asked you ironically.

You immediately noticed the distrust in her tone, without saying anything, you reached for your hood, then removed it, your brown hair fell over your shoulders, and, for the first time since arriving in the North, you allowed your violet eye to be seen completely.

Catelyn fell silent and so did Robb. “Oberyn’s letter confirms my identity,” you said. “I did not come here to claim anything.”

Catelyn studied your face. “Targaryen or Martell?”

The question made you hesitate.

You looked at her, then at Robb

“Martell.” You said firmly

Catelyn remained silent but Robb finally spoke. “And how do you intend to help us?” You straightened your posture. “Besides knowing how to fight, my uncle taught me strategy, politics, history, and many things he learned during his time at the Citadel.”

Catelyn took a few steps forward. “And how can we trust you?”

You felt nervousness take hold of your body, for a moment, your shoulders hunched slightly. “I suppose I’ll have to prove myself.”

Robb watched you for a few seconds, then his expression softened.

“We’ll arrange some food and a place for you to spend the night while we decide what to do. I imagine the journey from Dorne to here was not an easy one.” You confirm it with your head.

He called for one of his men. “Give her a tent.” The soldier nodded. Robb added: “But keep men watching her.” You did not protest, it was fair.

The man led you outside and took you to the place where you would spend the night and finally, after weeks of traveling, you had somewhere comfortable to rest. You entered the tent, dat down on the makeshift bed, and, for the first time in many days, allowed your body to relax.

You closed your eyes.

And soon, you fell asleep.

At the same time, she is haunted by strange dragon dreams, in them, she always sees the same two figures: a man with the head of a wolf, and a young woman with red hair who seems unbearably lonely, as if she’s carrying a lifetime of grief and really deep sadness. Blood stains the her skirt, but whenever the reader gets closer, the girl’s presence becomes strangely peaceful, almost comforting, yet no matter how many times the dream returns, she never manages to see her face.

Check out the first chapter!!